by Angel Lawson
“Huh.” There’s a stretch of silence. “Isn’t this the guy who… uh, you know. With the accident?”
My jaw tightens. “Isn’t Hamilton the guy who tormented you all throughout school?”
Silence, and then, “Fair enough.”
“Look, I’m sorry, there are just… circumstances.”
“No,” she replies. “I get it, I do. Why don’t you start from the beginning?”
I tell Gwen about the pills. The addiction. Reyn taking them from me. Getting caught. It’s not a nice story and I don’t like telling it—especially when Em is there on my bed, watching me—but if it can help Reyn, then I don’t care. I don’t care what Gwen thinks about me, and I don’t care if Emory disapproves. Gwen hums along, making quizzical and consoling sounds in all the right places. I can hear rapid typing in the background, and I won’t lie. It’s sort of pissing me off. It’s like she’s not even paying attention to me.
Then she says, “Mom’s telling you to keep your mouth shut. Don’t admit to anything. Don’t say anything to anyone.”
My breath escapes in a shocked exhale. “That’s it? I can’t help him, at all?”
“I didn’t say that,” Gwen answers. “This is just damage control. Part one. Keep your mouth closed.”
I prop my forehead on my palm, staring unseeingly down at my desk. My eyes fill with tears, blurring my vision. “Is there a part two?”
“Yep.” There’s a few more clicking noises before Gwen adds, “Part two is where my mom kicks ass and takes names.”
Emory snorts when I relay this. “Told you so.”
I slide the phone away, rubbing a hand over my face. “So I guess we wait.” I hate it. Who knows where he is right now or what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling. Freaking out, probably.
Emory pushes himself up, groaning just as painfully as Reyn had this morning. “This is fucking stupid. What the hell were you two thinking?”
I glare at him. “Us? Just what the hell were you thinking with that stuff last night?”
“What stuff?”
I fling a gesture at his face. “The fighting, you idiot! You two going at it like that? That’s what’s fucking stupid.”
He rolls his eyes, wincing because of aforementioned idiocy. “This is what guys do, V.”
“No, it’s what children do.” I add, “Actually, I know children who manage to settle their differences more maturely than that.”
“Had to happen.” He flexes his bruised fist, head shaking. “Reyn broke the bro code. If he really wanted you, then he had to fight for you. So that’s how it went down.”
“Well, when you say it like that…” On second thought, “Nope, still sounds idiotic.”
“Whatever,” he scoffs. “You got duped by Sydney Prescott and that baby hag of hers. You weren’t exactly operating on all cylinders, either.”
Well, not much I can say to that.
“Em,” I start, remembering Reyn’s missive from earlier, before everything imploded. “About Reyn and I…”
Emory groans, flopping back on the bed again. “You two are such a pain in my ass, I swear to god…”
I smile sadly. “I know you think it’s… how did you put it? ‘Stupid schoolgirl puppy-love’?” He must hear the hurt in my voice—the same hurt I’d felt when he’d said it—because he cuts his eyes to me, confused. “But it’s not. I really do love him.” I don’t say what I’m thinking. Reyn and I didn’t pick one another; fate, tragedy brought us together. It’s going to take a lot more than that to pull us apart.
He looks away, reaching up to rub at his temple. “Sometimes I wish...”
When he trails off, I prod, “Wish what?”
He answers, “I wish we could just be a normal brother and sister,” and I almost have to laugh. How many times have I had that same thought?
I remember the first time I came home after the months in the hospital, all the surgeries and physical therapy. My parents moved my room to the main floor, to the guest room my grandparents use when they visit. All my things were in there. My stuffed animals and books, the poster of Brendon Urie taped to the wall, my pillows, and the soft comforter I’d missed so much while I was trapped in hell, and I burst into tears.
Not because I was happy to see it all.
I cried because all I wanted was to be back in my room, upstairs with Emory, like normal. All I wanted was normal. Being moved to the guest room was just another reminder that everything in my life had changed.
