Even Wilder

by Bria Leigh

  I spent the next day helping Mom take down all the Christmas decorations and put them back in the attic. And when we finished, we made soup for Wilder and Bing. They were still struggling with the death of their mother. And Bing was still giving Wilder a hard time.

  He wasn’t handling it well at all. Not knowing how to fix something was killing him. And more and more beer bottles were gathering around his house.

  I knew I should be back at school, but I couldn’t leave now when he needed me.

  Mom snapped the lid on the soup and handed it over to me.

  “Thanks. I’ll run this over and probably come back,” I told her.

  “No worries.” She picked her phone up from the counter. She had been carrying it around a lot more. And when I asked her what the deal was, she smiled and admitted she was talking to Garrett. Normally, I’d have been happy that my plan worked out. But now I was in a different place. I was worried about Wilder. I was confused about what the hell we were doing — wondering if the blow job was a bad idea.

  I was about to find out.

  I headed across the street with the soup and climbed the front porch knocking on the door.

  “Hey,” Wilder answered. “What’s that?”

  “Soup.”

  He moved out of the way so I could come inside and shut the door.

  “He’s in bed.”

  “It’s six. Did Bing get out of bed at all today?”

  “To take a piss. He took some medicine for his headache and went back to sleep.”

  I sighed. “This is not okay. You don’t think this is okay, do you?”

  “His mom was murdered. The doctors said he’s going to have a hard time. They suggested professional help.”

  I walked the food in the kitchen and took two bowls out of the cupboard. I found some spoons and something to dish the soup.

  “Well, I think that’s a good idea. You should look into it.” I walked the first bowl over to the table. “Eat.”

  Wilder sat down. “A psychologist isn’t going to fix this.”

  I made another bowl for Bing. “You don’t know unless you try. Maybe even a memorial or something for her will help.”

  “I’m not having a fucking funeral for her!”

  I flinched, not expecting the anger that escaped from him when I mentioned his mother.

  “Well, what do you want then?”

  “For you to let me figure it out.”

  “You think a couple more beers will do the trick?” I shook my head, angry with him. “You’re nothing but angry about this whole thing. Bing loved her. Maybe you didn’t, but he did. Forget about your feelings for a minute and do this for your brother.”

  Wilder shoved the bowl of soup across the table, and it sloshed out, spilling all over the place. He slammed his fist next and shot out of his chair, sending it flying backward.

  “This is what you’re going to do?”

  “I guess so,” he snapped, going out the door, letting it slam shut behind him.

  I went after him.

  “This isn’t how you should be handling this.”

  He stopped on the sidewalk. I think he was about to take off. Ready to escape from the shit going on in his house instead of dealing with it.

  “How do you suppose we fix it? Your dad fucked you, and you buried that deep down inside somewhere. Tell me how that’s working out for you.”

  Words fucking hurt, and he knew it. Wilder had never taken such a low blow. I knew it was his anger and mourning talking but it still fucking hurt.

  “It’s not working. That’s why I deal with assholes like you.” I wasn’t mean. I didn’t do this kind of thing. But I was angry. All I wanted to do was make him feel the way I felt.

  He laughed, his face red, and when he looked at me, his eyes were hard and cold. Not the loving eyes I was used to seeing.

  “Then go the fuck back to school, Violet.”

  SEEING WILDER’S FACE on Saint’s Instagram post told me I did the right thing going back to school. Instead of dealing with the shitty situation life gave him, he decided to party with Saint. The guy that didn’t even care about him.

  The Wilder I knew was slowly evaporating right before my eyes, and he didn’t even care.

  Day after day, the post kept coming. Wilder never looked anything but drunk. He had his tongue down a different girl's throat every picture. And he looked completely happy about it.

  Wilder could go fuck himself. I was no longer willing to care about someone who didn’t even care about themselves.

  Wilder

  I KNEW THIS WASN’T where I should be. I wanted to get it right for once in my damn life. But no, I was standing in the middle of Saint’s house party, clutching a bottle of vodka to my chest, beyond wasted and beyond making the right decision.

  I was consciously obliterating my will to give a fuck because I didn’t want to give a fuck anymore. I wanted to throw all the fucks in a dumpster.

  Looking at my life, did I fix anything being the person I had been for all these years?

  Mom was dead. Violet would probably never talk to me again. Bing was never coming out of that fucking bedroom.

  So this bottle of vodka made all the sense in the world. It was the only thing I needed.

  The party had been going on for hours.

  I was in the middle of a crowd of girls, hardly able to stay on my feet. All of them wanting my attention and the only thing I could focus on was the way the room was tilting and how I felt like I was on a fucking carnival ride.

  I knew it wasn’t helping anything, but if I believed it did, I could keep going. I could continue blotting out the shit. I could fuck one random girl after another and not think about Violet.

  I could drink another bottle of liquor and not want to punch Saint’s face. I could forget that he did me dirty and party with him like nothing ever happened.

  She left me. She left me because I was a fucking moron.

