Page 130 of Toxic Wishes

God, he’s so damn beautiful.

When I saw Cliff, I definitely could see Colt in him. They both had that angular side profile going for them. They both were tall. Cliff had more wrinkles and skin damage from years of sun exposure.

“I have to work tonight, so when do you want to start?” I ask him.

“How about now?”

When Colt opens the bedroom door, it’s as if an immediate rush runs through me. The last time I was in here, Colt and I almost had sex on Bodie’s bed. Colt and I exchange a look before we turn our focus back on Blake’s bed. It’s as if the energy we conjured up in this room never left. I hadn’t noticed before, but it was dusty here. Colt wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t been in here for years.

“Where’s Cliff? You didn’t want him to help? Don’t you think this would be therapeutic for him as well?”

“No, besides, he offered to take Bodie to get ice cream. Running from his problems is what he does best, so I told him to get lost so we could do this.”

“What a way to treat your father.”

“He’s not my father. Just a man who screwed my mother. It's not the best thing to be admired for, especially now. The only card he has to play is the NFL, and that’s a shitty hand since he is broke.”

“It’s still conception.”

“It’s just fucking.”

His words stung so bad they felt venomous, Toxic to my soul, as I let them sink in.

It's just fucking. Is that all he thought we were doing? Instead of letting his words get the best of me, I turn it around.

“I did say jocks don’t know how to please a woman, so that’s too bad for your mom.”

He looks over at me. “I bet your bottom dollar that I can bend you over right here right now and have you dripping on my fingers before I even stick my dick in you, sweetheart.” I swivel around, my mouth hanging open in shock.

“Excuse me?”

Colt stared at me with a flat, almost disinterested look, like he was back to cold, distant Colt again.

“You forgot how many times I made you moan my name last night, sweetheart. Don’t insult me because I’m a jock who’s speaking the truth on how he was conceived.”

He comes nearer to me and slips a finger into my shorts. I gasp. “I knew that would make you wet,” he smirks as he licks my slickness off his finger.

I’m almost annoyed at his cockiness and my stupid body for reacting to it. I chose to ignore his outbursts. There was no point in bickering with him before we even started. Besides, I figured it was just his way of coping. I looked over at the wall and saw a broomstick, trashbag, paper towels, and cleaning products lined up on the wall like tiny soldiers. He looked at me, and I looked at him. It felt as if he was stalling.

“Do you want me to do it?” I ask

Colt shook his head and took a deep breath as he strolled over to the products, grabbing a trash bag. It felt like he was still here. That’s how much this room was untouched. Posters of rock bands and girls covered with the weed symbol hung on the walls. Hundreds of CDs and records stood piled on the floor, soaring into three twisted towers. This room was so Blake, and it’s as if I was sixteen years old all over again.

“I miss him.” My words were barely audible, even to myself.

Colt groaned. “Should I put it all in storage?”

I shook my head. “You’re never going to use these things. We need to give them away. Blake would have liked that.”

For the next three hours, we scrubbed Blake's room clean and threw five trash bags worth of stuff.

Colt had been literal when he said he hadn’t touched the room in years. The trash can under Blake's death still had an empty Doritos bag and Auntie Anne’s peanut butter cookie wrapper. I smiled at that wrapper before I threw it away. We dusted, scrubbed, vacuumed, and opened the window in silence. The only thing we hadn’t opened were the two drawers to Blake's dresser. It was an excellent desk made of natural oak. I shook the handle a little, but it didn’t budge.

“Is there a key anywhere?” I say as I look around. Colt walks over and yanks on the drawer, and in one swoop, the drawers open along with papers that went flying everywhere. Colt seemed like the most confident, formidable man I ever knew, but right now, as the papers flew around us like large snowflakes, he appeared as lost as his baby brother during our school years. His eyes drifted up to mine.

“So much for finding a key,” I smile. But Colt’s lips remained plastered in a thin line. I knelt and picked up the papers individually, catching glimpses of what was written. I paused when one stood out.

Where the words fail, music speaks.

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