That day, I’d passed out on the couch, exhausted from the trip home. When I woke up, Emory had moved every single thing back upstairs, up to and including perfectly taping the Brendon Urie poster back in its exact place. My parents were furious. “She can’t even get up the stairs!” my mother had whisper-shouted.
Emory snapped back. “Then I’ll carry her!”
And he did. He carried me up and down those stairs, under my mother’s fretful eyes, until I could do it on my own.
I’ve seen normal siblings. I’ve seen them bicker, resentment sparking between them. I’ve seen them shun one another in the halls of Preston Prep. I’ve seen Heston putting Sebastian in that ring, even though he thought he’d lose. I’ve seen Georgia and George, who live in the same house and share the same genes—the same name—but you’d never know it, because they barely look at one another when they’re at school.
I think of normal siblings, and suddenly, “I don’t wish that.” He looks taken aback when he meets my eyes. “Because I know you love me, and I know you’d do anything if it meant keeping me happy and safe. I can’t… I can’t imagine not having that. I wouldn’t want to try.”
He blinks at me for a long moment. “Well… yeah, I guess that’s not so bad.”
I’m struck by the fact he won’t be here next year. It’ll be the first time in my life I won’t have him down the hall, always there, just in case. “I know you don’t need me to carry you up and down the stairs, or scare off mean girls, or throw you parties for silly milestones, but I would. You know that, right?”
“Sure, V.” He gives me a sad smile. “I know that.”
“Because I love you.” I add, “Even though you’re an idiot who doesn’t use your words.”
“You’re really buttering me up here.”
I stand, walking to the bed and flopping down beside him. He jostles at the motion, but doesn’t move. “I’m not asking your permission.” My voice is soft, but invites no argument. “It’s not yours to give. I just need you to know he makes me happy, and that I’m going to be okay. You don’t have to worry about me so much, Em.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t,” I argue. “And you want to know why? Because I kind of had the best brother ever. He taught me how to get through the hard things. He taught me what kind of people to not hang out with. He taught me how to drive. He taught me how to stand up to everyone but him.” I slant my eyes at him. “I learned that one on my own.”
“Yeah, and you suck at it.”
“I think I get by.”
“It was my idea to steal the car, you know.” It comes from out of nowhere, so much so that I almost feel whiplash from it, from the way his voice sounds, low and monotone. He’s staring up at the ceiling, face blank. “I don’t know if Reyn told you that.”
I stare at him. “He didn’t.”
“I’m not saying I had to twist his arm or anything,” he says, voice dry. “But we never would have done it if I hadn’t—”
I grab his wrist. “Hey, stop.”
“I’m not a good brother, V.” He rolls his head against the bed, gaze locking with mine. “All that shit you’re talking about—the party, carrying you, scaring people off? I wouldn’t have had to do any of that if I hadn’t...” It’s subtle, the way his voice breaks, but he quickly looks away. “I’m a shit brother.”
I look at the bruise on his jaw. It’s swollen and blotted with blue and purple. It looks painful every time he talks.
I jab my finger into it.
“Ow!” He flinches, slapping my hand away. “What the fuck!”
“Don’t insult my brother!”
He cradles his jaw, eyes flashing. “You’re insane!”
“And you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought.” I grab his hand. “You’re overbearing, you don’t respect my boundaries, and you have serious control issues. But you’re a good brother!” I make a sharp sound when he opens his mouth. “Not up for debate. I’m the only person you’re a brother to, so my opinion is the only one that counts. Shut up about it.”
My brother is twice the size that I am. He’s broad-shouldered and strong. His muscles are powerful, his gait so sure that colleges are willing to pay him to run down their field. We’re opposites, but with our palms pressed against one another, our blood vibrates, warm and true.
He says, “I’m sorry if I ever made you feel… lonely and isolated. I was just trying to protect you.”
“I know.” I look over at him. “But I can take care of myself.”
He almost looks bashful when he admits, “It’s been nice, having you around this year. Watching you make friends. Being there when you learned to drive.”
