Tell Me It's Real(123)

He shrugged. “One of those things. Kind of like your box of toys hiding under your bed.”

“Yeah, but dildos aren’t related! And how the fuck are you brothers? I’ve never heard that before. Anytime you were mentioned, the news said you were the only child.”

Darren smiled, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah, well, you probably wouldn’t have heard that, would you? I’m the deep, dark secret.”

“I am so confused,” I said. Today was just another day in the weirdest week in the history of all weeks.

“Vince’s dad is my dad.”

“Okay?

“His mom is not my mom.”

“But… not his mom?”

Darren shook his head.

I thought on it. “And how old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“And Vince is twenty-eight. So… oh. Oh shit.”

“You got it?”

I looked at Vince. “Your dad cheated on your mom?” I sounded aghast. And she stayed with him? And she sided with him over her own son? Suddenly, all the goodwill that I had built up toward Lori Taylor collapsed. I was once again angry with a dying woman. I hated the feeling, but I think I might have hated her just a little bit more. I tried to keep from showing it on my face. This wasn’t supposed to be about me. At least that’s what I kept telling myself.

He smiled tiredly at me before it faded. “What are you doing here, Paul?”

“I’m pretty sure I came to get you back, but now I don’t even know if you went anywhere? Did you? Or, if you did, if I had any right to come after you. Did I?” I sounded idiotic, but I couldn’t stop it.

He gave me a weird look. “You came after me even though I told you to stay away?”

“Er. Yes?” Stop sounding like you’re asking questions! “Yes. That’s exactly what I did. You see, my parents, Nana, Sandy, and Wheels all had an intervention after my dad unscrewed my door. Nana already had a speech written out in case I got addicted to meth which, to be honest, I never really thought about, but now that she mentioned it, I can’t stop thinking about it. Uh. Wait. Not that I want to do meth or anything, just like… you know… what would I be like on meth? I don’t even know what meth does to you. Is it like bath salts? Does it turn you into a zombie and you go around eating other people’s faces? I don’t think I’d make a very good zombie because I get really grossed out by the sight of blood and the thought of eating someone else makes me queasy. As it rightly should. So, I guess the point of this, which I hope to arrive at soon because I can’t seem to shut my mouth if my life depended on it, is that I’m not a zombie. I’m not addicted to meth. I’m addicted to you and I don’t want you to go anywhere without me again.”

Silence. Blessed silence. Prolonged silence. Awkward silence. Excruciating silence.

Then:

Vince made a noise almost like a sob. “And you wonder why I—” He stopped himself before he finished that sentence, and I literally almost shat myself thinking of the possible ways it could have ended.

Here’s what my mind came up with:

1) “And you wonder why I think you’re insane? Did you just hear yourself talk? Paul, this is so over, it’s not even funny. Get out of my life. I hate your face.”

2) “And you wonder why I was trying to get up on my brother? Because the idea of incest is more appealing than being with you ever again. I was using my brother to wash the memory of you from my head because I’m that grossed out by you.”

3) “And you wonder why I didn’t tell you about my parents? I’m so embarrassed by you that I couldn’t ever imagine them meeting you. Oh, and by the way, I faked all my orgasms with you.”

4) “And you wonder why I decided to Freddie Prinze Junior you? You just came from an intervention at your house and are standing in the middle of my apartment after you just punched my boyfriend/brother Darren, asking me to get back together with you. What part of that makes you think I would ever get in your mangina again? You were a bet, Paul. You were nothing but a bet.”

5) “And you wonder why I think you’ll be alone forever? No one can handle your crazy, Paul. No one. Especially not me.”

I almost begged him to finish the thought, but I didn’t think I wanted to hear the answer. I’d pretty much embarrassed the crap out of myself (I punched Darren, for fuck’s sake; I punched the Homo Jock King!), and I didn’t know what else there was to say. Opening my mouth seemed to have gotten me in a shitload of trouble, and I didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore.

Of course, my mouth didn’t listen to my brain. I was pretty sure I needed to be medicated.