It’s why I have to go be with him.
So he won’t be alone.
Kit will be sad, but he has friends at school, a great family, and maybe even a thing to look forward to with Eric.
My eyes water at the thought of leaving him. Sickness roils in my belly. An ache that doesn’t want to go away forms inside my heart.
It’s cruel to do it at his house.
For him to find when he wakes up.
Somehow, though, I always knew it would be him. When I found him in that handicapped stall giving himself an insulin injection, it felt poetic. Tomorrow morning, when he gets up to go to the bathroom, he’ll find me. I imagine he’ll cry, but he’ll hold me and tell me he understands.
I’ll be with Julian soon.
I pick up the pill bottle from the counter and unscrew the lid before dumping them into my palm. Not as many as I began with, but still enough to get the job done.
I’m so tired of the pain.
So tired of being hollow from the loss of my brother.
Everything hurts and the only time it’s better is when I’m with Kit.
Memories of the evening tease at me. The blowjob he gave me rocked my world. It was the best parting gift a guy could have. I couldn’t have asked for more. But then, later after his family came home and went to bed, he kissed me everywhere in the dark. We didn’t have sex, but we rubbed our dicks together while we made out, making a mess all over his bed. I fell asleep in his arms, happy and sated, but woke up at three in the morning gutted by the painful reminder that yesterday is over and today is now.
Tears streak down my cheeks, hot and fast. I’m trembling and stalling. It’s what I want. Going to Julian is what I need. So why does it feel wrong? Why is it so much scarier in the early hours of a Saturday morning than it was on Monday? Too many what-ifs plague my brain.
What if it’s not enough?
What if I throw them up?
What if I don’t die but end up in a coma?
What if it hurts worse than the pain I feel?
What if Kit hears me crying or puking or dying?
What if I’m not ready to go?
The last question hits me hard, crushing into me like the blunt force of a hammer. I fist the pills, bracing myself on the counter so I don’t collapse. My eyes are bloodshot and rimmed red from my tears.
“Jasper.”
The name is soft, barely a whisper.
A plea.
At first I think I imagine it, but then I hear it again. It’s Kit. He’s calling for me. Alarm rattles through me and I shakily put the pills back into the bottle. For now. I close the lid before setting it back down. Once I swipe away my tears, I open the bathroom door and stagger out. Light shines onto the bed from the bathroom, revealing Kit’s form.
Something seems wrong.
My pain for my brother gets chased away by worry for Kit. I rush over to him, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Low,” he croaks out.
I know what this means. Quickly, I fumble for the lamp to help him check his readings. The numbers don’t look good, so I rush out of the room to wake his parents. They must be used to this sort of thing because they don’t question the boy who’s not theirs, standing in his boxers at the foot of their bed, and both leap out, rushing past me.
“I’ll grab some juice and fruit,” Tad tells Leesa.
Leesa hurries into the room and begins talking to Kit. She takes one look at his monitor before she curses. The seconds drag on for hours and my heart feels as though it’s stopped beating. Leesa whispers assurances to him. When Tad returns, I let out a breath of relief. All I can do is watch intently as they care for him, paying attention to each detail because maybe one day it’ll be me who needs to help him.
A fierce need to protect and watch over him curls around my heart. If I leave, I’m not sure anyone cares about Kit like I do. Eric likes him as a friend and wants to be his date, but he doesn’t have a thing with Kit.
Kit’s mine and I’m his.
“If he’s going to exert himself before bed,” Leesa says, her voice tight with discomfort, “he needs to be checking his levels right after. He might need to eat something.”
My chest, neck, and face burn bright red. Tad gives me a knowing smirk, but Leesa won’t look at me.
“Yes, ma’am,” I murmur.
“Cut them some slack,” Tad says, running his fingers through Kit’s curls. “You remember how chaotic love was in those early days, honey.”