Jerkbait (20 page)

36

M
y heartbeat thudded in my ears. It barely drowned out the profanities my brother mentally spewed as I crept around the house, looking for something—a large branch, firewood, anything—that I could use as a weapon. Barreling in through the front door wasn’t exactly a good plan, but like hell was I leaving Robbie behind.

My options for weapons were limited in the frosty world. I closed my hands around a tree branch in the nearby woods, shuddering as a sheet of snow dumped on me. I could barely feel my fingers. Gritting my teeth didn’t do much—the branch didn’t snap. It bent, mocking me.

Suddenly, my chest seized, clenching and pulsing around my heart in pain. My blood became as cold as the snow. I took off toward the front door of the house with no weapon except my fists.

The clenching came faster, moving down my ribs to my side the closer I came to the front door. I gripped the doorknob and heard a series of thuds and yells, like something slamming against a wall or floor.

The room turned on its side. Fists—Robbie’s fists, our fists—connected with Jimmy’s jaw. “You son of a bitch!” Robbie’s voice erupted from my lips, hands twisting around Jimmy’s shoulders, throwing him against the wall with our strength. There was a cracking of bone and blood. Jimmy swearing and groping in his pocket for something. A taser. Robbie’s
vision
—my vision—shifted toward the window. It was ahead of him—us—our freedom right there. I urged him forward but his dream of becoming an NHL superstar was holding him back. Jimmy lurched towards us. There was no choice. We sprinted toward it.

My vision—Robbie’s vision—went black. Then I heard it. An inhuman scream, a loud thud. My heart pounded, throat tight in realization:

Robbie jumped.

Without me to break his fall.

I raced around the side of the house to the window, fully prepared to see my brother running toward me, screaming at me to go. What I saw stopped me dead in my tracks.

“. . . no,” I whispered.

The snow surrounding the body was turning red, soaking in blood. Face down, hoodie swallowing him whole. Unbudging. Unconscious. Broken.

Shakily, I took a step toward him, then another, and another. Tears streaked down my cheeks as I stood over his body, afraid to touch him. Why had I climbed out of the window before him? Why couldn’t Robbie have gone first, or trusted that I would have caught him, breaking his fall?

I sank to my knees in the deep snow, which came up well over my thighs. My hand closed on his shoulder, then I realized what was wrong:

His breath wasn’t fogging in the frigid snow, because there was no breath.

“No. No, no, no—” I choked. I’d tried so hard to put the pieces of Robbie together when the seams came undone, but in the end I failed him. He’d leapt for freedom, leapt to save his life.

He ended up broken.

Mangled.

Dead.

With a deep breath, I gripped his shoulders and rolled him onto his back.

Immediately, I recoiled, scrambling backward in the snow. A scream stuck in my paralyzed throat; Jimmy’s battered face stared back at me. His eyes were still open. Dead.

Then my screams came, one after another, and another, so loud and hoarse I couldn’t process the muffled footsteps in the snow. I didn’t budge as Robbie knelt next to me, arms wrapping around me, turning my face into his shoulder as if to protect me. His chin pressed on top of my head, the rusted piece of jerkbait through his lip by my ear as he said, “I told you I’d find another way out,” and it was so absurd my sobs turned to laughter. Laughter that he joined in with.

We sounded identical, our hearts, our breath synchronized. Identical lungs, identical body, with two vastly different minds. Two people, once strangers.

As I shivered, body slowing down, Robbie asked, “Where’d you come from? When you found me, I mean.”

I studied our surroundings, trying to find the snowy trail I’d come in from, but there seemed to be three, and my mind was slowly numbing. With the heavy snow and strong wind, my tracks were covered. The clouds were too thick to make out the sun, but it was cold enough to be early morning. We had time to find the right one before it got dark again.

I closed my eyes as if it’d help me sense whatever direction we should travel in, but I wasn’t sure. My brain was too fatigued to work. I looked at the house, wondering if we could temporarily get shelter, maybe find a phone. Or at least my coat since I didn’t have a heavy hoodie like Robbie. I wasn’t even sure why Jimmy took mine. But, before I could speak, he said,
“I can’t go back in there. I just . . . can’t.”

