36. Eli

Eli

Shout

P hoenix sobs into his cat’s fur. Murmuring how much he missed him and loves him and daddy’s home.

I bite back the giggle, standing somewhat awkwardly in the entryway.

His family is close-knit in a way I’ll never understand. But I’m surprised to be met with less hostility than expected. His dad, Brandon, eyes me for a long moment before he gives me a subtle nod. That’s all I get, and I don’t blame him. I hurt his son repeatedly, and I know I’ll have to earn his trust again.

Phoenix’s mom, Emma, hugs me and says it’s good to see me.

It’s a bit of a blur, honestly. All the talking and catching up with his family. He tells them about his tour and the rising success of his band. And for once, they all seem to take interest in it. Before, he’d be less front and center, more of a decorative item amongst his siblings. Or maybe he just never opened up enough to see that they all wanted to be more involved. I plan to talk to him about it at some point. As it stands currently, though, this little visit seems good for him.

And I guess, for me, too.

I don’t necessarily need his family to approve of me, but it helps knowing I’ve got a shot at it. When we have Helios in his cat carrier and his stuff loaded up in the car, I feel the need to tell Phoenix about Oliver. He’d asked every family member if they’d heard from or seen him, and everyone said they hadn't.

Regardless, I know. I know, and I need to tell him.

But I’m hesitant.

He’s so happy.

And for once, I feel like I’m catching that happiness.

The past few weeks have been the best of my life so far. I still struggle almost daily and have moments where I wonder if sobriety is really the right move for me. I won’t be able to drink or smoke or anything because it’ll possibly send me into a relapse. Straight edge as fuck is my new reality. I’m still scared of it, but I'm open to the possibility.

Now that Phoenix is home, my wobbly legs seem stronger. Like I have something supporting me so I don’t fall.

I don’t want to ruin it by telling him about Oliver, but I won’t keep him in the dark anymore. He deserves to know. I’m pretty sure he can handle it.

Still, I wait until we’re back at his apartment before dropping that bombshell. He fusses over Helios, gets everything back where it goes and feeds him. When he’s finished, he beams at me. God, he’s so happy. Content. Relieved. All of those good feelings I’ve been learning to identify with Dr. Langley.

“What?” he asks, seeing my face slowly wilt.

“I have to tell you something,” I say, ripping the bandaid off. It has to be done.

“Okay. What is it?”

Walking over to the sofa, I sit down and pat the cushion. “Come here.”

He does, perching beside me and waiting.

I swallow around the lump in my throat, feeling my chest spasm. He’s not going to be mad at me. He won’t. “So you know how I’m going to those meetings?”

“Yes.”

I nod at nothing. I just need to move my body to release this nervous energy. My fingers grip my knees, palms slick. “I want you to know I didn’t keep this from you. I waited until you were home to talk about it.”

He stiffens. “You’re scaring me right now.”

“It’s not about me,” I rush out. “I’m okay.”

When his body relaxes again, I spit it out. “Oliver was in my meeting.”

And I wait. Let him sit with that information. His face darkens, the hair falling over his shoulder, and he hides his face as he turns away from me and looks at the stained rug below our feet. I swear my heartbeat is like a bass drum in my ears. Is he going to be mad? Did I just fuck it all up? I don’t see how it would, but those old doubts are hard to kill. I wet my lips, easing my hand over to his thigh.

“How does he look?” he asks softly, covering my hand with his.

“Good. Buff.”

“Buff?”

“Yeah. Like he’s been working out.”

“Did he seem okay?”

I go over the interaction I had with him in my head. He seemed to hate that I touched him. He seemed to want to get away from me as quickly as possible. “I’m not sure.”

He nods, running a hand through his hair. “Thank you for telling me.”

“This is a good thing, though, right? If he’s in the meetings, that means he’s sober.”

“Yeah.” That happiness is zapped from him. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

I probably shouldn’t say this part, but I’m done keeping things from Phoenix. If I know something, he will, too. This is how it has to be. “I talked to him. Just for a minute. I asked him to get a hold of you, and he said he would when he was ready.”

“He acts like I fucking disowned him,” he growls. “Yeah, I ignored a few calls. Left a few texts on read. But what the hell did he expect? I tried to be there before, and he told me he didn’t want to see me. He didn’t need me, and when he decided he did, I was…”

"Dealing with our break up." I wince. “I’m sure he needs you. But maybe he is trying to get to a better place before reaching out. Everyone processes this shit differently.”

Phoenix peeks up at me. “I wish I knew what happened to him. Why he started using to begin with, but no one knows. At least, I think no one does. With how people keep shit from me, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn my whole family knows the truth.”

I scoot closer to him, curling into his side for comfort. “Hey,” I whisper and kiss his shoulder. “Why don’t you give him a call?”

“I have. I call and text almost every day.”

“What’s one more try?”