  I threw the most hurtful words I could find at her. And she left just like I wanted her to. She was back at school, living her life, hurting because she cared about me no matter how much she tried to pretend she didn’t. But she was pretending she didn’t anymore.

  She wasn’t going to call me. She was going to act as if she did not give a fuck about me. Even if it killed her, she would get her point across that she didn’t give a fuck about me.

  I was going to make love to her. I wanted to show her what she meant to me. I didn’t even know why I thought that was going to work out. What have I ever done in my life that equated to fucking loving someone the way they should be loved?

  I tipped the bottle of vodka and finished it off and let it drop. And I started moving to the music. I didn’t care about the bitch next to me with her tits and ass out. Hoping she could get a hold of me in the bathroom. She wanted to be the latest girl who got a taste of Wilder’s dick.

  “Wilder get your ass over here,” Saint shouted from across the room. “I got some people I want you to meet.”

  I decided I would humor him.

  “What can I do for you tonight?” I said.

  “This is Lydia, and this is Simone.” Saint had his arms around both of them. “They are very wild girls looking for some fun.”

  Lydia and Simone both smiled at me.

  “Cool. Cool. How about I hold the camera while you let Lydia and Simone suck your dick this time?”

  “Wilder. Come on, man. They came to have a good time.”

  “Do you two realize that this guy is going to post your asses all across the internet for his own fucked up satisfaction?” I didn’t care who heard and was watching. I wanted to tell it like it was.

  “He’s joking.” Saint shook his head, trying to keep the smile on his face because he was only thinking about fucking these girls. And he needed my cooperation. Saint couldn’t get girls without his trusty wingman—Wilder.

  “You’re going to have to fuck these girls on your own. I’m busy.”

  Saint was on my heels. H
e jerked me to a stop. “What the fuck is your problem?”

  “Oh, where do you want me to start?”

  “This is what we do. I bring the girls you help me bang them. This doesn’t work without you.” He grabbed me by the arm. I didn’t want him touching me.

  I yanked my arm out of his grip. “Not feeling it right now. Maybe try being less of an asshole, and maybe one of them will have a little pity for you.”

  “Fuck off.” Saint was fuming and seething out of his little blonde buzzcut. I could see the steam rising. He might punch me this time.

  “You know Violet came to me when you were at the hospital?”

  This caught my attention. Violet had gone home.

  I should have left. But I was still standing there in the middle of his house plastered.

  “I told her I wasn’t into her, but she could suck my dick if she wanted to.” His grin was ear to ear.

  I headbutted him, crashing into his face. We hurtled through the crowd and landed on the floor taking a couple of girls down with us.

  “Does that make you angry?” Saint was on top of me, swinging. Because he knew as soon as I got a hold of him, it was over.

  “I’m going to fucking kill you,” I seethed, taking him down to the ground, I overpowered him. I pinned him down and looked him in the eye. I wanted my face to be the last thing he saw before he took his final breath.

  “I told you not to talk about her.” I threw the first blow. It felt good, so good I did it again. A third and fourth blow flew easily, and all my aggression was able to release.

  But it didn’t last long. Two guys at the party tackled me before I could kill him. And a couple of girls helped Saint to his feet.

  “Are you going to calm down?” They asked me. They weren’t letting me up until I said so.

  “I’m cool. Totally cool.” They released me and helped me to my feet.

  It was time to get the hell out of there before Saint called the cops on me and pressed charges. I grabbed a beer on the way out and held it against my knuckles. Saint’s face was as hard as I imagined—he was a hard-headed son of a bitch.

  A couple of street lights were on as I walked down the sidewalk back to my place.

  “Wilder.” I knew that voice anywhere. Only this time, it was angry.

  “Sup.”

  Violet’s mom was on my heels. “Stop walking. Where are you going?”

  “I’m going home to check on my brother. Why are you out here so late?”

  She snagged me by the shirt, almost sending me on my ass. “Because your brother came to my house looking for you. And now I am looking for you.”

  “Here I am.” I gave a wave, refusing to look her in the eyes. I was too ashamed to do that.

  “He’s twelve years old, and he has just lost his mother. He needs you right now.” She shook her head. “And not in this condition. You are wasted.”

  “I can’t fix any of this.” I sighed, twisting the cap off the beer. “I can’t help Bing. I lost Violet. Beer is what I have now.”

  “That’s pathetic, and you know it.” She grabbed the beer out of my hand when I tried to down it. “Get home and go to bed.”

  “I don’t need you telling me what to do. I think that’s behind us now, Lorna. Violet and I are done, I fucked it up. You don’t need to worry about me anymore.” I tripped on the sidewalk and fell right there in front of Violet’s mother, right next to a trash can—the perfect place for me.

  “I will always worry about you,” she said, helping me back up. She was a lot taller than Violet. And she smelled different than her. More like wildflowers than coconuts. “Violet loves you, and I love you.”

  “You shouldn’t. Because I’m fucked up.”

  We managed to make it to the porch of my house. Bing opened the door and let us inside. He helped her get me on the couch.