Staring at the jerkbait in his lip, I didn’t even attempt to change his mind. I didn’t see the torture he must have experienced. “I don’t think I walked far. I’m sure we’ll run into my car eventually.” I tried to sound confident. “You want to pick a trail?”

Robbie looked between the three and chose the one in the center. No surprise there. We crunched through the snow, my body barely moving. We hadn’t even started, and it was already hard to keep my head up. It was so cold, and every part of me felt so, so heavy.

We dragged our feet, stumbling in the snow, slipping in the cold. Now, more than ever, I wanted to go home, to
be
home, whatever that meant. I didn’t even care if we never got to leave our room again.

We continued to trudge through the calf-deep snow and slush that soaked through my jeans. The woods seemed much bigger than they had last night. The heavy clouds turned the sun’s glow into a dark, shadowy mess. The storm was rolling back, stronger and crueler. The wind whipped snow up in our faces, bending the trees.

Beside me, Robbie kept stopping, taking long, careful steps; I almost told him to hurry up, until I realized he was keeping his pace slow enough to match mine.

“
Is it bad that I don’t feel bad about shoving him out the window?” Robbie asked, breaking the silence.

“I don’t think so. I mean, self-defense, right?”

“Right.” My brother’s pace slowed even further as I gritted my teeth and tried to press faster. But each step became harder and harder to take. How long had we been walking? It felt like hours. “He didn’t kiss me,” Robbie continued. “So that’s something, right? I mean, at least I could still have a first kiss, you know?”

“You’ve never been kissed?” I gawked. “How? I mean, you’re . . . popular. I’d have thought you would have kissed a few girls or something.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Robbie asked, wrinkling his red nose.
“It’s not like I was confused. I’ve known since I was seven.” He rubbed his arms. “Jimmy was supposed to be my first everything.”

I hesitated, not wanting to ask the question I knew I had to. “What did he do?”

Robbie refused to look me in the eye. “You know.”

My stomach sank to my feet.

Robbie tried to kick up some snow but it was too deep. “I’m not sure whether I want to avoid touching anyone for the rest of my life or sleep with a guy as soon as possible to forget this . . . stuff. Is that weird?”

“
I d-don’t know,” I said, tongue slurring in the cold. “I’d read s-stuff about skin cells getting replaced every s-seven years.”

“Every seven?”

I licked my lips, talking through my teeth to stop the chattering. “If it’s t-true, that means when you’re twenty-five, it’d be almost like you’re new. And I mean, you’ve still got that first kiss, right? Maybe Raiden could d-do the honors.”

Robbie snorted. “Yeah, right. He hates me.”

“No, he d-doesn’t,” I paused, not sure how to continue. This wasn’t my confession to make. Raiden could talk to Robbie himself, because we were both going to get out of these woods, both going to be fine. I hugged my arms around myself and forced my next few steps to be faster. “Just . . . t-trust me. Okay?”

“What are you trying to say?” Robbie asked warily. “Did you talk about me?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but my foot caught on a tree root hidden by snow. I hit the ground and broke into shivering spasms. Robbie’s arms wrapped around me, holding me up. “The hell?”

Again, I tried to speak, to tell him I was fine, but my lips wouldn’t stop shaking long enough to work. Harsh buzzing rushed into my head. My legs wouldn’t move despite me commanding them to.

“No. No, no, no, Tristan, no,” I heard Robbie say, but his voice was faint and far away. So much easier to close my eyes. I just needed a minute, and I’d get up.

I snapped back into consciousness, unaware I’d drifted off. Robbie had hoisted me over his back. My body felt weightless dangling over his shoulder. After a minute, I realized he’d turned around, back toward the house he so desperately wanted to get away from.

With the heavy wind and his fatigue, it seemed like Robbie was barely moving as he carried me, body pitched forward with determination. I squinted, catching something from the corner of my eye. To our right, a flickering glow.
There
, I pointed.

