"I'm not a kid," I argue, pouting.
He smiles boyishly, his mouth curving upward. "You look like a kid to me."
I shake myself of the memory, glancing at the boy who stole a vital part of me. He’s such a sight right now. His appearance is dark and enticing and all him. It’s a replication of his soul. Moody. Disturbed. Pained.
My heart hammers at how much he still affects me. He has a new piercing on his eyebrow, one I didn’t notice in the mess hall. It’s a little bar, and the inane desire inside me to lick it zings at my taste buds. To flick my tongue and taste the bitterness of the metal would be unnerving in the best way, just like when I used to with his spider bite piercings.
“Stop looking at me like you want to fuck, Greenie. We both know there’s not much to stop me,” he nearly growls as I lick my own piercings. Metal, the friend I never knew I needed. A distraction in my time of need.
My mind travels to what he just called me. “Greenie? What am I, a leprechaun?”
“Your hair is green. Seemed fitting. Plus, you’re short. Leprechaun isn’t far off,” he replies with a shrug, sounding bored.
I hate that about him. There’s never anything important enough—sans sticking his dick into chicks—to bring him to life anymore.
And he did that, dipped his stick into chicks. It’s one thing I could never pretend to not be jealous about. Not even now, thinking of how many broads he probably bagged this summer. We were never exclusive, just two people who liked finding pleasure in each other, even if all I wanted and tried for was more. It didn’t help that there were three others vying for my attention, and I was sharing it with them, too.
“Why are you here, Ten?” I hate how my voice lowers, sounding small and insecure. I left him. I walked away. Why does it feel like he’s the one who left me? They all abandoned ship, but it was me who made the choice to cut all ties.
He steps closer to me. I shut the door, trying to back away from his close proximity, but his fingers pinch the green locks of my hair. He caresses the strands almost reverently, like he’s shocked that I’m no longer blonde.
“I miss you,” he drawls, making heat pool in my stomach. Whether his words are in reference to my hair or my body, his voice simmers in me regardless of the source.
“Don't,” I whimper, feeling my confidence to stay away caving.
“Don’t what?” he rumbles, reaching for the back of my neck, pulling me to his lips. “This?”
His lips connect with mine as the word leaves his mouth. His tongue seeks entrance, tracing the metal of my piercings. A moan escapes my lips and I open up for him. He takes advantage, swiping his tongue against my teeth. I bite his lip, dragging my teeth against the softest flesh.
He holds my throat, demanding my every noise, warranting each one, too. His jeans are tented with his very large appendage, one I’ve fucked, touched, and tasted once upon a time. We were always tumultuous. Every single time, we burned bright, hot and heavy.
My brother’s bloodied body flashes in my mind, reminding me why I hate Ten and why I left. Pain belies every inch of me as my hand connects with his chest and pushes him back. Tears well, and I would do anything to choke back the emotion. He can’t win.
“Leave.” It’s barely a muster.
“Don’t do this, Kid. You push everyone away.”
It’s a valid argument, but it’s worthless to me nonetheless.
Bracing myself, I make sure my mind is as solidified as my body.
“I won’t stop, Ten. Not until I’m far the fuck away from here and all of you,” I hiss out harshly.
Sadness pools out of my eyes. I’ll really look like a trash panda soon, a wet one from the sewer, black and white, messy from helplessness.
Ten needs to leave, and I need to be stronger in the future. This can’t be a repeat situation with us.
“Just remember you chose this,” he bites back, sidestepping me to leave.
The anger on his face as he walks out my door forces me to my knees all while sobs rack my frame. He’s not wrong, but I can’t just forgive them for lying and covering up Cassidy’s accident. They can say all they want that he fell off the cabin and hit his head on a boulder, but I know it’s not true.
I don’t know why they lied.
Why I didn’t call them out on it.
How they didn’t come to his funeral.
Cass wasn’t drunk at the party. He was my designated watcher, the person to make sure nothing happened to me while under the influence. My being too tanked caused them to blame me for imagining things, but I saw Cass. His body had been beaten to shit. Drunk or not, I know what I saw.
I don’t stop sobbing until I pass out, and Cass lying dead on the grass invades my every dream.
I skip classes the next two days, needing to decompress and sob it all out.
Abandoning Ten hadn’t been easy on me last year. He didn’t fight for me anyway and made me feel crazy for believing Cass had been murdered.
My darkness seems to be creeping up with each hour that passes. Doesn’t help that Moms calls every few hours. The texts are nonstop, too. She’s asking why I’m missing class if I’m okay, and finally, she says she’ll call the cops if I don’t respond. Knowing her, she’s not lying.
After I dial her up, my fingers itch to click End before it patches through.
“Cariña,” her soft Colombian accent sounds out on the other end. It’s full of worry and care, thick with emotion and trembling a little. I hate it. She can’t be like this face-to-face, but as soon as I’m one hundred miles away, she’s cool. “Talk to me.”
“Pass,” I bite out, barely able to contain my resentment.
It hadn’t always been like this. Moms and me, we were always close until Cass died. She pushed me away. Can’t blame her. We not only looked identical. We were always similar in every way—our hobbies, tastes in food, and even the way we dressed.
“Please, Colton. Te extraño.” I miss you.
“You could have driven me here, but you bailed.”
“Don’t berate me, baby girl. It’s hard for me. You know this,” she pleads, her voice thick and choked up.
Why do I hurt her back? Why can’t I be a normal child and accept how much she hurts me? Why can’t she be like normal moms and think about me first?
“That’s a cop-out because you do whatever Mom wants.” The words leave me, and I hate each one. She’s trying, and I’m fucking it up.
But she only tries when I call her out.
“Eso no es justo,” she says, her voice small. That’s not fair.
It’s not her fault that she loves Mom as much as she loves me. She can’t choose, but the decision is made for her every day, and she doesn’t fight.
“She’s stubborn,” she continues. “You only have two years left. Why would you want to start over?”
“Because he’s gone!” I screech, the anger and bitterness climbs up my throat. “I can’t breathe here, Moms! He’s in every hall and every fucking kid’s expressions. I don’t want their pity. I want my brother back.”
She doesn’t scold me for swearing like she normally does. Hell, both of my parents don’t do much raising their voices anymore. They’ve let me flip my life upside down with whatever the hell I want since we lost Cass. Not sure what that says about them, but I’m done caring.