“It has been,” I say, squeezing his hand. “I’ll miss it next year.”
“Me, too.”
The room goes silent and we both watch the ceiling. Somewhere out there Reyn is alone, dealing with my mistakes, because I’m finding this new life I lead is precarious and strange. One part of my life clicks into place just as another one falls to pieces. I realize I couldn’t do it. Not without the both of them.
Maybe I’m greedy, but I won’t accept anything less.
It’s late when I hear Mr. McAllister downstairs. I’ve been waiting all day for a call from Gwen or her mom, turning my phone over in my hands, restless and impatient. I don’t know what’s taking so damn long. But when I hear Reyn’s dad, I rush down the stairs as fast as my leg will take me.
He’s sitting at the dining room table with my parents, head hung low. He’s saying, “… has to be within twenty-four hours, so probably in the morning.”
They all look up when I approach. “Did you talk to him?”
Mr. McAllister meets my gaze, giving me a tense, tired grin. “Hello, Vandy. I just came by to apologize for Reyn’s—”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” my dad insists. “Whatever’s going on, we just hope he gets the help he needs.”
Mr. McAllister—Warren—bristles visibly at this. “Yes. Well…”
“Is he okay?” I ask, hands wringing.
Warren looks surprised by my concern. “You don’t need to worry about him. He’s just waiting it out until—” He goes abruptly silent, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s staring at my chest.
No—thank god.
He’s staring at my necklace.
He pushes back into his seat, eyes rising to mine. “Denise, could I… have a word with your daughter?”
My mom looks taken aback, but ultimately says, “Yes, of course.”
Even still, neither her or my dad stand to leave. Warren watches them blankly, realizing they don’t mean to. “Okay then.” He pats the table awkwardly, eyes shifting to me. “Vandy, why don’t you have a seat.”
My stomach erupts in nervous flutters, but at my parents’ nod, I slide out a chair and perch on the edge of it.
He leans toward me, hands laced together, and haltingly begins, “I want you to know, I… understand. Why it's a secret.” His eyes flick down to the firefly, and I don’t miss the way his eyes flash in recognition. I reach up to clutch it anxiously in my hand, because somehow, there’s a knowing look in his eyes. “But if you know something that can help my son, then—”
My mom cuts in, “I’m sorry. What’s a secret?”
His eyes jump to her, flashing in annoyance. Instead of answering, he continues, “I don't want to put you in this position, but you need to know how serious this is for him. Reyn doesn’t have any second chances here.”
Reyn has his father’s strong features. His green eyes. His sharp angles. When Warren McAllister looks at me with those imploring eyes, it’s eerie. It’s almost like how I felt that first day, seeing Reyn back. Like someone else is walking around in his skin.
“My son told me the girl he gave that necklace to was special,” he says. “I really need you to live up to that.”
My mom’s saying, “What necklace?” and my dad’s asking “Warren, what’s going on?” but Mr. McAllister is pinning me with his gaze and my heart is banging wildly against my ribcage.
I finally break, “I wanted to tell, but I’m not supposed to.”
“What did you want to tell, sweetheart?” my dad asks, looking worried now. “Did Reynolds do something to you?”
Warren ignores him, but I can see the way his jaw goes angrily tight. “Why aren’t you supposed to tell, Vandy? Did Reyn ask you not to tell?”
“No,” I answer, rubbing my palms nervously over my thighs. “Not Reyn.”
“Then who?”
I look nervously at my parents, and there’s no way to back out of this. “His lawyer did.”
Warren obviously wasn’t expecting this answer. He falls back, eyebrows pushed together. “I haven’t even had a chance to contact Steven yet.” He explains to my parents, “Old friend from college. He’s helped in the past.”
I shake my head. “Not… Steven. It’s someone else. I called in a favor?” I say this like a question, feeling small and guilty.
My mom’s face screws up. “A favor to who?”
Warren raises a hand. “Let’s come back to that later. Why did this lawyer ask you not to tell?”