Robbie turned. Like a moth, he was drawn to the light. He paused when it moved again. Someone held a flashlight. I wondered if it was Jimmy, somehow not-dead, or one of Jimmy’s friends, and by the way Robbie sucked back, I could tell he was thinking the same. But he broke into a run, crashing through the branches and snow as he screamed, “HELP!”

The light flashed again in our direction, blinding me. Robbie pressed on, screaming “Help!” until his voice was hoarse and the flashlight and figure behind it came crashing toward us. I screamed as heavy arms wrapped around us, trying to pull away before I heard a familiar voice: “Oh my God. Thank God, thank fucking God.”

Dad.

There was something calm about identifying him. That he’d come out looking. How had he found us? My eyelids became heavier. My body was lifted, moving from Robbie’s arms to Dad’s. I couldn’t keep my head up as I closed my eyes.

Robbie was safe. We were safe.

37

I
came to in a dimly-lit white room. The pillowcase was thin and scratchy. I blinked a few times before trying to sit upright. My eyes focused on my arm and the IV sticking out of it.

“You’re awake.”

I turned my head to the side, focusing on Robbie. He sat on the bed. There were a couple of black stitches on his lower lip from where Jimmy forced in the fishhook.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” I said, groaning a little. “What happened?”

“You passed out. Hypothermia. Fortunately, Dad and the cops found your car and were there looking. Wasn’t long before the ambulance got there.”

“Huh? How?”

“GPS on the iPhone. Even though it died, they were able to pinpoint a general location. When you disappeared, I guess it was enough of a viable threat for the police to take it seriously. At least serious enough to break the seventy-two-hour window.”

I could barely nod, let alone keep my eyelids open. “How are you?” I asked, voice a little gravelly.

“Better, since you’re okay.” He looked at the wall. “They did a rape kit. Not sure why since the bastard’s dead but I guess when it goes to trial—”

That wasn’t what I was expecting to hear. “It’s going to trial?”

“It has to.” Robbie lay next to me on the bed. “
Always goes to trial if a death’s involved.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” He forced a smile, but it didn’t seem sincere. “But hey, now I can get therapy. First appointment is in two days.”

“That’s good. That you’re getting help, you know.”

“I know.” Robbie looked away; he didn’t sound glad, he sounded tired. “If it makes you feel better, I think I’m going to commit to a team in juniors.”

“Yeah?” I perked up through my fuzzy tiredness, even if he’d couched the news as something that would make
me
feel better.

“If it wasn’t too late and I was smart enough, I’d maybe see about college hockey. You know, Raiden’s going to Providence. With the way he texts, I’d never believe it.”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be too late for you to apply. I mean, pretty sure a LOT of colleges would want someone like you on their team.”

“It’s not for me, Tristan,” Robbie said. “I can always do classes online, if I wanted. Or when I’m done with my career . . .” He suddenly shook his head, like snapping out of a reverie. “I don’t know why I’m even talking like this. No one’s going to draft me this year with a pending trial. Maybe ever.”

Before I could speak, there was a knock at the door. Mom slipped in. Her immaculate red fingernails were now plain and chipped. Without make up, she looked older and wearier, but somehow more human. More like a parent.

She looked at me before crossing the room, sitting on the side of the bed opposite of Robbie, and embracing me tightly. I rested my head against her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” Mom said. “I’m so . . . so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I began.

“No. It’s not okay. At all.” She squeezed me tighter. “You don’t need to forgive me, and I’m not sure I can make it right, but I’m going to try to be better.” She inhaled slowly. “I want to see you in your musical.”

“Really?”

“
I do. Your Uncle Anthony would have been thrilled to find out one of his nephews was into acting.”

I was unaware of the tears until Mom squeezed me tighter and wiped my cheeks. The first recognition gave way, like something toppling. Sniffing back couldn’t keep me from bawling for the eighteen years of being starved for affection, touch, recognition.

I cried straight into sleep. When I woke up, I wondered if I’d dreamed it, but Mom was still sitting on the corner of my bed, one of her hands around mine, reading a book. Her iPhone was out of sight.

