3 A.M.

by Chloe Spencer

  “Hey Kuro. You ready to go?” Phillip knocks on the wooden frame of my door.

  “I can’t tie this stupid thing,” I stammer, flinging my hands wildly in the air. “Fuck, I have no idea why she’s so insistent on me wearing a tie.”

  “Hey, it’s your day. You don’t have to wear the tie.”

  “She’ll bitch at me endlessly if I don’t wear this tie. It is obviously not my day. If it was my day, I wouldn’t be going to this thing. And I wouldn’t be having my graduation dinner at Applebee’s because Grandma can’t handle anything with flavor.”

  Phillip blinks. “That’s a lot.”

  “I don’t want to go. But I fricking have to.”

  “Okay. You have to do this…today. But we could do something you want to do tomorrow. How do you want to celebrate?”

  “There’s nothing to celebrate, Phillip. I barely graduated high school. Whoop de doo.”

  “So? You still got your diploma. I know that doesn’t seem like a big deal, but a lot of people struggle to get it, Kuro. I would know. I had to take summer classes just to get mine.”

  “Yeah, but did you really need it? You’re a genius tech guy. I’m as basic as they come.”

  Phillip shakes his head. “Do not talk about yourself like that.” he grabs the tie on the bed and wraps it around my neck; starts tying the knot. “Look. I know you weren’t raised to have a lot of confidence in yourself. But that doesn’t mean that you’re a loser.”

  I bite my lip, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. “Yeah, well…”

  “No smart retorts this time. You aren’t a loser. You deserve to be celebrated. Your accomplishments are not worth less than anyone else’s. Say it with me.”

  I laugh. “I’m not saying that.”

  “Nope. You are not leaving this room until you say it with me three times.” he finishes tying my tie.

  “Gimme a break,” I say, reaching for my cap and gown. To my surprise, he goes over to the door, shuts it, and blocks it. Smirking, I walk over to him.

  “Okay. Let me on through, Gandalf.”

  “You shall not pass—until you say it three times.”

  I repeat it once and shrug my shoulders. He shakes his head.

  “Nope. Do over. You have to say it like you mean it.”

  “You didn’t specify that in your original instructions.”

  “Okay smartass, I am specifying now. Say it three times, like you mean it.”

  “This is stupid.”

  He grabs my shoulders and squeezes them firmly. I have never seen him look this serious, ever. Not even at the funeral.

  “This is important,” he whispers. “And you need to say it. If you want, I’ll say it with you.”

  So, I do, slowly at first, but with each repetition I build confidence. I start to believe it. And with each word I speak his face brightens, till he is full on smiling. I smile back.

  A knock on the door interrupts us.

  “What the hell are you guys doing?” Mizu asks, jiggling the door handle. “Kuro, come on, you’re going to be late for the lineup.”

  What happened in my room that day remained a secret. Phillip’s message to me that day, however, his insistence that I deserved to be valued, I’ve kept with me since then.

  * * * *

  Satisfied but sore, I woke to the smell of brown sugar and steaming fruit. In the kitchen I heard the clanking of bowls and spoons. I rolled onto my stomach, propping my chin up on my pillow. I blinked repeatedly, trying to adjust to the morning sun filtering through our blinds. I checked the time on my phone—9:34 A.M. I didn’t wake up once. The first full night’s sleep I’ve gotten in days.

  From how chipper Phillip was, he must have slept well, too. He was making oatmeal on the kitchen stove, whistling as he whisked the bubbling mixture in the pot. One earbud dangled around his neck, the other blasted pop music.

  “Good morning! Ready for breakfast?” Phillip asked, smiling.

  “No,” I said. “I wanted bagels. Who eats oatmeal? People who hate themselves?”

  “Poor people,” Phillip said. “And we’re poor as shit.”

  “Joke’s on you, Phillip. Poor people don’t eat breakfast.”

  “I said ‘poor,’ not ‘destitute,’” he said, laughing. He flicked off the burner and waved a pot holder over it, as if to cool it down. Then he poured us each a bowl. The smell of brown sugar made my mouth water.

