Page 71 of Man On

"You talk. I’m going to rest my eyes," I say, the pull of sleep submerging the edges of consciousness.

"Oookay." Noah sounds uncertain, which is unlike him. It piques my interest enough to stay awake and listen to what he says, but he's quiet for a long time.

"I'm jealous of Danny," he admits in a small whisper. "Not just because he's, well, him, and you're you. But because he has more in common with you." It feels like there's more to that, but I'm too floaty to dig into it. It seems safer to just exist on the edges of truth, anyway.

"I was jealous of Maci," I say, deciding to reciprocate the confession. But my floaty mind takes it too far, and I word vomit a lot of truths that I'll probably regret later. "I was jealous because you wanted her. Because you fit together."

"You dated her for almost two years," he replies dryly.

"Only to throw people off. You were the one she really wanted. I think she thought it might get her closer to you."

"That's fucked up, I'm sorry."

I shrug. "We were aware that we were using each other. It was never something we said out loud, but she knew, and I knew." I sigh, wondering how much she knew. If she knew I wanted Noah, too. "She's a good person, though.”

"Why did you feel you had to do that? Pretend, I mean."

A deep breath inflates my chest and abdomen, and slowly releases. Calm. There's nothing but calm.

"The place I grew up in was… not accepting." Understatement of the century.

Noah doesn't stir or speak, encouraging me to keep going with his silence. "I worry that no matter how long I live, no matter what changes in my life, I'll never get him out of my head."

A tear rolls down my temple. I'm aware of it, and its significance, but I'm detached from it. It's something my body is doing without my consciousness. An emotional reaction, when all I feel is objective. Interesting.

"Your grandfather?"

"And Chris."

If I've ever spoken his name out loud before, I don't remember when. My memories of him are something I've kept close to my chest, hoarding them like secrets.

"Chris? Was he your boyfriend?"

Normally, I know I'd balk at that. Shrink away and act offended. But there's no fear in this new space—wherever it is. This probably isn’t even real. It’s too comfortable to be real. It must just be a dream.

"Just a friend."

"You never talk about it. Your childhood, I mean."

I don’t reply. The silence stretches out between us is heavy, but comfortable.

"Lane?"

"Hmm?" I answer, sleep pulling me down.

"Are you going to testify?"

"I don't think I'm going to have a choice."

"That's fucked up. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty fucked up." I chuckle, because it's objectively funny.

"Maybe," Noah says, laughing softly, but it doesn't feel like a genuine laugh. He sounds too concerned for it to be genuine. "But I'm pretty fucked up, too. We can be fucked up together."

"Promise?" Even through my floaty headspace, my chest still tightens the way it always does when I think of Noah in any aspect that isn’t brotherly.

"You're mine now, Lane. No take backs," he whispers.

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