I squeezed her hand as I sat upright, and Mom set down her book. “Did you rest well?” she asked.

“I think,” I said, my voice a little less gravelly than it had been. “I can feel my toes.”

“Good.”

I looked around the room. “
Where’s Robbie?”

Mom hesitated and glanced toward her purse, probably where her cell was. “He and your father should be back any minute.”

“Okay, but where are they?”

Mom didn’t answer. My cheeks started to burn. “For fuck’s sake, they’re not doing stupid draft shit right now after all this, are they?”

“You really suck with surprises,” my brother’s voice came into the room, a tinge of amusement in his tone rather than annoyance. When I turned to the door to face him, I saw not only my brother and Dad, but Keisha. The heaviness on my chest lifted, and my cheeks burned from embarrassment.

“You’re welcome,” Robbie said before slipping out of the room.

Keisha hesitated before coming in, a plastic bag in hand, Dad right behind her. Before approaching me, she went directly to my mother and held out her hand.

“It’s really nice to meet you, Mrs. Betterby. I’m Keisha Lewis. I take acting class with Tristan and—”

“She’s his girlfriend,” Dad said.

“I know who Keisha is. Tristan showed me her picture.” Mom rose to her feet. Instead of taking her hand, she pulled Keisha into a tight hug. “I thought Tristan was exaggerating when he said how beautiful you are. I was wrong.”

“That’s so sweet.” Keisha squeezed Mom and pulled back beaming. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought some stuff over,” she said as she rooted through the plastic bag and pulled out a few Tupperware containers with different foods and sweets. “My grandma’s visiting from Trinidad and made us some Callaloo with some plantain and sweet potatoes, and there’s some jerk chicken, so I brought over the leftovers. The brownies and cookies were just box stuff. Unfortunately, my cooking skills are inherited from my dad.”

I stared at Keisha. She was absolutely captivating. And judging by the rare smiles on my parents’ faces, she was winning them over without even trying.

“You probably want to spend some time with Tristan,” Mom said as she gestured to the chair she was sitting in. She set the Tupperware containers on another empty chair. “We’ll give you two some privacy.”

“Just let me know when you need a lift home,” Dad said to Keisha before he and Mom left the room.

“Unfortunately I don’t think I’ll be able to stay much more than a half-hour since Grandma’s over and I’ve got a huge test tomorrow,” Keisha said, face a little down. “But if it’s all right, I’d love to visit tomorrow.”

“I’m hoping I’ll be home by tomorrow,” I said.

“
Even better.”

Keisha leaned over the bed and kissed me. “I was so scared when you went off the grid looking for Robbie. Then when Robbie showed up with your Dad saying you were at the hospital, I just . . . I don’t know what I imagined.”

“Probably more gruesome than hypothermia.”

“That’s pretty gruesome itself, though.”

“Robbie had it way worse.”

“This isn’t a pissing contest,” Keisha said. “I can still worry about you
and
fuss over you even if your brother
did
have it worse. It just means I have an excuse to make more cookies, even if they’re kind of inedible.”

I reached for the back of Keisha’s neck and gently pulled her down for a second kiss. “You’re right. I just still feel awful about Robbie.”

“Of course, you do. He’s your twin.” She opened a Tupperware container and pulled out a chocolate chip cookie for me. It was pretty burned, but still tasted like the best thing ever.

“You’re sure you can’t stay longer?” I asked, hand on her hip.

“Not unless you take my test for me and can guarantee I’ll get at least ninety-three percent.”

“What subject?”

“Biochemistry.”

“Oh, dear God.” We both started to laugh, like it was our own stupid joke even though it wasn’t exactly a joke, or funny. Keisha left with my parents, having stretched her half-hour limit to nearly an hour, and I realized I hadn’t seen Robbie since he dropped her off. I grabbed my cell from the table next to my hospital bed, noticed it was fully charged, and hesitated before I sent him a short text:
Thanks.

Seconds later, his reply:
You’re welcome. Give me a lift to therapy?

I smiled.

You bet.