The Bravest Thing

by Laura Lascarso

  “Let’s get out of here,” I say to Hiro without taking my eyes off Seth. I don’t want Hiro using his voice if it’s painful and besides, you don’t negotiate with terrorists. I glare at Seth, my hands itching to knock him the hell out. If he tries to touch Hiro, I’ll destroy him.

  “You know it’s only going to get worse after this,” Seth says, shifting his weight to catch Hiro’s eye. I block him. Ten years of football has taught me a thing or two. “Pretty soon you’ll be puking. Nosebleeds. Panic attacks. You really want your mother to see you like that?”

  Hiro whimpers behind me. Seth knows just what screws to turn to make him cower. I turn slightly so that Hiro knows I’m talking to him. I don’t think he’s completely with it. “I’m bringing you home with me, Hiro. You can stay in the barn until you feel better. You don’t have to see your parents until you’re ready.”

  “It won’t be like it was in rehab,” Seth continues. “It’ll be dirty and disgusting and it’ll make you want to die. You really want your beefcake here to see you like that?”

  “Ignore him, Hiro. He knows he’s losing.”

  I move sideways toward the door, just a few feet away. Seth jumps into my path and swings the guitar wildly. I snatch it from him and throw it on the ground. I could have clobbered him with it, but I don’t want to scare Hiro. I know he’s having doubts. If I put Seth in the hospital, Hiro might not leave here with me. Seth turns his crazy eyes on me.

  “You know who he ran to when your hillbilly friends branded him? It was me. He loves me, and he always will.” He makes another appeal to Hiro. “I made a mistake, Hiroku. I was drunk and high and I didn’t know what I was doing, but it’ll never happen again, I promise. I love you so much. Please, don’t leave me again.”

  “That’s not love,” I say to Seth through clenched teeth. “You could have killed him, you sick son of a bitch. Now get the hell out of the way.” I reach behind me to make sure Hiro’s still with me. He grabs my hand and I squeeze. There’s a backpack on the floor I recognize as Hiro’s. I sling it over my shoulder, and we scoot sideways out the door.

  Outside, I guide Hiro to my truck, with Seth shouting threats the whole way. Hiro is so weak, shivering and hunched over. It scares me to see him like that. I just want to get him out of here. The sooner we can get away, the better.

  “All that footage you took of us, Hiroku?” Seth shouts. “Gone. I won’t release it to you. You’ll never see your bike again. All that camera equipment you left behind, I’ll make a bonfire with it.”

  I boost Hiro into the cab and shut the door behind him. With him secure, I don’t worry so much about tangling with Seth. He throws a rock, and it hits me in the thigh. I walk over and stick him good in the gut. He doubles over, gasping, and grips his stomach. I want to hit him again, maybe break his nose, but I know Hiro is watching. I don’t want to be the bad guy or stress Hiro out anymore.

  It’ll take Seth a few minutes to recover anyway, enough time for us to get the hell out of here.

  “What about your bike?” I ask as soon as I’m in the truck.

  He shakes his head and hides his face in his hands. “Just go, Berlin.” My heart breaks for him. The guilt weighs on me too. If I’d protected him from Trent and the others, he would have never run away from home.

  We get a couple of miles out of town. He’s shivering so bad his teeth are chattering. I pull over and get a couple of flannels from the back of my truck, since the blanket he had in the trailer got lost in the scuffle. I also give him a work rag for his runny nose and some sunglasses because he keeps squinting like the light is painful. My truck doesn’t have air-conditioning, so we drive with the windows down. One minute he’s sweating. The next he’s wrapped up in the flannels.

  “Do you need a doctor?” I don’t know what’s normal in this situation, but he seems to be in a hell of a lot of pain and discomfort.

  “No, I’ll be fine.”

  “Try to get some sleep.” I pat the bench seat, and he curls up with the flannels and lays his head against my thigh. We don’t talk much. He’s only partially present, and I know his throat is hurting. In my mind, he’s the football and my barn is ten yards downfield. I just have to get him there, and I’ll figure out the rest later.