  She stood there, hands on her hips, trying to figure out what to do with me. “I’m going to make you some potatoes and eggs. It always worked when I was younger after a night of drinking.”

  I fell back on the couch and shut my eyes. The whole world was spinning way too fast.

  She went to the kitchen and started rummaging through my cupboards. She had one thing on her mind, and that was feeding me. “I don’t know why you would think Violet would ever give up on you. But she wouldn’t. She’s just mad.”

  “She’s over me. She’s over the entire thing. I said too much, Lorna. I fucked it up.” The room kept spinning. It was time to admit how much of an asshole I was. “I told her she was fucked up because of what Tom did to her. I brought that up. Something that I know still bothers her to this day. I acted like she was pathetic because of it.”

  She banged the skillet against the counter. “Where are your potatoes?”

  “I snapped at her when she was only trying to help.”

  “Wilder. The potatoes.” She started opening cupboard after cupboard. “I don’t want to hear all of this.”

  “Why? Because you know its going to make you hate me?”

  “Because I’m not going to let you pity yourself. Now stop it.”

  I shut my eyes. “This is not pity believe me.”

  “Wilder. Your brother needs you. Quit being a selfish asshole and man the fuck up already. Your mom is dead. You’re angry, you have no choice but to get over it. Because that is how this stuff works. Life isn’t how you want it to be. Sometimes it fucks you hard. Man up and take care of Bing!”

  Well shit. I never heard Violet’s mom scream at anyone the way she screamed at me. I sat up on the couch, suddenly less drunk and more sober.

  “Potatoes are in the bin by the microwave stand.” I told her, standing up to help.

  BING WAS SITTING ON his bed when I came into his room. This time he wasn’t sleeping. He was going through a box of old pokemon cards.

  I sat down at the end of his bed and started doing the same. I never got into the shit, but he did. He tried to teach me about them once, but I didn’t get it.

  “Is this Pikachu?” I showed him the card in my hand.

  He grinned and shook his head. “Nope. Pikachu is yellow. That’s Dewott.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine.”

  “When you going back to school?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. All the kids are going to ask how it happened, what I saw. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

  “Tell them to fuck off.” He didn’t owe any of those kids a play by play of his mothers’ death. It was sick even to think they would want it.

  “It’s not that easy.” He shrugged, looking at me. “How are you feeling?”

  “Sick.” I shoveled half the potatoes and eggs that Lorna made in, and it almost immediately came back out. I ended the night slumped over the toilet bowl. “Kind of tired.”

  “I’m going to be okay.” Bing concentrated on the pile of cards in front of him. “She was the only person I had besides you. I don’t have friends at school. I had Mom and you.”

  “You still have me.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not always going to be that way.”

  I scratched my head, picking up some more cards. “Why not?”

  “Eventually, you’ll get married or move away. You might even have kids. You’re not going to want me always hanging around.”

  I tossed the cards on the bed and then just pushed them out of the way and grabbed him. “It doesn’t matter what I do or where I go. You will always be a part of my life.”

  He gripped my arm. “Okay.”

  “I love you, Bing. And you mean more to me than anyone.” I kissed the top of his head.

  “Even more than Violet?” He pulled away and smirked at me.

  “Being my little brother outranks everyone.” I sighed. I had really fucked up—again.

  “Are you going to call her?”

  I sighed, running a hand down the back of my neck. If I called Violet, I had to use words and apologize—and I had none. There wasn’t anything I could say
to make her feel better about what I said. She was sexually abused by her stepfather and I tossed it out there like some football. All because I was trying to shut her and everyone else out.

  “What would you do if you were me?”

  Bing thought about it. “I’d apologize because that’s what you do for the people you care about.”

  “You’re really smart for twelve,” I said, giving him a playful shove.

  Wilder

  BING WAS IN BED ASLEEP. And I managed to shower, shave and pick up the house. I dropped down on the sofa with my phone and started making an apology.

  I don’t expect you to say anything to me. What I did was beyond wrong. It was a complete fucking asshole move. And I’m an asshole. I don’t deserve you and your friendship.

  I want you to know that I’m sorry because that’s the only thing that matters to me. I am sorry for making you feel what happened to you was anything other than awful.

  Wilder

  I hit send, and I went to bed. My gut was full of stress and booze probably. I was too afraid to be by my phone because I didn’t know what scared me more—her not replying or her replying.

  Violet

  EVERYONE AT THE TABLE was laughing and having a good time. Except me because Wilder texted me. I set my playing cards down and picked up my phone.

  “What’s that?” Kat asked she was sitting next to me. And she was the reason behind the game night in our apartment. She welcomed me back with hugs and gossip about everything that happened back home.

  And when I told her how horrible my holiday was, she cried right along with me and promised she would do whatever needed to be done to help me recover from such an awful time.

  Kat knew everything, and it was easy to talk to her about how I felt. And her friends weren’t assholes. I felt welcome, and I finally fit in. It was nice and made it way easier to forget about Wilder.

  But now that he texted me all the happiness I was feeling melted away, and I just felt terrible.

  “Wilder is apologizing,” I said, rolling my eyes.