O l i v e r
'X. Do not covet what belongs to others!'
(Ten Commandments)
TW: Mentioning suicide
Forgive me, my God, for I have sinned, and my greatest sin is selfishness.
That night, Richard and I sat on the veranda, gazing at the stars. The natural phenomenon called a star is what I despise most, that no matter how dangerous it may be, it's still wondrous. It could obliterate the entire universe, yet we marvel at it. When we spot one that moves, we whisper our deepest desires to it, even though the supposed star is usually just an airplane.
So...
Richard and I were on the veranda, close together. He in a windbreaker, and me in my reddish-brown top. We smoked. Okay, no need to beat around the bush, we smoked weed. The vegan kind.
We took a hit, and somehow... Somehow, I thought of Christmas when my father kicked us out of the house, my brother and me. The snow crunched under my Christmas-themed socks. I can still hear the words he yelled, it's a wonder his vocal cords didn't snap.
Both of you brought shame upon the family!
My brother, Winnie, confessed that day to everyone, grandparents, relatives, that he had given a guy a blowjob in the garage, and the guy had paid him for it. We split the money, I spent mine on a tattoo... but I only showed it off at school. At home, I always wore long sleeves. But that day, I showed it to everyone.
So, what came of that Christmas Eve?
My parents divorced, my mother turned to prostitution, and my father stayed at home, eagerly waiting for the roasted pigeon, and he would beat the living daylights out of my brother and me whenever he pleased. He took a younger girl, two years younger than me.
Damn it, this weed is making me realize how messed up of a family I grew up in.
"Richard" I speak up. My voice is hoarse, tired, but my heart is racing like a drummer's beat at a rock concert. "What did you think of Winnie's suicide?"
"If I remember correctly, I took it as a joke," he replies between two puffs. "Why do you ask?"
"I thought... since you're twenty-one now, maybe we could talk about it."
"Is today the anniversary?" Richard's voice deepens, a slight smile creeping onto his lips.
"Yeah, it's been ten years today."
"You know, Oliver..." He leans back, the wooden floorboards creak beneath him, his blonde hair spread out on the ground. His stubble frames his strong jaw. His jacket is tight, and the material accentuates the lines of his muscular biceps. "I think it's a fucking terrible idea to discuss my dead ex in the company of my brother, who moved in barely a month ago."
"Tell me to leave, and I'll go."
"No. You stay right on your cute little butt!"
"Winnie would be sad to hear that," I prop myself up on my palms, extinguishing the joint on the nearby railing.
"He'd cry if he heard your moaning from the bedroom."
"Why do you think he killed himself?"
The question surprised me just as much as it did Winnie.
It's been ten years since my brother's death... Yet today, on this day, the question slips out of me, a question I never dared to ask myself.
Why did he die?
I've had numerous suicide attempts, but none were as successful as Winnie's. He stepped in front of a train. And if he had been just five minutes late, what would have been an exhausting, demanding minute for others would have been a gift to him. He would have had plenty of time to reconsider everything.
"Because of your father," Richard replies.
"What?" Richard's words struggle to reach my brain; exhaustion and the weed are starting to take their toll.
"Oliver, your father drove him to that point that day. He called me every minute, begging me to get him out of there. And I got tired of it. I didn't answer his last three calls. A few hours later, I received the message." His voice fades as he finishes speaking, and he continues slowly, "At first, he wanted to come to me, he stole twenty bucks from your father because he wanted to take the train to California, but your father's words were stronger than his desire for freedom." Suddenly, he sits up, resting his elbow on his knee, and watches a bug scurrying in front of us.
"He sent a message from his phone, right?" I get a nod in response.
"He even stole that. He was willing to steal from the man he was afraid of, just to live. And I didn't fulfill his wish."
"You're not a shooting star, Richard Johnson."
"What?"
"You're not a shooting star, you can't make wishes come true. It's not your fault."
"I could have saved him."
"I could have too, but I didn't. I didn't bring him to California, because I was afraid. He would have left school, his future, everything, to be with me here... He would have had a job, been able to pay the rent, but I didn't do it. I didn't bring him with me because I wanted the best for him."
"We messed up," he says.
"Yeah, we messed up." I look up at the stars. "If my father hadn't stripped me of my rights, taken away my family name, and rendered me completely incapable, maybe they would have believed me in court. But he managed to have me sign a paper stating that I was unfit for work, so I couldn't be my brother's guardian... But he didn't understand that."
"I know. He never wanted to face the truth. He always created an alternative reality for himself, in which he dwelled... Then this whole world he created burst like a balloon... He couldn't believe that things don't always go according to plan."
"Do you think his death could have been prevented?" I answer in my thoughts instead of Richard.
"No. He was completely broken back then. He thought maybe it wasn't worth taking the train, his father would find him, or you would get into trouble. His thoughts led him to death."
I couldn't even attend his funeral. But of course, I was there for my father because the relatives paid for my travel expenses so I could be there.
Standing in front of his grave was a relief. I wanted to laugh. But I didn't.
