Page 76 of The Twelve Days of Christian
Above my head, I hear the flush of a toilet and the sound of footsteps and a door closing. Ollie’s room is up there. He must be home. My heart lifts a little at the thought. It will be good to see him. A small optimistic part of me suggests maybe Christian’s upstairs with him, catching up, as friends do.
“Ollie?” I call out and the footsteps start again, heading my way. Moments later, my brother appears on the stairs.
“Hey,” I say, a smile breaking on my face. At least something good has happened today. I haven’t seen my brother for three months. I’ve missed him. He’s thinner than last time he was home, maybe a little too lean. Beneath the healthy glow of bleach blonde hair and sun-bronzed skin he looks tired, his normally dimpled cheeks angular, little crescents of purple below his eyes suggesting jet lag.
“You’re home.” I fling my arms around him, but his return hug is uncharacteristically half-hearted. I pull back to scan his face, worried he’s not well.
“Yeah,” he says. But he doesn’t return my smile.
“Ollie, what’s wrong?” His eyes lower. “Is it Christian? I thought he’d be here, but then he sent this weird message saying he was going back to the apartment.” The words pour from me, my agitation notching up.
“He has.”
“But why?” I’ve searched my mind for a reason and I can’t find one. We’d separated this morning like every other this week. His lips on mine, a reluctant parting kiss and a murmured regretful farewell.
“He left because of me.”
This is why Ollie won’t meet my eyes. I retreat from him, crossing my arms across my chest, clutching myself protectively against what I suspect is coming, while still holding on to a tiny shred of disbelief. As the knowledge dawns in my brain, the warm joy of seeing my brother seeps away, replaced by a rush of ice cold anger.
“What the fuck have you done, Ollie?” My voice is shrill.
I step towards him and shove at his shoulder, willing him to look at me. His face blanches. It might be because of the f-bomb, which isn’t my usual style, but if my brother has done what I think he has, then it’s totally appropriate. In fact, if he’s done what I think he has, there’s going to be a blitz of them raining down on his sorry head.
“We had a few words,” he sighs, shrugging his shoulders. How dare he shrug it off like that, like it isn’t important? “It got a bit heated.”
“A few words, right? And, let me guess, those few words were about me?”
When will my brother learn to butt out of my business? That I don’t need him standing between me and anything or anyone that has the slightest chance of impacting negatively on me? He nods, not looking the least bit remorseful. I want to scream at the arrogance of him, thinking he knows best.
“Look Haley, I came home, and like, I knew he was here. I just didn’t expect him to come strolling out of your bedroom, wearing your freaking clothes. I mean, it’s pretty obvious what’s been going on.”
“Yeah, and what’s been going on is between two consenting adults and is none ofyourfreaking business.” I spit the words at him.
This is so typical of Ollie. When is he going to realise I’m not eight years old anymore? He backs away from me, and I stalk towards him. He’s not going to run away from what he’s done. I am so fucking angry with my brother.
“Haley,” he stutters. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. After Jack…”
“Don’t you get it?” I stab my finger into his chest. Sure, he feels responsible for Jack Maplethorpe coming into my life, but that doesn’t give him the right. “This is nothing like Jack. Nothing at all. How could you even think that? Christian is your friend. You know him. You know he wouldn’t…”
A sob strangles in my throat. There’s the prickle of hot tears, and I swipe at them with the back of my hand.
“Haley, I didn’t mean to…”
“I don’t care what youmeantto do. I don’t carewhyyou did this. Christian was here. And we were happy, Ollie. So very happy.” I choke on the words, flailing at the tears that won’t stop squeezingtheir way out of my bleary eyes, tumbling hot and painful, searing my cheeks. “And now, because of you, he’s not.”
At last I see the belligerent expression in his eyes soften, and there might even be a glimmer of shame there. Good. He should be ashamed of wrecking the first decent chance at a relationship I’ve had in over a year.
“Haley, I’m sorry.” He fumbles the words. “I was just thinking of you.”
“Are you sure?” I spit, not ready to let go of my outrage. “Because it sounds an awful lot like you’re thinking about you. Making this all about you.”
“Haley, I’m sorry. Really.” He opens his arms. “Come here.”
I waver for a beat, and then collapse into the familiar soothing space. I hate my brother right now. But I need him right now, too. He strokes at my hair as I sob on his shoulder.
“Hey, hey. It will be OK. You’ve bounced back from worse break ups than this.”
I recoil in horror. “You think this is a breakup? You really think we’ve broken up? Because of you?”