  “You know Kuro, you could always, y’know, cook your own breakfast if you don’t like oatmeal.”

  “What did you put in it?”

  “Bananas and frozen strawberries. Even a junk food connoisseur like you can stomach it, I promise.”

  I fumbled for my clothes. Unable to find my everyday underwear, I pulled on my shirt and my shorts from yesterday. He pushed a bowl towards me, smiling. When I looked into the bowl, I found that the bananas were arranged in a smiley face. They floated above the mushy brown mess, too light to sink.

  “This is ridiculously adorable.”

  He chuckled, sitting beside me. On the counter he spread out the Sunday edition of the Pioneer Press. He always read the comic section first. He loved Garfield, Doonesbury, and For Better or Worse.

  “Do we have coffee?” I asked, nudging him gently with my elbow.

  His fingers laced through mine. “We’ve got a mocha-milk thingy in the fridge.”

  “Ooh. Fancy.”

  “Don’t tease me. I just don’t like hot coffee. Iced coffee is where it’s at.”

  “Iced coffee kicks ass. Anyways, want a glass?”

  “Hell yeah. We’ve got a long day ahead of us and barely got any sleep,” he yawned, stretching his arms.

  I fetched two plastic cups, and poured mocha into each of them. He pounded it back like a shot, smacking his lips and releasing a satisfied ahh.

  “So? You got the energy you need for the day?” I said, laughing.

  “Yeah, I think so. Now, if there was a way to take care of the scratches on my back…” he smirked.

  Frowning, I looked at his shoulders, and was stunned to see the raw, red marks. He looked like he had wrestled a tiger and lost. Badly.

  “Jesus,” I whispered, blushing. “Sorry. Do you want Neosporin or something?”

  “Nah, I’ll be okay. Let’s just hope I can find a shirt to cover it up.”

  “I’ll make sure my nails are cut next time.”

  “I don’t think they were too long. You just really dug ‘em in,” he laughed.

  My face reddened even more. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I was into it, and you were enjoying yourself.”

  “Yeah. I was.” I grinned, then fell silent, watching Phillip eat his food.

  You know, it’s funny. I have imagined having sex with Phillip countless times, but never thought it would actually happen. And now that it has, I feel confused.

  Phillip glanced over and he winked at me, but it didn’t ease my nervousness.

  I asked, “So…do you still think you made a mistake?”

  “You know what?” he said, grasping my hand tightly. He turned to look at me. His expression was gravely serious. “Yes. I made a grave mistake. I made this oatmeal with water, and I should have infused it with the mocha stuff. We could’ve cut back on the number of dishes we used.”

  Snorting with laughter, I clapped my hand over my mouth. “I can’t tell if that sounds delicious or disgusting.”

  “I guess that’s the adventure,” Phillip said. “You have to test it in order to know if it works.”

  * * * *

  We spent the morning cuddling and watching reruns of Psych on Amazon Prime. He kept his hand on my waist, curving me into the crook of his body. I worried about leaning on him too much, because of his back, but he assured me he was fine. Around noon, we heard a knock on the door.

  “Let me get that,” I said, climbing to my feet. My knees cracked as I rose—I was too stiff from sitting for so long.

  When I opened the door, Mizu was standing t
here. Dark circles ringed the undersides of his eyes. In his hands he held nothing, but he kept wringing them as he stood there.

  “Why are you here?” I glowered at him.

  “To talk to you, actually. Can I come in?”

  “Mizu, I…” in the corner of my eye, I could see Phillip heading down the hallway.

  His door shut, and I heard the locks tumble. I winced and glared at my brother.

  “Is this an emergency?”

  “I mean, to me it is.”

  “Is this about Phillip?”

  “It’s about us, actually,” Mizu said, exhaling. “I thought about what you said. About how I was so much like Dad.”