He sniffles and nods. “Okay.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his phone with a slight tremble. I can feel how badly he wants to reconnect. It’s breaking my decrepit heart seeing it. But if I can work through my bullshit, I think Oliver can too. Maybe not today. Maybe not this month. But eventually. And I think deep down, he misses Phoenix too. How can you not? The time we spend apart feels like being teleported into purgatory. I hold his hand for support, stroking the high peaks of his knuckles, and waiting while the phone rings.

It rings and rings, and eventually, it goes to voicemail.

“Leave a message,” I encourage.

The automated response plays, then a beep sounds. “Hey, Oli.” He takes a breath. “Just calling again because I miss you.”

He hangs up, and I crook an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

“I don’t know what else to say that I haven’t already.”

I think about it, wondering what I would’ve wanted him to say when we were broken up last year. Oh, how I dreamed of getting a call from Phoenix, but it never came. That part hurts. But I understand why he didn’t. “Maybe text him and say you’re sorry you weren’t there when he needed you to be?”

Phoenix blinks away some tears. “I can try.”

“Fight for him,” I whisper. “Like you did for me.”

He leans over to steal a kiss, then types out the text. I read it with him.

I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I should have been. If you let me, I’d like to be there now, Oli.

Whenever you’re ready.

I squeeze his hand as the screen shows Oliver read it. And I swear, my breath hitches the same time Phoenix’s does. He’s writing back.

“You got this, baby,” I tell him.

When the text comes through, I know today isn’t the day he gets his brother back.

Oliver: I’m not ready. I don’t know when or if I ever will be.

“Fuck,” Phoenix cries, chucking his phone beside him and clinging to me. He wedges his face against my chest, and I curl my arms around him.

“Shh,” I soothe, rubbing his back while his tears stain my shirt.

“See? See what I’m talking about? It’s pointless. And I’m sick of my heart breaking because he won’t give me a chance.”

Maybe it’s different because how I feel about Phoenix isn’t comparable to a sibling relationship. He’s told me before that Oliver is his blood, but I’m his heart.

Throughout our relationship, Phoenix has never shied away from how close he used to be with Oliver. He’d often tell me how he felt like Oliver had been his twin growing up despite the three-year age difference.

I’d imagine, for Oliver, that Phoenix had been his heart. I have no way to confirm it, though. It’s just a gut feeling.

I suppose it’s because that’s how I feel about him, too. When all you’ve seen in the mirror is a flawed, broken reflection, you tend to latch on to whatever will give you a different image. That’s what Phoenix did for me whenever I’d let him. When I’d let down my walls just enough for him to peer over and see me, feel that desperation for a life rope—someone to pull me out of it. I used to think it’d be Phoenix to do it, but after these past few months and understanding how my head works, I know it was never meant to be him.

I had to do it. I had to be my wrecking ball and destroy those barriers.

There are still some; the walls are tough to tear down, but they are crumbling. And with those beams of light streaming in, I can see something better on the other side. I can see a chance at a future. And fuck if I’m not pushing myself to move rubble faster than I ever have before to get to it. I think Oliver is comfortable in his fortress. I don’t think he wants Phoenix to peek in yet. Or maybe he needs a different way of leaving it. Something neither he nor Phoenix can provide.

I just don’t know. But I understand it.

“Hey,” I whisper, curling my fingers under his chin. His pretty chimera eyes glisten behind his tears. “I want to ask you something.”

“What?”

“Is Oli worth waiting for?”

“Of course,” he sniffles.

“Then what’s the rush?”

“I’m not rushing.”

“You are.” I kiss his forehead.

“Maybe. But it’s been eight years. How much longer am I meant to wait?”

“Until he’s willing to let you peer inside.”

He blinks at me like I don’t make sense, but then recognition dawns on him. His long fingers come up to stroke my face. That’s the thing about he and I. Sometimes, we don’t need words to communicate. We just know. And that’s what’s happening right now. He knows. He understands what I mean. It took me over three years before I was willing to let him see me.

“You’re right,” he breathes.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

He shakes his head, lifting it so we can face each other. “I love you. I would’ve waited forever.”

“I know,” I say and then take a breath. “I want to say it back.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No, I really do,” I tell him and straddle him. “It’s always been on my mind. A nagging thought that I didn’t want to pay attention to because how was I ever supposed to love you the way you loved me when I hated everything about myself?”

He rubs my sides, staring through me. “Do you hate yourself still?”

“Less,” I admit. “I still hate how I’ve treated you, people, my life. There’s a lot to work on in here.” I pat my chest. “But I know I’ve cleared out a bigger space for you. There was always a reservation,” I smile, “but it was a seat for one.”

“And now?”

“Definitely two.”

His fingers tighten on my hips, eyes dancing over my face. “You and me?”

“Yes,” I breathe. “Finally.”

“Then tell me, sweetheart.”

I swallow hard, finding my courage, knowing I just have to let it out.

I want to.

I feel it so strongly that it has to be true.

My love might be warped, but it’s the only kind I know. And if he’ll have it, I’ll give it to him.

“I love you.”

He leans in close, nuzzling me, and just before our lips touch, he whispers, “I know.”