Page 51 of Toxic Wishes

“Ever since the hospital, and the first time he found me outside at lunch, we became friends. He put his number in my phone, and we started texting each other soon after that.”

“About?” Colt leans in, a bit more intrigued.

“Nothing serious, mainly just music and things we wished for.”

“Wished for?” He gave me a look that said, how old are you?

“Yes, 11:11 is wish time—our birthdays. Blake didn’t know that until I told him the day we met, so we would text each other at that time and tell each other what we wished for. Sometimes, he would send me tunes or beats he came up with, and sometimes whole songs. He was a magnificent guitarist.”

“He hated my guts,” Colt said as a statement, not a question. I shrugged. It was not untrue. Colt sat back, running a hand over his chiseled jaw. There was something very dark and decadent about him. If I unzipped his beautiful exterior, impossible light blue eyes, kissable mouth, and body, one could tell he had built that masterpiece with years of training. Underneath, all I would find is ice.

“Was he…Did he want to commit suicide?”

And there it was, the question we all have been asking ourselves. Was his death intentional? After years of asking myself the same question, I told Colt what I believed.

“No, I don’t believe so. But we stopped hanging out around the time that all happened, and I never knew for sure if he started using again, b-”

“You guys met up outside of school? “ Colt says, interrupting me. “I just thought you talked at school?”

“No, we hung out a few times outside of school, but not much. Our main interactions were at school and through text. We weren’t as close as you think.”

“The fact Blake had a friend at all means you were close. Blake hated everyone, especially me.”

“That’s because he told me you and his dad were forcing him to play football and go pro.”

“That was just my dad. We even got into fights about it. But my dad wanted to ensure both his sons pursued the American dream. But it was my dad’s dream, and he was living off all the good memories the NFL brought him. Cliff lived in the past, and he still does. Even though I know Blake hated my advice, I told him that if he goes along with it for a while until he graduates, it will all be behind him. So I gave him pointers. It was either that or let Blake suffer with Cliff, our sperm donor. Cliff was not set out to be a father, and even though Blake and I weren’t close, I knew he was hurting because of what had happened with his mom. On top of finding out his dad was not this prestigious NFL player that the media made him out to believe all those years. Spoiler alert, Cliff had been broke for a while when he asked me to help care for Blake.”

His words cut me into ribbons of hurt as my body folded. “I had a feeling, but the football part is not how Blake made it sound. He acted like you both were forcing him to be someone he wasn’t. And that’s when he started taking steroids, which is what I think led him to take drugs again.”

“Ya, and I’m sure my dad talked him into that bullshit too. My dad took testosterone back in the day. Bet Blake didn’t tell you about that.”

“Does your dad know the act of sticking needles in your arm, no matter what’s in the needle, can trigger a drug addict to want to use? I mean, that’s like handing a heroin addict a needle or an alcoholic a bottle of liquor and seeing what he’ll do with it.”

“Like I said, Cliff had no interest in raising Blake, and Dad is the definition of a narcissist asshole, as you said.”

“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” I mutter. I’m not sure if Colt heard me, but if he did, he decided to ignore my jab and continue.

“Did you know why Blake really went to the hospital?”

“Ya, he said he got addicted to pills. He didn’t mean to but he had to take them for his jaw surgery, so he ended up getting addicted, which is pretty common when people get prescribed narcotics.”

“Ya, that’s the lie he told everyone. He got hooked on drugs because Cliff pushed steroids on him at fourteen. He couldn’t take him to a doctor since no doctor in their rightful mind would prescribe a healthy kid with high testosterone more testosterone. He convinced Blake it was okay. Nothing would happen to him, and little did my dad know, Blake loved that high of feeling invincible to the point he started chasing that high in everything he did. So when he got a taste of cocaine and heroin, working out was pushed to the side and he was a full-blown addict within months.”

The waitress sets our coffee down. I did not know if Colt was making his dad seem worse than he was or if he was telling the truth to squeeze more information out of me. I know Blake wasn’t a liar, but I also know Blake was a hurt teenager who saw life through broken glasses. He was smeared by the consequences of being the child of two messed-up famous stars since his real mom was a singer.

“Blake said his father didn’t even know he existed until he started playing football. He said you loved the attention your dad gave you because it made you feel superior.”

“That’s what Blake wanted to believe. I tried to help Blake. I wanted him to chase his dreams. Because if he followed my footsteps, Dad would end up sucking him dry too. My dad did nothing but take and take. Why do you think my dad was the one who encouraged him to become a pro athlete instead of pursuing education or his dream of being a famous musician? My dad believed his genes were so superior to all others and all his boys would become pro-athletes. It’s why he had four kids. That we know of anyway.”

I press my lips together, but my resentment towards Colt starts to resolve like smoke. Everything he says makes sense. Why would a soon-to-be pro football player be so hell-bent on making his brother's life a living hell when he barely knows him? It makes no sense.

“Blake said you started monitoring everything he was doing,” I say.

“Ya, because I was worried.”

I lower my head before lifting it back up. “He was hanging out with a different crowd, and rumors were going around school that he was using drugs. But I didn’t confront him about it. He was so moody those days; I knew he would cage in on me, and I didn’t want to lose him as a friend.”

“He got high frequently. The first thing I did when I came home from college was raid his room and give him drug tests. I’d monitor his phone with apps, but he was so damn smart and much more tech-savvy than me that he would know I did that somehow and disable them. But the more I tried to help Blake, the more he pushed me away.”

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