  I arched a brow at him, holding the door open a little wider. Mizu stared at the ground for a few minutes. His expression was contorted with confliction; gritting his teeth and frowning. He swallowed repeatedly, like his throat was so dry he couldn’t find relief. When he squeezed his eyes shut and started hyperventilating, I realized he was having a panic attack.

  “Hey,” I said. “Mizu, just come inside. Come in and sit down.”

  He nodded and immediately went over to the cabinets again. He filled up another glass of water and guzzled it down. After he polished off the glass, he looked at me. His eyes were wet.

  “I don’t want to be like Dad,” his voice was hoarse, and he kept shaking his head. “So…so hearing you say that was…I couldn’t…Kuro, you really think I’m like him? You’re really that afraid of me?”

  To say that this was unlike my brother was an understatement. I had no idea he valued our relationship this much—or was it that he despised the idea of being like Dad, it was enough to make him sick?

  I tried to play this carefully. “I think you have anger issues that you don’t know how to address. I don’t think you even know why you’re angry. And that was Dad’s problem.”

  Mizu scoffed, nodding. “He acted like the world was against him. Like…like he was the only person who mattered, and he only ever expected people to disappoint him. That’s why he was so disappointed in is, I think. It was preemptive.”

  “It was. I think before we were even born, he had decided that we were just going to be burdens. That we would never live up to his expectations.”

  Mizu sighed. “You know how hard I used to try? In middle school, I was always practicing baseball. Always working ahead on homework. At first, I was doing it for him. It took me a long time to learn to do things for myself.”

  I nodded. We sat down next to each other at the kitchen counters.

  “Mom said that you might be upset lately because it’s the anniversary of Dad’s passing.”

  Mizu snorted. “Yeah. That’s not what I’m upset about. But…” he sighed. “God, Kuro. You ever feel bad? Bad that we don’t care about the fact that our father is gone? I’m not happy that he’s dead by any means, but I feel surprisingly okay that he’s gone.”

  “I don’t think we should feel guilty.”

  “Sometimes I do. Sometimes I think that by not feeling depressed, I’m just living up to his disappointment. Then I think about what you said, about how I seem like Dad. Maybe I lack compassion, just like he did, and that’s why I am the way I am.”

  I shook my head. “I think it’s hard for the both of us to process our emotions. We were raised to suppress them. Happiness, sadness…the only thing that we learned to do is express anger. And we’ve expressed that through acting out. Through hurting people.”

  “Or killing innocent fish,” Mizu volunteered, coughing into his fist.

  “Or we hurt ourselves,” I said. “Like by doing a lot of party drugs.”

  “Or pushing ourselves too hard.”

  We smiled at each other. I can’t remember the last time I smiled at my brother, and it wasn’t over a snide remark.

  “I think…I think I need help,” Mizu said slowly. “You’re right. What I’ve done to Phillip…it’s awful. I can’t take that back. And I can’t expect to repair our relationship. But I don’t want to lose you.”

  I tilted my head to the side, confused.

  “You’re the only one who understands what I went through, because you went through the same thing,” Mizu explained. “And Mom…Mom was so complicit in all of it. I know he hurt her, too, but…she didn’t protect us. Her children. I can’t talk to Mom because she just says, well, that was how he is.”

  “She’s always made excuses for him,” I rolled my eyes. “It was easier for her to dismiss him than confront him and try to get him to change. Deep down, she knew he wouldn’t change.”

  Mizu nodded.

  “I think that getting help would do you some good,” I said. “Are you just thinking about going to a therapist?”

  “Yeah.” Doubt surfaced in his expression. “At this point in my life, I feel like a lost cause. Could a therapist even help me? How am I supposed to unlearn all of these behaviors?”

  “By being patient with yourself and taking time to recognize what you’re doing wrong. And then…fixing it,” I whispered. “We’re not preemptive disappointments. I think as long as we’re here, we have a chance to make things better. You don’t have to do it alone.”

  Mizu nodded. He rolled the empty water glass around and around in his hands. He glanced over at me.