A familiar tune disrupts the silence of the street. Richard takes out his phone, and I glance at the screen for a moment... I forget to breathe for a moment.
Eric is calling him.
He silences the phone, tucks it back into his pocket.
"What did he want?" I ask softly.
"Nothing."
"Richard..."
"Never mind, okay?" He stands up, dusts off his pants, turns his back, and walks into the living room. I follow him.
"Are you doing this again?"
He stops.
"Honey, let's drop this, okay? I'm too tired for this."
"How long have you been lying to me? One day, three weeks?"
"Lying or protecting someone is not the same." He folds his arms in front of him, leans against the counter, and gives me that sharp look that sends shivers down my spine. His green eyes practically glow in the dimly lit kitchen, and due to his height and muscular build, he resembles a real beast. I'm always scared of him when he looks like this... I can't decide what he feels at such times. "I'm fine, Oliver, you don't need to worry about me."
"Winnie said the same thing."
"Winnie was sick... He needed help, but I don't." He heads towards the living room, and I follow.
He tosses his leather jacket on the couch, revealing the bruises on his elbow. I grimace when I think about the sight of the needle.
"You should go to rehab."
"I don't need to. I'm not an addict."
"Really?" I can feel my voice rising a few octaves. I hate it when I'm made to look stupid, especially when I see the signs. "Then what are you?"
"Let's drop this conversation. I need to sleep; I have work tomorrow."
"Oh, you're ending it that easily. You have to work..."
Everything happens suddenly. I can't even comprehend what's happening around me. He pushes his arm against the wall with one hand while grabbing my shirt with the other.
"What are you doing?" My voice trembles.
"What's the matter, have you become a scared little boy all of a sudden?" He whispers softly, locking his venom-green eyes onto mine, and with each breath, my brain races to decide when he'll strike. "Do you think I don't know? Hm? Do you think you can outsmart me, Oliver?"
"What are you doing?"
He grabs my wrist. It hurts like hell! He drags me along, and I can't keep up with him. I stumble on the carpet, and he forcibly leads me down the hallway, all the way to the bedroom. He shoves me against the wall. My back crackles as it meets the wall.
"What is this?" He tosses an envelope in front of me. A bill. "And this?" Another one.
"How should I know?"
"Don't you know?" He laughs, his voice resembling a demon more than his sweet laughter. "Bills, Darling, bills, and they have nothing to do with me. You're sending all these bills and debts to my house. Do you have any idea how many times the bank has called me?"
I can't be moved by this. Not at all. He's either out of his mind or he knows, but I don't know if I can trust him now. I'm scared that his next words will turn into screams.
"Richard, let's drop this, okay?" I smile softly. "Come on, let's cook something and sleep. You have to work tomorrow."
"You don't stay here," he says.
"Why not?"
"Do you love me?"
"Do you love me, or not?" I mutter softly, and it's a game I'm good at. They loved my mimics at the drama club.
"I hate you for deceiving me and lying to me. I thought you'd be different. I thought Winnie was just making excuses... but no. I'm left with no choice, Oliver. I don't have parents; they never taught me to make the right decisions, but I'm smart enough to know what's right and what's not. And today, you will leave here if you don't, I'll call the police."
"Why are you being so cruel to me?" I step into his words, and tears start streaming down my face. Although the forced crying feels terrible, it's staged, but I love seeing how effective it is.
But... Richard doesn't even flinch.
Is he this insensitive?
"I understand now why your father gave me that phone number," he whispers as he looks at me, not the way he does in bed... modestly, licking his lower lip. But coldly and calculatedly. His logic is clear, and his eyes are fixed on me. "He always wanted to send you away as soon as possible."
"Where to, though?"
"Why where? To the therapy that's in the Orlando!"
I burst into laughter. Damn, I've lost my character, but this is too funny to be true.
"Why would you send me there?"
"They have psychologists there; you should talk to them," he whispers softly, but I'm not sure if I can trust him anymore. I'm afraid that his next words will be shouts.
"Don't do this to me! I thought you loved me, but this is not love you're preparing for. It's not even care, as you're taking away my right to live; I'll be locked up there... Can you do this to me after all I've done for you?"
"Honey, I'm sending you there because you're hurting me. But not just me, everyone."
"What?" I mutter, trembling.
"Eric, your ex... I'm not with him just for the drugs... You did the same to him. You robbed him. You auctioned off his previous house. He told me not too long ago; I didn't believe him at first, but now I believe everything he said."
"What about me? Don't you trust me?"
"I don't trust your behavior, not you. I know you're a good guy, but there's a part of you that's not normal, Oliver. You've played this game twice. You've evaded taxes twice, and I would be the third person you'd continue this cat-and-mouse game with. Right?"
"Richard..."
"I want what's best for you," he says, stepping closer to me, running his hand along my face. His skin is so soft. "I want you to be okay."
But what if I've already completely messed up?"
There is a photo Richard and Oliver: https://th.bing.com/th/id/OIG.RcMPoN69HPupkNjxGKZp?pid=ImgGn&w=1024&h=1024&rs=1