  We come up on a gas station, and I ask him if Gatorade and cough syrup might help. He nods pitifully, so I run inside to get him some medicine along with tissues and whatever else I think will help him along.

  When I come back outside, he’s doubled over in the parking lot, puking and clutching his throat. Judging from the bruises on his neck, I bet it’s agonizing. I set the stuff in my truck and rush over to him.

  “I’m a fucking mess,” he wails, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. I hug him to me, attracting the attention of everyone in the parking lot and probably those inside the gas station as well. “It’s going to get worse than this, Berlin,” he moans. “I’m going to say shit I don’t mean, just to be nasty. It’s not me, though, okay? You have to know that.”

  “It’ll pass,” I whisper, patting his head to calm him down. “Be brave now. I know you can do it.”

  I lead him back to the truck, set him up with a bottle of Gatorade and some cough syrup. He curls into a ball, then shivers and moans until he falls into a fitful, restless sleep.

  Hiroku

  THE DRUGS aren’t going to leave my system without a fight. They have to punish every bit of me on their way out. You’re going to miss me, motherfucker.

  I’m some primitive version of myself, twisting and writhing in my own primordial goo, emptying my guts and bowels with irregularity, the absolute worst and grossest version of myself. God, how I hate Berlin seeing me like this.

  “Get out,” I say to him in between dry heaves over the toilet. We’re in the barn, day two. He stands at the sink, glancing from me to the door, unsure of what to do. “Get the fuck out,” I yell as loud as I can, which isn’t very loud because my throat is wrecked from all the vomiting and sneezing.

  He leaves the barn, and I wash my mouth out and stumble back toward the window to search for him outside. I start to panic he isn’t coming back, then see him crossing the yard with a basket in his arms. Once he’s upstairs, I see he has all kinds of tea. “For your throat,” he says like an apology, which makes me feel even shittier about the way I’m treating him.

  I collapse in the bed and squirm in the sheets, trying to get comfortable while Berlin heats up a teakettle. Every nerve in my body is raw and throbbing. The slightest noise sounds like a jet plane. The littlest discomfort is the worst kind of pain. It’s like a flu from hell, and all I can think about is getting high, just to end this suffering. One hit is all it will take. I’d give anything to get rid of this sickness.

  Berlin makes tea and I drink some of it, feeling resentful and pissy and ungrateful. “You should have left me there,” I say. “You shouldn’t have brought me back here.”

  I want him to argue with me, maybe even hit me. It’s the drugs, partly, and also because I need to be punished.

  “He would have killed you, Hiro. You were right to call me. That guy is bad news.”

  “I’m bad news,” I shout, ripping my throat to shreds.

  Berlin shakes his head slowly. His eyes crinkle with kindness. I hate myself even more.

  “You’re not bad news,” he says softly. “You’re the best news I’ve had in a long time.”

  I tear my eyes away from him. He must be blind. Doesn’t he see the ruin of a person that sits before him? What does he even see in me at all? There’s nothing here worth saving. “I’m a junkie and a dropout. I’m a fucking loser, Berlin.”

  He pulls me to him and strokes my back. My tremors subside for the moment. My erratic breath follows his rhythm. I get snot all over his T-shirt and cough into his chest. Pathetic.

  “Take it one day at a time,” he says. “Just focus right now on getting better, okay?”

  I nod miserably and start crying. He rocks me slowly like my mom used to. I don�
�t even have to hold on. He does all the work.

  “Everything hurts,” I moan. I want to die.

  “I know it does,” he says soothingly. “You want to try a bath?” I shrug, unable to make even the most basic decisions. He leaves and comes back a few minutes later to tell me the water is ready. He helps me cross the room. My whole body starts quaking. I can’t remember the last time I showered. I’m fucking disgusting.

  “Do you need help?” he asks. I forget why I’m there and glance around the bathroom, disoriented.

  “I don’t know,” I say testily. He gently helps me remove my shirt and pants. I sit on the toilet while he pulls my jeans the rest of the way. He peels off my stinky socks. Then he helps me climb into the bath. My body’s so weak, absolutely wrecked.

  His eyes keep darting to the brand, and I don’t do anything to hide it. I’ve given myself over to him completely. My wasted body is in his hands.

