by Jay McLean
I’m just upset.
Once we’re in her apartment, she orders me to sit on the floor in front of the couch. She sits behind me; her legs wrapped around my torso and her hands massaging my shoulders. I stretch my neck, welcoming her touch. “I needed this,” I tell her. My body was starting to feel the effects the rigorous training and the lack of actual rest. When I’m not at the gym, I’m with her—which means a lot of walking. The only time I get to sit down is during meals and, clearly, that isn’t enough.
“You seemed tense,” she says, digging her thumb under my shoulder blade. “Does it happen often?”
“What?”
“People praising you like that.”
“First time for me,” I tell her. “But I’ve heard stories about it.”
“And you don’t like it?”
I moan when her thumb finds a knot in the middle of my back. “I don’t deserve it,” I manage to say.
“You can’t say that—”
“Yeah, I can,” I cut in, leaning forward until her hands can’t reach me anymore.
“Why can’t you accept someone’s gratitude?”
I sit on the couch and pat my lap. She understands what I want. She crawls on her knees until she’s sitting on me, straddling my waist. She cups my face, kisses me once, and then pulls back, leaving her hands there. “What is it, babe?”
I push my head further into her hands.
And then I tell her.
I tell her everything.
KY
Age 17
It had been a week exactly since Jeff died, and a few days since the funeral...also the day I found out my ex-girlfriend was a whore. And I was so fucking sick of feeling. Seventeen years—hundreds of beatings—and I’d never felt as low as I did then. I wanted the pain of a thousand knives effortlessly stabbing my heart to stop. Just for one night. Hell, even for a few hours. So I did something I thought I’d never do.
I called Steve.
We hadn’t spoken since the night Jeff died, but if there was anyone that could help me forget, it was my drop-kick of a brother.
He didn’t answer. Not the first time and not the ten times after that.
I’d almost given up hope when it neared midnight, but then he called back. “I was working. What happened? Are you okay?” he rushed out—genuine concern in his voice. And for a moment, I remembered why I spent so many years admiring him. Because he did genuinely care.
“I’m fine.”
“So what’s up?”
“I need your help.”
“What kind of help, Ky?”
I stayed silent.
I heard a lighter flick and his inhale of a cigarette. “You’re after drugs, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I whispered, my voice trembling.
“No.”
“What? Why?”
“Because, Ky. You’re not like that. I’m not going to be responsible for—”
“Come on, Steve. I’ve asked you for nothing—ever. Just give me this.”
“I can’t,” he answered, taking another drag of his smoke. “I know what you’re feeling right now—I’ve been there. And I saw you at Jeff’s funeral.”
“You were there?”
“Exactly, Ky. You had no fucking clue what was going on around you. You think drugs will help?”
He laughed once, but not out of humor. “Trust me dude, I get it. How the fuck do you think I turned out the way I did?”
We were both silent for so long that I thought we were done. I’d almost hung up when he sighed loudly. “I kind of have other plans. I didn’t want to be doing anything tonight.
“Please, Steve? You know I wouldn’t ask...”
He spoke quietly to someone else, then said, “Fine. Meet me at my work. I don’t have anything on me, but there’s a field party where I can get some. I’ll take you there, get some stuff, but then I’m done, okay? I have company.”
***
There was no greeting when I pulled into the parking lot at his work. He reversed out of the spot and drove further out of town. I followed behind, my hands gripping the steering wheel tighter with every passing mile. There was a part of me that was anxious, maybe even afraid. But none of that compared to how badly I needed to forget.
By the time we got to the field, twenty minutes had passed. I waited with my hands shoved in my pockets while he helped his ‘company’ out of his car, rolling my eyes when I heard him ask her what her name was.
Steve made himself comfortable on the hood of my car; his girl pressed to his side while he ran his hand up and down her arm to warm her. “What are you thinking? Weed? Ecstasy?”
I stood in front of them, looking down at the ground, then I shrugged.
Steve laughed once. “Have you ever taken anything before?”
I was out of my element. I’d always been straight edge. Yeah, I’d drink on weekends, but I was always careful not to cross a certain line. Right now, I wanted that line crossed, and I wanted it far, far behind me. And Steve—he was going to help me do that.
My silence must have been answer enough. One phone call and five minutes later, some guy I’d never seen before started approaching us.
They shook hands, the way I’d seen so many times on TV when they were doing the discreet handover.
“We’ll start with weed,” Steve said, like it was the most casual thing in the world. He went back in his car, leaving his girl with me.
“Is this weird?” I asked her.
She was wearing clothes that seemed way too big on her. The hood of her sweatshirt covered most of her face, and the moonlight wasn’t enough to show the rest of it. She shrugged but didn’t say a word. Neither did I.
A minute later, he came back with a joint, sparked it, took a drag, and passed it to me.
I lifted the joint to my dry lips, nervously anticipating the effect it would have on me.
I choked.
It was the first time I’d smoked anything, and the harshness of it did immediate damage to my throat.
Steve laughed, patting me on my shoulder. “Take it easy, bro. You’re a virgin.”
