Page 100 of The Twins

I take out my phone and I scroll through my food app. In LA, there are hundreds of places to pick from. In this shithole, wherever we are, there are five. “Los Angeles spoils us. What are you in the mood for?”

No response. Whatever’s bothering him, he lets it fester, and I’m not having that. I refuse to sit by and watch him self-destruct. I tell him, “Burgers it is. Big fat juicy burgers. Grimy. Full of fat. Perfect. It’s my chance to fatten you up.”

Back home, whenever I cook nowadays, I maintain recipes that benefit Grey’s nutrition needs. She spent years malnourished. She was this close to an eating disorder. I sweat at the thought. From day one in my life, she ate well—once she trusted my cooking skills, that is.

“Charles, I want to be alone,” Remo says, heaving.

“No chance in hell. I’m staying until it passes.”

“Until what passes?” he asks in a harsh voice, as if I’m dumb. As if I don’t see his tormented face.

“You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, Remo,” I warn him.

The boy’s on the verge of tears while he stands there by the window, looking outside. I observe him, giving him space, but not enough in case he intends to do something crazy. We remain like this until the food arrives half an hour later.

There’s a filthy table in this room. I don’t have anything to clean it with. I remain by the bed to get a reaction out of Remo. He’s what they call a military brat. I don’t know what to do with that term, but what I do know is that they don’t do eating in bed unless they’re injured.

At this point, I’ll do anything to get him out of his funk.

The boy doesn’t even flinch when I unwrap my burger. My greasy fingers don’t shock him. He’s not paying attention to me.

As expected, he doesn’t touch his food either.

“You need to eat,” I tell him.

“You can eat whatever you ordered for me.”

I draw in a breath. “Remo, did I say something that hurt you?”

That’s development right there. I wouldn’t care if I hurt anyone five years ago. I did what I did. I said what I said. Now, I have a family to take care of, and as the daddy of the equation, I need to care more for the people closest to me.

“You don’t listen to me,” he whispers. His voice is barely audible, and his body cowers, his shoulders sagging. He swallows thickly.

“I want to try. What do you have to say to me? Tell me everything,” I offer.

“If I open up to you, you’ll judge me. You already do. You don’t understand why I’m not ready to open up to my brother and Grey. The consequences of that… I hid so much from them. They’ll hate me.” His chin tremors. I drop the burger back in its wrapper. I clean my fingers as best as possible with one of the paper towels, and I leave the bed.

Once I approach him, he sinks to the floor. I join him at a distance, giving him space. Giving myself space. I’m new to this shit.

I de-escalate situations because people fear me. They piss themselves at the thought of my wrath being cast upon them.

That’s not going to work with Remo. He’s too far gone for me to intimidate him.

“If they dare to hate you, I’ll make sure they suffer the consequences,” I promise him.

Remo hoists his face, meeting my eyes momentarily. I shudder at the amount of hope my words gave him.

I rethink my strategy. The boy needs a protector. I’ll give him that. I’ll back him up, and I’ll make sure nobody hurts him. I’m a natural at that. “You’re afraid that Vegas and Grey will judge you. Am I correct? They’ll suddenly see you as a liar that can’t be part of this relationship anymore?”

He nods.

“I’m part of this relationship, Remo. I have the final word. I won’t let them kick you out,” I tell him. “I promise you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Have you met me? When do I say shit I don’t mean?” I inquire, playfully snarling at him. “Remo, I’ve known you’re bisexual for two years now, haven’t I?”

He swallows.

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