5. Brayden

Chapter five

Brayden

Y UNGBLUD filters through my headphones as I shut my eyes tight and let the lyrics wash away the reality surrounding me. I heard aggressive, loud voices through the thin trailer walls around thirty minutes ago, which alerted me to prepare for the sound of shattering glass that would inevitably follow. There's nothing that can disrupt the connection between me and my music. It transports me to a different reality, weaving through the lyrics. I can almost trick myself into believing that I'm not in this messed up place when I close my eyes and listen to music. I lean toward my old bedside drawer, opening it and searching until my hand finds the worn leather binding. I grasp it and pull it out, finding it open to the page I left a message on last week after writing. I turn the UV light on from the pen.

There's no reply.

I skim through the recent pages, reading all the messages I've written to my twin brother, but he never replies. I texted him before I came, letting him know I'd be here, but he's not, which isn't surprising. Sometimes, he'll be here waiting for me. Other times, he'll leave me alone all night in the old bed we used to share, and I won't see him for days. And sometimes, I'll wake up to find him curled up beside me, as he did when we were kids.

I read the last message I wrote.

Hey, Bex, I miss you. Hockey is going sick. I can't wait to show you some new tricks I learned. Kal recorded them on his phone. You should come hang soon.

It's been a week since I last saw him. He stumbled into my old room—his room—at 2 a.m., covered in blood and bruises. He collapsed next to me reeking of a combination of alcohol and vomit. One week since he whispered he loves me before drifting off to sleep, and one week since he left a message for me before leaving the trailer.

I had to go. I'll be back tomorrow for when you finish school.

Although I had hockey practice after school, I skipped it. I was so excited to see Bex. I quickly returned home, carrying a bag of candy, prepared to have a casual conversation while enjoying our favorite sweets.

He never showed.

I shouldn't be shocked when he's a no-show, but when he does appear, it's as if I've regained my other half. When he's not here, I don't feel fully myself. He's my twin, and I miss him. I reminisce about our old days, but something went astray with Bexley.

Instead of my cozy dorm room bed, I find myself lying in Bexley's bed, which carries the scent of smoke and stale alcohol, a smell I've grown used to. Despite his absence, being here gives me a sense of closeness to him. I haven't been myself lately, as if something's wrong—a constant ache sits in my chest, and I know the only way it will go away is if I see Bexley. I had hoped for a written reply from him, but he hasn't responded. I shut off the bedside lamp and grab the invisible ink pen with a built-in UV light. The dinosaur no longer appears when I turn it on. I blindly write on the paper and then press the light button while shining it down on the paper.

I need you, Bex, please come home.

The smell of smoke and alcohol wraps around me until I smile. The warmth I miss every damn day when I lay in my dorm beds warms my bones. My eyes flicker open and close again, my fatigue from today's practice taking all the energy from my body. My eyes flutter and meet a mirroring version of mine. I exhale deeply, my body relaxing and the worries that surround me each day fade away in a heartbeat.

He's here.

He's OK.

"‘Bray," he whispers, nestling deeper into the pillow and drawing as close to me as possible, our noses nearly touching. Bex takes a few deep breaths, inhaling my scent. I'm his haven, just as much as he is mine.

"Bex," I murmur back, both of us closing our eyes.

I love my twin. He's the reason I fight hard for a future, a good future. I need to help him. I need to get him away from this life he's in because of me. Throughout my childhood, Bexley was my best friend. We were those typical twins that didn't leave each other's side; you wouldn't see one without the other. He was always the more grown-up of the two; even though I was born ten minutes before him, he always protected me and cared for me. He would comfort me in bed, covering my ears to shield me from Mom's outbursts. Whenever my mother drunkenly stumbled into our room and collapsed on our bed, he would forcefully press my face against his chest. Without any concern, she would lie on us, oblivious to the fact that she was squishing our small bodies at only ten years old. Bexley always shuffled me aside, though, he bared all her weight. Or he would simply get out and lay on the floor next to my side of the bed so Mom could sleep while he lay on the cold, hard floor with only a towel to cover him and keep him warm, which it never did. No matter how hard I tried, he would never allow me to sleep on the floor. He would attempt to make a joke, claiming that I kicked him excessively. That's when we began exchanging written messages. In order to prevent Mom's anger, we resorted to writing notes and using this UV pen UV torch light that we got in a magazine. The light displayed a dinosaur when directed at a plain wall or paper—it was the best we could do.