  “Is the temperature okay?” he asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say again. My internal thermometer is broken, but the water is soothing. I lie back into it and close my eyes. I must have fallen asleep, because Berlin is pulling me up out of the water by my shoulders. He places a pillow behind my head, right there on the back of the bathtub, and I go under.

  When I wake up, I’m in bed, wearing one of his T-shirts and boxer shorts. They’re big on me. I’m practically swimming in them. It’s nighttime and I’m alone. My heart races with panic. He left me by myself. I start freaking out.

  “I’m right here,” he says quietly. He’s lying on his back on the other side of the bed. He rolls over onto his side to face me, opens his arms, and I scoot closer so he can hold me. I breathe in his scent. I must be getting better. I can smell again.

  “Don’t go,” I beg. I can’t do this without him.

  “I won’t.”

  Berlin

  THE FIRST couple of days are the worst, because Hiro is so sick, and I worry my nursing skills aren’t up to snuff. If I ever doubted that drugs are poison, watching Hiro come off them proves it to me. Seeing him suffer like that makes me wish I could take all his pain and discomfort and make it my own.

  I picked him up on a Friday. By Tuesday he’s acting more like himself, starting to eat again and move around without cringing in pain. The look in his eyes concerns me, though. The lights are out. I don’t know if it’s coming off drugs or if it’s waking up from his stupor to find himself in my barn. I know it wasn’t a mistake to bring him here, but maybe he thinks it was.

  “What day is it?” he asks. I’ve made scrambled eggs and toast for him, but he only ever eats half of what I give him, so I usually end up eating the rest. He’s lost a lot of weight, especially in the past few days. I’m trying to fatten him up a bit.

  “Tuesday.”

  He counts on his fingers, then glances up at me. “Don’t you have school?”

  “I’m taking the week off.”

  “For me?” His head jerks back like he’s shocked. He’s worth a few missed days of school. He needs me and I want to be here for him. Maybe, too, in my selfishness, I think this could somehow make up for letting him down before.

  “It’s no big deal,” I say. “I’m not too sore about missing school either. It’s kind of a bonus.”

  “Is your dad okay with it?” he asks, a worried look in his eyes.

  “He came around.” He wasn’t on board at first, but I rarely stick my heels in on something. My dad knows it’s a fight he’s going to lose.

  “Has school been bad?” Hiro asks and winces like he knows exactly how bad it’s been. I shrug. I don’t want to turn this into a pity party. “Are you off the team?”

  I nod. “Yeah, I quit.”

  “I’m sorry.” His head slumps forward and his shoulders cave. The last thing I want is for him to feel bad for me. I angle the wooden chair toward him and grab his hands.

  “I’m sorry, Hiro. I had the chance to come out to Trent and I didn’t. You tried to tell me and I didn’t listen. I should have been there to protect you and I wasn’t.”

  He glances away. I can see him going off into the other place he goes whenever the subject at hand becomes too painful.

  “I don’t want to talk about that,” he says quietly and rubs at his chest. I don’t think he even knows he’s doing it. I swallow. I got a long, hard look at his scar when he fell asleep in the tub the other day. I let that happen.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I say, tracing his long, slender fingers. “You shouldn’t be sorry for my sake. I came out to my dad, school, and my church. I’m not hiding it anymore. You helped me do that.”

  He smiles, or at least he tries to. I don’t think he has it in him just yet.

  “I should call my mom,” he says. I pull out my phone and hand it to him, grateful that I won’t have to stress about it anymore. I’ve wanted to call her a thousand times, just to tell her he’s with me and he’s safe, but I didn’t want to risk breaking his trust again.

  “You mind if I talk to her alone for a few minutes?” he says.

  “I’ll run up to the store. Want anything?” He shakes his head. I’m worried he’s not eating enough, so I ask again, “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m good.”

  I drive out to the Pac N Sac and come back with a few bags of groceries. I don’t really know what vegetarians eat on a day-to-day basis, other than not meat. I figure beans are a good choice, and peanut butter. Maybe I can get him to make me a list next time. When I get back, Hiro is downstairs in the barn, petting Sheila’s nose and talking softly to her. My heart jumps at the sight of him. He glances over at me.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” I say.

