Two

The phone was ringing. I was running to the kitchen, needing to answer it. 

It was you. It had to be you. We hadn’t talked since you left for university. It had been nearly two weeks. It had to be you.

“Hello?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from rising in pitch.

“Good afternoon. Is this the home of Mr. Thomas?” It wasn’t you. It was a gruff voice, a man’s voice.

“Speaking.” I lied. I don’t know why I did it. I don’t know why I lied. I just felt like I had too.

“Sir, I’m a police officer in New York. My name is Jeff Bradbury. I’ve been investigating a string of murders in the city. God, I don’t know how to tell you-” I dropped the phone.

No. No, no. My heart was ripping into pieces. My brain was going the speed of sound. And my knees gave out. I clung to the leg of the kitchen table.

I could hear the quiet voice of the police officer coming from the phone. But I couldn’t answer him.

I choked out sob after sob.  Everything was broken. My nails dug into the table leg, scratching the wood off, as I gripped it, not letting go.  It couldn’t be true.

 

Later, Mom and Dad would explain to me that you had been targeted because you were new to the area. They would tell me that we couldn’t bury you, because there wasn’t anything left of your body. Someone had set fire to your apartment after they had killed you. There was nothing left of you. Nothing at all.

 

Time moves. But I don’t feel it. It has no resonance in my world. Nothing does. Months pass. Years pass. I grow older. You stay the same.

They say time heals all wounds. It doesn’t. Not for me.

Days pass. Mom and Dad begin to collect their lives again. Hannah begins school. Months pass. Dad complains about late shipping orders. Mom complains about Dad. Hannah goes on dates, many dates. Years pass. Your empty bedroom becomes a workout room. You become a topic of history, a topic that isn’t allowed anymore. Years pass, and I become a shadow.

Dreams don’t exist. There is only happy memories and nightmares. Sometimes they blend into the same thing. Sometimes, there is nothing at all. Just blackness and silence and sadness.

There are no good days. There are no bad days. There are days when I go numb, and there are days when I feel. They both hurt the same. Nothing is happy.

Birthdays pass. I stay locked in my room. I can hug the sweater you forgot in the bottom drawer of my dresser. If I pretend and close my eyes tight, it still smells like you. You’re the only thing I want for my birthday.

Semesters pass. Friends leave, they move on. They don’t understand. They started to notice all the black I wear. They started to avoid me. They started to talk about me. They started to make rumours about me. About us. But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.

Nights are lonely. And  cold. And when I lay there alone in the darkness, I start to regret things. You always said, “Live without regrets, babe. You never know when it’s going to be your last chance.”

If I could go back, and rewrite our last night together, I would’ve done it so differently. I would’ve told you how I felt. I would have felt your body, traced every single line, every contour. I would have memorized you. What it felt like to be held by you. Maybe those things couldn’t be memorized anyway. Maybe it just couldn’t be the same without you.

 

I heard quiet feet walking outside my door. I sat upright, fisting the blankets, body shaking. The door opened slowly, and you slipped inside. I released a breath I hadn’t noticed I was holding. You locked the door, and walked towards me.

“Good, you’re awake.” You said, slipping under the covers with me. You lay next to me, patting your chest. I squirmed closer to you, resting my head on your chest.

“Hi.” I murmured quietly, wrapping my arm around your torso. Your arms wrapped around me, one resting on my hip, the other on my shoulder.

“I wanted to spend tonight with you.” You said, squeezing me. I could hear your heart beating like a drum through your ribcage.

“I’m glad. I’m so glad.” I said, contently.

“I wish I could take you with me.” You said. Your fingertips trailed along my hipbone, making me shiver. I looked up at you, but you were looking at the ceiling. You looked lost in thought. I laid my head down on your chest again.

“What am I going to do without you for two years?” I asked you, tracing the muscles along your abdomen.  I wanted to be closer to you, but I didn’t know how.

“It won’t be two years. I’ll be back for Christmas.”

“It won’t be the same. Mom will set you up on the couch in the basement. How are you going to sneak up here? They won’t leave us alone together. They don’t leave us alone now. God, I don’t understand why they’re so uptight. We aren’t doing anything wrong. What’s wrong about this? We’re just brothers.  Nothing more.” I said, gritting my teeth, and shaking my head. You squeezed me.

“Nothing more.” You repeated. Your voice sounded weird, unlike you. It wasn’t calm and cool, like your usual voice. It sounded…false. Sad, maybe.

“Did I say something wrong?” I asked quietly, looking up at you. You smiled softly up to the ceiling.

“You never say anything wrong.” You murmured, so soft it was almost silent. I wanted to be closer to you. I didn’t know how to be.

“Sebastian.” I breathed. “I want to stay like this forever.”

You breathed deeply. “We have the rest of forever,” You said. “There’s just a brief intermission.”

I laughed a short, desperate laugh. Who knew how much would change in the two years we’d be apart.

You rolled me gently, so I was facing the wall. You wrapped both arms around my waist, locking your arms around me. You were pulling me so I was closer to you. Both of our bodies were pressed together, your bare chest against my back. You intertwined your legs with mine. You buried your nose into my hair. Inhaling deeply. You pressed a kiss to the back of my head.

“I love you Sebastian. More than anything.”

 

Sometimes, I didn’t know if I loved you only as a brother.