I coughed until my eyes watered, and when I finally recovered, I took another drag, slower and more prepared this time. I offered the joint to his girl, but she politely declined.
“Now what?” I asked as he took it from between my fingers.
“Now we wait.”
I’d heard that the major side effect of weed, apart from the high, was the paranoia. It only took ten minutes and one more drag for me to start feeling it full force. Steve didn’t even look affected. Or maybe that’s just because he was high all the fucking time and I didn’t know better.
At some point, who knows how long, all three of us ended up lying on the hood of my car looking up at the stars. “I wish I may, I wish I might...” I mumbled.
“Fuck your wish,” Steve finished for me.
We both scoffed.
“Are you feeling it yet?” he asked.
“Feeling what?”
He didn’t answer right away. “Better. Did it work for you? Are you forgetting the pain?” His voice was low, distant.
I turned to him, but his eyes were closed. I tried to answer his question; did it work? I thought about Jeff and Ashlee, and I thought about Christine and Jax...then I felt something wet streaming down my cheek. Fuck, I was crying. I quickly wiped my tears, hoping that Steve hadn’t seen it.
“It didn’t, did it?” he said, but it wasn’t a question. “It doesn’t take the pain away. Sometimes, it even amplifies it.” He sighed, finally opening his eyes and turning to me. “I used to be you. At first, that’s why I did it...but it didn’t take anything away. That pain you feel, it’s inside you. It thrives, lives, and breathes in your head. Nothing can take that away from you...” Then he laughed—which sounded so off considering his words. “Kyler...I’m going to say this once, and then we’re going to forget I ever said it. You—you’re kind of amazing. The way you haven’t let it get to you like it did
me. I’m glad you have Jax and his family, man. But I have a feeling—even if they weren’t there—you’d still find a way to turn it all around, you know?”
His words had my head spinning.
Or maybe the car was spinning.
Fuck it. Maybe the entire world was spinning.
He continued. “You remember what I said the day I told you I was leaving?” he asked. He didn’t wait for my response. “You said ‘you shouldn’t let ’em take it.’ I asked you what the hell you were talking about it. You said ‘You, Steve, don’t let them own you.’” He raised his hand and wiped at his cheek. “But here I am, Ky, letting them take me. And you know why? Because that pain I feel, it’s inside me. Just like it’s inside you—and no amount of drugs can change that.” He brought up the girl’s hand he was holding and kissed the back of it. “Go home, Ky. Go home to your family...” He waved his finger in a circle, “. . . and be better than this. You don’t belong here.” It wasn’t said out of anger or bitterness. It seemed like he was resigned to the fact this was his life and at that moment, I could tell he fucking hated it.
“You don’t have to belong here either, Steve.”
He let out a bitter laugh. “A little late for all that.” He got off the hood and helped his girl down, and then offered me his hand.
To say that I felt like an ass was an understatement.
“Are you good to drive?” he asked, helping me into my car.
I told him was fine.
I wasn’t.
He nodded as he lit up a smoke. “I love you, bro. Take care, all right?”
I returned his nod, started the car, and peeled out of there.
I got about two miles down the road before I pulled over and puked. Fuck weed. And fuck Steve, because he was right. It didn’t help at all.
When I stumbled back in the car, I could barely move, let alone drive.
So I slept.
The sound of sirens startled me awake. My eyes tried to focus on a dozen cop cars and ambulances speeding past me. My full-blown paranoia took over. I got out of there as fast as possible, doing everything I could to keep my focus on the roads. I don’t even remember how I managed to get home.
***
It felt like the entire house was shaking with the constant banging on the door.
“Kyler!” a man shouted, and the banging started again.
My heart picked up its pace. It could only be one man, my dad.
I shrugged on a shirt and ran downstairs, ignoring the fog in my head from the weed the night before. Christine was already at the door, peeking out the window next to it. She was prepared this time, shotgun in her hand. “Christine?”
“What do you want?” she yelled.
“I need to speak to Ky!”
Christine turned to me just as Jackson came to stand beside me.
“You say the word and I’ll tell him to leave.”
I squared my shoulders, took a step forward and opened the door. Then there I was—face to face with the devil.
Jax stood behind me and Christine was right next to him. “W-w-what do you want?”
The devil’s gaze flicked from Jackson to Christine and then settled on me. His face was red, but not out of anger. He wiped his eyes, and I saw it then—a completely different side of him. “It’s your brother,” he said quietly.
And even though I already knew the answer, still I found myself asking, “What about him?”
“He’s dead.”
***
The official cause of death was a drug overdose. The unofficial cause was he’d taken bad drugs. Word was that it was bad ecstasy laced with crack. Whatever the fuck it was—it had killed him. And I was one of the last people to see him. I was also the reason he was there in the first place. I asked him to—no—I begged him to go. And now he was dead.
Just like Jeff.
The funeral was small. The party next door wasn’t.
I didn’t know what to do. I could barely function. I had held in my tears when Jeff died, but now...it felt like I’d lost everything important to me. And as much as Christine and Jax tried to comfort me—I felt completely alone. And that was my fault. I isolated myself from them because I couldn’t deal, and I didn’t want my burden on them.