  “I won’t come back here again. I know he’s uncomfortable with my being here, and now I realize it’s important to respect that. I just needed to see you.”

  “Yeah. That’s okay.”

  “Besides, I’m sure you want to spend your Sunday having more fun,” Mizu teased.

  “What do you…?”

  Mizu pointed to my neck, rolling his eyes. I pulled out my phone and switched on the front facing camera. Apparently, Phillip had planted a large, bright red hickey on the base of my neck. Instantly my hand flew up to cover it.

  “Shit,” I muttered, my eyes widening.

  “Anyways, that’s all I came to say,” he said, walking over to the front door. “Text me sometime. We should go out for lunch.”

  “Just the two of us?”

  Mizu bit his lip and nodded. “If Phillip wants to come, too, he can. But I’m assuming he won’t want to. Maybe someday he will.”

  With that, my brother gave me one last smile and left the apartment. My hand still covering the offending mark, I walked over to Phillip’s room and knocked on the door.

  He unlocked the door and invited me in.

  He must have been working on his computer, typing away on some program. On the other monitor, a YouTube video played. Although we had only been here a few days, the rest of his desk was already a mess. Little figurines had fallen over, papers were scattered, and displaced pens were rolling around every time he moved his mouse. How he could manage to work in an environment like this was beyond me, but endlessly fascinating.

  Phillip wheeled around in his office chair to face me. He smiled softly.

  “I’m sorry about that,” I said. “He had to talk to me about…a lot. It was a lot of things. Honestly it was the most personal conversation I’ve ever had with him.”

  I sat down on Phillip’s bed. I could smell the fabric softener on the freshly washed duvet, and faint whiffs of his Polo Blue cologne.

  “It’s okay. I’m glad he didn’t try to come after me, honestly.” Phillip ran a hand through his hair.

  “Did you hear what we were talking about?”

  “A little bit, mostly towards the end. Sounds like he’s getting help. I’m glad. He needs it.”

  “Honestly, I think we both do. I think a therapist could help.”

  “To…to help you work through your trauma with your dad?”

  “Yeah. Not that I know if my insurance covers it. I’m on state insurance. I don’t know if they’ll do it. And I hate talking to the county. The waiting feels endless when dealing with them.”

  He reached across and squeezed my hands. I looked up at him.

  “If you need help, you need help. And it’s worth seeking it. And if you need help to get o
ver the obstacles, you just let me know. Okay?”

  I smiled. “Okay.”

  We exchanged a kiss. I loved the softness of his tender touch on my cheek. I pointed to the hickey he left.

  “We need to talk about this,” I said, laughing. “You can’t leave marks on my neck if we’re going to keep doing this.”

  “If we’re going to keep doing this?” Phillip responded, arching a brow.

  I blushed. “If you want to…keep doing this. I don’t know what to call it.”

  “Boyfriends?”

  “Boyfriends!”

  “Uh, yeah. Boyfriends?”

  “It’s not too soon for you, is it?”

  Phillip grinned. “I know how to take things slow.”

  “Slow,” I repeated, smirking. “We had sex without ever having been on a date.”

  “So, what you’re saying is you want me to take you out on a date?”

  “Well now that you mention it, sushi would be nice. Have you ever been to Midori’s, over in St. Paul?”

  Phillip shook his head. “No, but I’ve heard good things.”

  “It’s just a trek over on the light rail; maybe a bus ride or two. What do you say?” I squeezed his hands. “Are you up for an adventure tonight?”

  “Yeah,” he said, smiling softly. “I’m up for whatever adventures you want to go on.”

  THE END

  ABOUT CHLOE SPENCER

  Chloe Spencer is a Minneapolis based author and freelance writer who enjoys playing too many video games and rereading terrible fan fiction from her teen years. She is a writer for GameLuster, a news site focused on video games, and formerly interned with Kotaku. In her spare time, she also writes and draws for Cross X Comix, a web comic site dedicated to diverse sci-fi and fantasy narratives.

  For more information, visit chloespenceronline.com.

  ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC

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