Page 7 of Tears and Other Fears

“No,” Young replied simply. “I wanted to remember him as he was. Looking into the past or looking into his privacy would have ruined that for me. There are just some things I don’t want to dig up.”

“Are you saying you think William had more secrets?” People only avoided answers when they knew there was something there they wouldn’t like. That’s why I always avoided asking my mother if she loved me.

“I’m saying we all have secrets, Octavia. But I’d rather not dig his up unless I have to. It was already devastating when I found out it was an overdose. I didn’t even know he was using.”

“He wasn’t using,” I snapped. “He had one weak moment, and Samuel took advantage of it to get him out of the way.” Once the phone was on, he set it on his dresser for a moment. We both stared at the technological key to William’s past, knowing that once we went down this rabbit hole, there was no going back. “You don’t have to look if you don’t want to. But I think you should.” Maybe I was selfish or a bad person. In fact, IknewI was a bad person. Because I wanted Young to learn about William’s secrets. I wanted him to have a reason to run to me.

I didn’t understand why I was competing for the attention of a boy I shouldn’t want. William was my soulmate; we shared a womb. But Young had an excellent chance of me tolerating him. And I wanted to explore that more.

“I’ll look.” Young’s response was resigned, he looked at the ground in defeat, and I knew that we would find things that hurt him.

I did the honors, reaching for William’s phone and smiling when I saw the background. It was a photo of us, taken the Christmas before he passed. We were wearing matching ugly Christmas sweaters, hugging each other in front of our stepfather, Liam’s, ostentatious Christmas tree which towered in our home. Tears started to fill my eyes as I stared lovingly at it.

“He kind of looks happy in this photo,” I whispered before swatting away the tears that threatened to fall. Young went to sit down on the bed, giving me the semblance of privacy. After staring at the photo for a bit longer, I then looked painstakingly through his contacts. There wasn’t anything obvious, likedrug dealerorRenon. So I checked his voicemail, frowning when I realized that his last message was from Liam. I put it on speaker.

“William, call me back. I heard your grades are slipping. I refuse to let you embarrass me while you’re there,” he said before hanging up. My finger hovered over the screen, prepared to press it again and again and again until I knew every nuance of my shitty stepfather’s voice. Maybe Young was right for not wanting to know. This was what searching for answers did to people. Would the answers to William’s death ever feel clear?

“No wonder my brother was depressed. Liam was always on his case,” I said with a sigh, mentally adding it to the list of things I would have to address later. “Seems like every time a puzzle piece clicks into place, an entirely new puzzle appears.” Young was smart enough not to sound off with a quickI told you so,but I didn’t wait for him to tell me that I should quit while I was ahead, either. So instead, I clicked on the next voicemail, which was from Young. “William, please, we have to talk about this. I can’t lose—”

I turned the voicemail off, staring at Young and committing that desperate tone of his voice to memory. Part of me wanted to hear the proof of his pain, part of me wanted to wrap up in the sound of his desperate love and pretend it was meant for me.

Wait. What was I saying?

There were no more voicemails of worth on his phone, so I went to his photos. “I wonder if he has any pictures of Renon? It might help us find some of his hangout spots,” I offered with a shrug. I was starting to think that the cell phone was a dead end. All it did was lead me to more questions and confusion. When I got to the photos, I started mindlessly scrolling, looking for Renon’s familiar face. But I came across something else entirely. It made my fingers shake, and my eyes widened the moment I saw it.

It was Young.

The photo was taken in a dark room. Sweat was glistening down his washboard abs. He was leaning back against a white headboard, holding a massive, erect dick in his palm. The picture was snapped of him mid-stroke while biting his lip.

Hell. Yes. He looked delicious and oh, so tempting. For a moment, I pretended that this photo was sent to me—a treat intended for me to unwrap and savor. I suppose I could have acted like I never saw it. I could have kept scrolling like any normal person with a smidge of tact would have. But instead, I turned the phone around to show Young while walking towards him.

The moment Young saw the photo, he didn’t flinch. A blush didn’t fill his perfect tan cheeks, nor did he shy away from the blatant attention I was showing him. Instead, Young looked smug, like he knew how attractive he was and was pleased by the effect he had on anyone lucky enough to look at him.

No—that wasn’t it either. Young shied away from attention. He had the confidence of someone that knew the effect he had on a room, but he didn’t necessarily enjoy it. Young was pleased that it wasmelooking at this rather racy photo once intended for my twin brother. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was picturing William standing here instead.

“Do you mind if I keep this? Those damn pills really made it hard for a girl to get off. But I think these photos could do the trick. You wouldn’t happen to have any more, would you?” I asked while lifting my eyebrows suggestively. Young gave a coy half-smile that looked a little too practiced for it to feel genuine.

“Doesn’t it gross you out that I sent that to your brother?” Young challenged.

I let out a sigh before dropping the phone in his lap and crossing my arms over my chest. “Is it supposed to?” I was tired, but this conversation had me feeling alive.

“Maybe.”

“Now, if William were in this photo, we would probably be having a different conversation,” I said while scrunching my face up in disgust. “But no, the only thing I’m feeling right now is interest. But we’re too fucked up to actually act on those impulses, aren’t we, Young?” I asked. We were just two people challenging one another, seeing who would be the first to break. It was undeniable, the attraction between us, but everything else kept getting in the way. His grief. My weird sense of loyalty to William.

Then, of course, there was the fact that I wasn’t quite myself. And maybe right now, that was a good thing. Because the girl I was took everything without question. She was selfish. She held the world in her fist and squeezed till it bled, then watered her plants with whatever flowed from it.

Me not feeling completely impulsive was probably saving the rocky friendship Young and I were just starting to establish. But of course, she still had sneaky ways of breaking through, like rubbing his hard cock on the airplane, for example.

“You’re beautiful, Young. You look like someone I could pretend to be normal for.”

I grabbed the phone from his lap and began scrolling through photos once more, but he reached out to grab my wrist, coughing a little before speaking. “I don’t want you to be normal, Octavia.” Yeah, that was right. I’d almost forgotten. Young just wanted to use me. And I was so desperate for him that I’d be willing to go against my nature and let him. At least we were both self-aware.

I brought my attention back down to the phone, but my fingers were shaking. I scrolled through the photos while my mind lingered on the picture of Young. He was so damn beautiful. Perfection used to intimidate me, and Young’s body lacked flaws. I guess he saved them all for his relationships.

It wasn’t until I finally landed on a photo of a familiar face that I relaxed. “Here he is!” I exclaimed. Young sat up in bed and leaned over, he was eye-level with my breasts as I stood beside him, both of us hunched over William’s cell phone.

It was a group photo, but Renon had this effortless way of drawing my eyes to him that came across even on this tiny screen. I hadn’t been feeling particularly artistic since William died, but there was something about Renon’s cocky posture that had me itching to paint. Or maybe it was the photo of Young in this very bed. Either way, aside from the spit roasting graffiti art I painted over a month ago, I hadn’t painted in ages. I kind of wished that I had a brush in my hand and a canvas beneath my palm.

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