U OK?

Mom snores loudly.

The floor is OK.

Want to go park after skool tomos?

We were inseparable.

Until we weren't.

"Kal mentioned he saw you in town earlier," I whisper, eyes closed, trying to unwind as we lay together. Our demons are at bay now that we're in touching distance. It's as if his demons call to mine.

"Hmm," he murmurs, likely avoiding the topic of what he was doing in town. He never wants to talk about it, and sometimes I'm grateful for that. The less I know, the less I panic, and the better I sleep.

"I've missed you, Bex."

"I've missed you more."

We lay in a tense silence for a while longer, but then Bex shifts, and I open my eyes. The demons begin to stir, rattling the cage of my anxiety, firing it up again. He appears skinnier than when I saw him last week, his clothes hanging off him even more than usual. He glances over his shoulder. His eyes, rimmed with darkness, are sunken in more than usual. His skin grayer than the skies on a stormy day.

"Are you not sleeping?" I sit up, frowning at him. Bexley visibly sighs, running his fingers through his greasy, overgrown hair.

"I'm fine, Bray." He huffs, sitting up. I know he gets annoyed when I worry about him, but I can't help it. He's on my mind every minute of every day. He turns his head more toward me, now I can see him fully. His eyes sweep me and then move over my face, his brows furrowing deeper as frown lines appear on his face. He reaches his hand out, his fingers gently grazing around my eye.

"What is this?"

Shaking my head, I dip my face down. "It's nothing." I sigh, rolling out of bed and walking toward the window. Bexley stands up, standing next to me, pulling my face toward him.

"This isn't nothing. What happened?"

"Practice."

"You would have said that the first time. Now stop lying to me."

I turn my attention to Bex. His worrying eyes, drawn down, flicking between mine, bore into me. "There was some creep here the other day when I came to see you. He tried getting in here. It got slightly heated."

"What did he look like?"

"Does it matter?"

"Well, yeah, he touched you."

"I don't—" I begin, but Bexley's intense gaze stops me. I drag in a deep inhale, trying to steady my racing heart.

"Bray, please. I need to know," he insists, his voice softer now, filled with concern.

I sigh, sensing the weight of his worry. "He was tall, with a scar across his cheek. He appeared rough, as if he'd been in a few fights."

Bexley's jaw tightens. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, not really. I managed to get him to leave before anything happened."

Bexley pulls me into a tight embrace, his arms trembling slightly. "I'm so sorry, Bray. I should have been here."

"It's not your fault," I whisper, holding him close.

He nods, his grip on me tightening. "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

We stand there for a moment, holding each other, the weight of our fears and promises hanging in the air.

Bexley walks over and lays down on the bed, the mattress creaking slightly under his weight. He reaches over to the nightstand and picks up our shared diary, the worn leather cover familiar under his fingers as he runs his hands over it. Flipping it open, he finds the last page I was on, which he can tell from the dog-eared page. He shines the UV light on the page. His eyes scan the page, taking in the words.

A soft smile tugs at Bexley's lips as he reads my words, his smile broadening more as his heart swells with pride while he learns how well hockey has been going. Just as he's about to turn the page, his phone rings, the sound jarring in the quiet room. He glances at the screen, and his expression darkens.

"I have to take this," he mutters, answering the call. After a brief, tense conversation, he hangs up and glances over at me, regret etched on his face. "I have to go."

"No, please," I plead, reaching out to him. "Stay a little longer. I've missed you Bex, so much."

Bexley sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I don't want to leave, but I have to. It's important."

"Can't it wait? I wanted to tell you about my ice hockey game, which is coming up this weekend."

Bexley's eyes soften, a small smile forming. "I'm so proud of you, Bray. I wish I could stay and hear all about it."

"Then stay," I whisper, my voice breaking. "Just for a little while longer."

Bexley hesitates before he stands. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he promises, leaning over me and placing a kiss on my forehead. "We'll talk then, I swear."

I nod, trying to hold back the tears as Bexley stands up and heads for the door. "Be safe," I call after him, my voice trembling.

Bexley turns back, giving me one last, lingering look. "I know you need me. But know I will always need you more. I'm sorry, Bray."

His words hang in the air, heavy with emotion. I watch him leave, my heart aching. Every time I watch my brother turn his back on me and leave, I never know if I will see him again. The room is colder, emptier without him. I clutch the diary to my chest, hoping he'll return soon, safe and sound.