The Dirt Whispered, Ch. 6
An hour later, I was curled up on my side on Nick’s bed, clutching my stomach and trying to not let myself cry anymore. I had thrown up three times. It wasn’t even that I was sick; it was just that sobbing made me gag; gagging led to puking. Usually, puking led to being tucked into Kevin’s bed with him holding a cool cloth to my forehead and talking softly to me. It had never happened before that the sobbing and gagging and puking was because of Kevin.
I’d used every method I could think of to get Kevin to take back what he’d said. I begged. I told him he didn’t mean it. I tried to kiss him and started yelling when he wouldn’t let me. That just ended in him crying and telling me to go away, and god, I couldn’t (can’t) handle it when that beautiful boy cried (cries). So I left. He wanted me to leave, and I left, and thirty seconds later, Nick was answering my knock on his door, and I was crying in his arms.
I knew I probably should have found a friend, or something, to comfort me, since Nick’s my little brother, and I was so angry at him, because if he hadn’t said all those things, maybe Kevin wouldn’t have left, but I had no friends. I had no friends to turn to right now, because no one knew about us, except for Nick and Big, and I was in no state to run off to find Big right now, and Nick was so good at giving hugs, and then when I was throwing up, he held my hair away from my face and rubbing my back.
Now I was curled up on his bed, and he was sitting over in his computer chair, with his guitar settled across his lap, and something about the expression in his face made me wish I hadn’t told him anything was wrong between Kevin and me at all. I wanted to hate him; I really, really wanted to hate him. I wanted to blame him and hurt him and made him detest himself, but I couldn’t. He was my little brother, and I needed him right now. I was alone outside of him. I’d lost Kevin.
“Nick.”
He looked up at me. My voice was broken, and I could see in his face how much it upset him. “Yeah, Joe?” He had that soft supplication in his tone like he was scared, like he wanted to fix everything and didn’t know how.
“Can you… Can you go make sure he’s okay?”
He hesitated, staring over at the door, like maybe a big Yes or No would appear on it, if he watched it long enough. He finally shook his head. “I don’t think that’d be a good idea…”
I nodded. It didn’t make sense to me either, to send Nick, but I figured that’d be a good place to start. I mean, if it was Nick’s words that hurt him, maybe his words could fix him, but I couldn’t expect Nick to fix everything. He was letting me sleep in his room; I wasn’t sure how we were going to pull that off without our parents asking questions, but right now, if I couldn’t be with Kevin, I needed to be away from him. I already knew, just from the walk (run) from bathroom to bedroom, when he’d emerged from his own room, that I couldn’t even handle seeing him without bursting into tears.
I spent three days barely leaving Nick’s bed. I still don’t know where Nick slept those nights.
It’s funny that I’m thinking about this now. I haven’t in a long time; it was the worst day of my life. My tires crackle on the gravel of the driveway, and when I reach the door, Susie opens it like always. She tells me the doctors say he’s doing better than normal and cites our little brother’s visit as the cause, that Kevin needs more than one person to encourage him to get better.
It’s funny; they’ve never questioned me or my intentions. I mean, everyone heard about the scandal, the “incest,” but we wrote it off so quickly as ridiculous that no one really figured it out. They questioned me thoroughly, the first week he was here, just to make sure. God knows they wouldn’t have let me near him if they knew how we really were together. Luckily, at the time, I didn’t even have to lie. Kevin left me, and that didn’t disappear; he’s only warmed up to the idea of us returning to how we had been in the last couple months.
When I reach his room, he’s sitting with his legs crisscrossed on his bed. An empty shoebox is sitting on its side beside him, and there are pictures spread out over the bed. He’s apparently separating them into piles, according to who’s in them. I wasn’t aware that he had that many pictures with him here. They must be from when Mom and Dad still came to see him; I certainly didn’t bring them. He smiles up at me, beckoning me over, and I perch beside him on his bed. When Susie leaves, he brushes a kiss across my mouth, and I ask him what he’s doing.
“Remembering,” he offers softly, and holds up a Polaroid of the two of us. We’re lying side-by-side on his bed, and I’m holding the camera up above us, and we’re both making faces. His eyes are twinkling with laughter. I can almost remember the day. “Even making a stupid face, you’re still beautiful.”
I chuckle, running my fingers over it. “I wish my camera didn’t break. I can’t even find a new one…”
He shrugs, plucking the picture from my hand and giving me a new one. I smile brightly at this one. It’s from Christmas a couple years ago. We’re standing in a doorway, and there’s mistletoe over our heads, and he’d my face between his hands and planted a hard kiss on my mouth. My eyes are open in surprise in the photo. I can practically hear Nick’s laughter, since he was holding the camera.
I must be smiling, because he butts his shoulder into mine. “You remember?”
“How could I forget? I didn’t even have time to kiss back.” I press a kiss to his hair. “How did you get these? Mom and Dad definitely shouldn’t have seen them.”
His eyes flash with something like sadness at the mention of our parents. It’s been a long time. They don’t live close by, in their defense; they moved back home to Jersey once it was clear we wouldn’t be touring anymore, so that Frankie could go through middle school and high school as normally as possible, but the times they do come to visit don’t include time to see Kevin. He doesn’t say anything about it though. “They didn’t. I brought them with me, when they suggest I spend some time somewhere.”
There’s something that sounds like brain-washing about the words. There was definitely no ‘suggestion.’ They basically carted him away. ‘Spending time somewhere’ meant being locked in a psych ward for a month. They only let him out when they were sure he wasn’t going to hurt himself or freak out at inopportune moments. “Why are you bringing them out now?”
He smiles, shrugging. “Well, I was thinking, since Nick came last week, I don’t have to pretend he doesn’t exist anymore, you know? To make myself feel better that I don’t get to see him. But, now that I have seen him, and I know he doesn’t hate me or anything, I felt like reminiscing a little.” He points out a photo of the three of us. The two of us have Nick squished into a hug. He’s laughing, despite every attempt he was making to look and sound annoyed. “I miss that.”
“Yeah, me too.” I rub his back, laying my cheek against his hair. “Sorry he couldn’t come this week… had a photo shoot. You know how it is.”
“I do.” He nods, and I can see that same adoration for me in his eyes that I always found so lovely, before he started feeling ashamed of it. “And, it’s okay.” He touches his hand to my knee. “He doesn’t have to come every week, Joe. Don’t think I’m not happy that I get to see you. I love him, but I’ve always been in love with you.” He looks a little bashful at the confession, and I want to hug him till he can’t breathe. I refrain, of course, settling just to squeeze his fingers.
“I know, baby.” I manage softly. “I’m glad that’s mutual."