  “It’s okay. I was waiting for you. Let me help.”

  I leave the lightest bag for him, and he follows me upstairs. I put the groceries away while he stands in the middle of the room, looking nervous and flighty.

  “What’s up?” I ask. I pull out two jars of peanut butter. I didn’t know if he likes smooth or crunchy, so I got one of each.

  “My dad’s not happy with me.” He scratches at his arms. “I don’t think I can go home.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  He looks at me like I’m being ridiculous. “I can’t stay here.”

  “Of course you can.” I never intended for him to leave.

  “Your dad—”

  “He doesn’t mind.”

  “I can’t keep mooching off you, Berlin. You’ve done more than enough already.”

  I set down the jar in my hand and join him in the middle of the room. He doesn’t always believe what I tell him, but he understands me in other ways. I pull him toward me.

  “I don’t want you to go. It makes me feel better to know you’re here. Safe.”

  He pulls away and goes over to the window, looks out onto the yard with his hands on his hips. He’s too skinny, all angles and jutting bones.

  “Talk to me,” I say after a spell. I know he’s cooking up something. His mind runs a mile a minute.

  “I can’t stay here without offering you some form of payment,” he says at last.

  I swallow tightly and remember our first encounter in my truck, the offer he made in exchange for protection. I don’t think that’s what he means now, but I can’t be sure. I also don’t want to ask.

  “You don’t owe me anything,” I say cautiously.

  “Then I can’t stay.” He drops his arms and turns like he’s going to walk out on me again. I start to panic, wracking my brain for an alternative.

  “You can help with the horses.” If he needs to feel useful, there’s always work to be done around the farm. Our horses never get enough exercise. Some of them are out of shape and out of practice. “I can train you up this week. You can start whenever you’re ready.”

  He glances over his shoulder, knobby underneath the shirt I gave him. He needs some clothes that fit him properly. It’ll help him to feel more like himself. Maybe we can stop by his house and pick up some of his clothes.


  He nods, but his eyes still look distant and sad.

  Evening’s coming on, and I realize that other than going out to get more food, I haven’t left his side since I picked him up in Allister five days ago. Maybe he needs some time alone. I don’t want him to get sick of me or overstay my welcome. “You want me to go?” I ask. “This is your place now.”

  “No,” he says quietly, like it pains him to say it. “Stay.”

  He shuffles over and I wrap my arms around him. He leans his cheek against my shoulder. “Thank you,” he says softly. “For everything.”

  I hold him closer. “We make a good team.” And then, because it’s all I can think about, “Just don’t run off on me again, okay?”

  He nods. “I promise I won’t.”

  Hiroku

  COUNTRY LIVING suits me. I like the regularity of chores, and the horses give me plenty to do while Berlin’s at school. Over the next couple of weeks, I take all the horses out in turn, exploring more of the property as I gain confidence in my riding. Each one has a different personality and quirks, different preferences for how they’re handled and what treats they like best. They were unsure of me at first—after all, no one can compare to Berlin—but I remember what they like and I pay attention to how they’re feeling, so they’re coming around. They’re all special to me, but Sheila is still my favorite. I like her spirit and her spunk.

  I get to know Berlin’s dad as well. He’s a man of few words but a kind heart, like his son. The first week, Mr. Webber eyes me from a distance, kind of like he did the first time we met. By the second week, he’s offering suggestions on how to save myself time and energy mucking out the stalls. He gives me a retractable blade for opening hay bales and shows me how to shovel horse manure using the muscles in my legs instead of my back.

  “You’re young now, but you’ll feel it after ten, twenty years. Best to learn good habits from the start,” he says.

  Like Berlin, when his father talks, it’s in longevity. I wonder what it must be like to be born, live, and die on the same plot of land, to know you’ll always have a place to belong. I find comfort in it, especially on land as beautiful as this. It must have been so hard for Berlin to come out in this community, knowing that relationships might forever be severed. It’s not like he can pick up and move, not without losing a huge piece of his identity.