Out of Nowhere(100)

Brian’s always done what we told him to, but I always thought it was because he liked it that way. Liked not having to worry about figuring shit out on his own. He’s looking at me expectantly, nervously. And I can’t help but think of what Daniel said. About how the things I said had an effect on him when I always thought he didn’t care.

“That… would be okay.”

Brian’s eyes go wide and his face relaxes. “Yeah?”

“Well, yeah, man. It’s your choice. Do you know what you wanna do instead?”

“I—you’re gonna think it’s lame,” he says. I shrug. “I want to be a bartender.” I look at him, unsure what to say. “Well, okay, I thought maybe someday I could have my own bar.”

“That’s… that’d be cool, man. Really.”

“Yeah? Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything before?”

Brian’s eyes immediately cut toward the recliner. “Yeah, ’cause Pop wouldn’t have totally killed me. And he definitely wouldn’t have let me keep living here.” His face falls and his lip starts to tremble all of a sudden. He looks around, like he’s just remembered Pop isn’t here anymore.

“Colin,” he says, and it comes out as a whisper. “I… I’m a total loser, man. No wonder Callie doesn’t want to be with me. I mean, I don’t even—I don’t even fucking know how to take care of… anything.” He gestures around the house. “Pop always….” He shakes his head and he looks so lost.

“Told you what to do,” I finish for him. He bites his lip like he thinks I’m about to make fun of him, but nods. “Yeah, I know, man. But, look, maybe… well, maybe Pop wasn’t the best at knowing how to take care of everything either.”

Brian looks surprised.

“Just, you know. You can do it.” Yeah, I’m definitely not very good at these pep talk thingies.

He nods again, but he’s already distracted by something else. “Hey!” he says. “Who’s the guy?”

“Um. What? Who?”

“The big guy with long hair.”

My stomach drops.

“I don’t—what?”

Brian rolls his eyes. “The guy who was at your house. I swung by your place yesterday because no one had heard from you—hell, I even called Daniel!—and I saw this guy. I, uh, I remember you got mad the last time I just showed up without calling, though, so I didn’t ring the bell.”

My heart is hammering in my throat, and I feel like I’m going to puke. I keep opening my mouth to try and say something, but nothing is coming out.

Brian saw Rafe. In my house.

My breathing stutters and my mouth goes dry.

What’s confusing, though, is that I feel something treacherous and unfamiliar trying to claw its way out. And I have to get the fuck out of here, because what’s trying to get out is the goddamn truth.

I try to stand up casually. “Gotta take off,” I say, already halfway to the door. “I’ll talk to you later.” And I rush out before he can say anything.

I drive home on autopilot and get in the shower. My hands are shaking and I can’t figure out where that impulse came from. Tell Brian about Rafe? That’s crazy.

Isn’t it?

By the time the water goes cold, I still have no clue what’s going on with me. I’m shaky and fidgety and every time I start to calm down, I get really aware of my breathing and then I start sweating and my stomach hurts. I want to call Rafe, but he’s at work and I don’t want him to think I can’t even get through a day without him.

Finally, after clicking over to his number for the third time, I throw my phone onto the couch and grab the whiskey from the cabinet. I just need something—anything—to make this feeling stop. After two drinks, I feel a little calmer. After four, I start to panic because I know Rafe hates when I drink. So I try and tell myself that it’s no problem: I just won’t see him tonight and he’ll never know I’ve been drinking. But then the idea of not being able to see him makes me feel panicky and fucked up. And that requires another drink.

Finally, I can’t stand it anymore and I call Rafe.

“Hey,” he says when he picks up. “I’m actually on my way to your house—that okay?”

“Yeah” is all I get out before he says, “See you in a few,” and hangs up.

“Shit, shit,” I mutter. I wash my face and brush my teeth three times to try and get rid of the whiskey on my breath, but I can’t make myself call and tell him he shouldn’t come, even though I know he won’t like it. I need to see him.