I push out a hard breath, not at all prepared for my parents to hear what I’m about to say. “Because I risk incriminating Reyn. And… and myself. She said I should wait and let her handle it, and I know it looks bad.” I plead to him with my eyes. “I know it looks terrible, but I’m just trying not to make things worse.”
“We’re not the authorities,” Warren says, voice soothing. “There’s no incrimination happening here between the four of us, understand? You can tell us, it’s okay.” He looks at my parents, seeking their agreement. “We’ll just keep it right here, in this room.”
My parents look both mystified and concerned, but they reluctantly nod along.
So.
This is it, then.
The nervous flutter in my belly transforms into wild flapping. I shift in my chair, trying to look them in the eye, but I can’t. I can’t look them in the eye when I say it. I look into Warren’s instead—into the familiar green—and if I squint, cross my eyes and make everything go fuzzy and indistinct, I can almost pretend it’s Reyn in front of me.
“The pills weren’t Reyn’s.” I say, “They were mine.”
The dining room is bathed in a tense silence while the confession sinks in.
My mother’s face works though a dozen expressions, the strongest being the cognitive dissonance that’s been holding her together for the last three years. That I’m still a child. That I’m hurt. That I need help.
My father is a little more connected with reality. “Can you repeat that?”
“The drugs were mine,” I say in the firmest voice I can muster. “I’d been hoarding them for a long time. Getting extra prescriptions when I went to the doctor, double doses from the specialists. I talked each one of them into giving me a little bit more so that I had enough to take for as long as I needed.”
“But,” my mother starts, touching her throat, “why would you need them? You’ve been past that level of pain for years now.” Her eyebrows knit. “Are you still in pain? Do I need to call—” My father’s hand rests on her knee.
I fix my eyes to the table, throat thick with shame. “I took them because I liked how it felt. Because it took me away, to a different place. I took them because I was,” I swallow thickly, “reliant on them. But not anymore,” I rush to say. “I stopped, I’m off them now.”
“Sweetheart,”
my dad carefully says, “if you feel like you need to cover for Reyn—”
“I don’t need to cover for him. I need to tell the truth.” To protect him. To fix this. If it can even be fixed. “Those were my drugs. Reyn found them in my room and took them away from me, but he did it for my safety. He was worried because I’d been upset—”
“Reynolds was in your room,” Mom clarifies, face paled. “Last night?”
And a bunch of other nights, too.
“Yes,” I slowly say, eyes flicking to Warren. “We’d had a fight earlier and he came over to make sure I was okay. I wasn’t,” I confess, avoiding their eyes. “I was having a… really bad night. He took care of me.”
“And he took the pills away from you,” Warren says, looking relieved. So relieved that he breathes a laugh. “I knew there was more to this. That damn kid.” Despite his words, I can see a spark of frustrated pride in his eyes, and I’d been so worried about Reyn that I hadn’t considered it before—the toll this would take on his dad. I know their relationship is awkward and strained, but that look isn’t the reaction of a cold, uncaring father.
I worry my lip between my teeth. “What’s going to happen?”
Warren rubs a hand over his face. “Nothing tonight.” My parents stand when he does, so I follow suit. “His arraignment’s tomorrow, so until then, he has to sit tight.”
“Tomorrow,” I repeat, nodding. I add in an energized burst, “I can send you the name of the lawyer! She’s really good, I think. Becca Adams?”
Warren freezes. “Adams? Christ, guess it’s time to borrow against the house.” He looks briefly embarrassed by this remark, but I’m quick to assure him.
“Don’t worry, this is, like… pro bono or whatever it’s called.” I explain, “Reyn and I go to school with some of her kids,” and I’m babbling and drawing this out, because I know the second this man is out the door, everything is going to crumble.
He looks pleasantly surprised at this. “Well, Reynolds and I appreciate you… calling in favors.” He seems to sense my anxiety, the way my eyes keep creeping to my parents. “Tell you what,” he adds, pulling out his phone. “Why don’t I get your number and I can text you when I have an update.”