They’d lost enough.
But the worst part—was the guilt.
It was overwhelming.
So was the pain.
So was the anger.
I was so fucking angry.
“It’s okay to show your suffering, Kyler,” Christine said, stepping into my room and placing a tray of food on the nightstand. “You’ve lost two people very dear to you. Two people you loved...all in a week. It’s okay to feel sorry for yourself.”
No.
It wasn’t okay.
She had no fucking clue what she was talking about. I didn’t deserve to feel anything but pain.
I got out of bed and held the door open for her. “Get out,” I clipped.
“Kyler!”
“Get out!” I yelled.
Jackson stepped out of his room. “Don’t talk to Mom like that!”
“It’s fine, Jackson,” Christine said, but she was looking right at me. “It’s fine,” she repeated. There were tears in eyes, but they were no longer from sadness or pity. They were from disappointment.
“It is fine,” I said, staring down at her. “You’re allowed to hate me. I hate me, too.”
***
Two days later, I turned eighteen and walked into the Army recruiter’s office.
Three months later, I graduated.
That night, I packed my bags and slipped a note under Jackson’s bedroom door. I told him to take care of his mom. I apologized for not being able to be the man they expected—the man I wanted to be.
And I told him that I loved them both.
Then I got on a bus to Ft. Hood, Texas.
And I never looked back.
MADISON
Shit.
15
KY
SHE BLOWS OUT a heavy breath. “Ky. . .”
I turn away from her, not wanting to see the pity in her eyes. “So no, Madison, I don’t think I deserve people’s gratitude. People enlist for honorable reasons. I enlisted because I wanted an out.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“It means everything.”
She stays silent.
“So that’s me...” I say, hoping to end the conversation. “That’s all of me, Maddy.”
“So Ashlee...” she trails off.
I look back at her.
“She’s the reason you haven’t been with anyone since you were seventeen?”
My eyebrows pinch. “What?”
“You said that—”
I grimace. “No. I think you misunderstood.” I tread carefully. “I said I hadn’t dated since I was seventeen. That doesn’t mean I haven’t been with anyone—”
“Oh!” Her eyes go huge; then she scrunches her nose in disgust. She tries to get off my lap, but I hold on to her tighter.
“I just want to be honest with you. And now that you know about Ashlee and what she did—the hurt she caused—I expect you to do the same. I don’t like vague, and I don’t want secrets between us. I don’t want to feel like that again.”
Her gaze drops between us. She doesn’t respond. Not with words, and not with anything else. She scoots back, trying to remove herself from my hold.
I let her this time.
She looks at the clock and says, “It’s time for you to leave.”
I pull on her dress until she’s between my legs. “You’re mad?”
She shakes her head.
“You can’t be mad. I could have lied to you.”
“I know,” she says, her hands in my hair.
My eyes drift shut at her touch.
“I just feel less—I don’t know—you tell me that you’ve been with girls that probably mean nothing to you and I’m scared that maybe I’m one of them.”
“Don’t do
that.”
“What?”
“Sell yourself short. You’re pretty much the only thing that means anything to me.”
She leans down, resting her forehead on mine. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
She sets her mouth on mine, her lips curving to a smile. “Good.” And then she kisses me. Her tongue sweeps across mine as I pull her back on top of me—her hands on my shoulders, and mine on her thighs—skimming her skin—lifting her dress higher with the movement.
We kiss for nowhere near long enough before I have to pull away. “I have to go.”
“No!” She exaggerates one of her now world-famous pouts. “Skip it.”
“I can’t.” I grab my phone off the coffee table and look at the time. I’m already running late.
“Why not?”
I kiss her once more before pushing up and off the couch, moving her out of the way. “Because I have to go.”
“That’s not a good enough excuse.”
I look at her, fighting a war in my head. Train and get slaughtered—or stay in and...hopefully slaughter her. I laugh out loud at myself.
She eyes me sideways.
It makes me laugh harder.
“Come with me,” I say, before I can think straight. I walk over to the kitchen counter and grab my iPad. “You can use this. It’ll make time go faster.”
She gets off the couch and straightens her dress...and then her bra. “Jesus Christ,” I moan, turning away from her and glaring down at my dick—warning it not to get excited.
Lucky for me, it complies.
***
Gunner’s eyes widen when he sees Madison walk in behind me. “You’re late!”
“I was busy.”
He looks Madison up and down, more than once.
I ball my fists at my sides and keep my jealousy in check. The last thing I need is another unexpected brawl.
Leading Madison to a chair against the wall, I connect the iPad to the gym Wi-Fi before handing it to her. “I’ll be done soon.” I make sure Gunner’s watching us when I lean in to give her a kiss...a nice, long, possessive, kiss.
She rolls her eyes when we pull apart. Her gaze darts behind me to where I assume Gunner’s standing, and then she smirks, pulls me down by my shirt and gives me an even longer, even sexier kiss. I chuckle into her mouth before she pulls away. “Good luck,” she whispers.
