Something that rattles a bit as he walks away from me and into his bedroom. He emerges a moment later with both hands free, offering me a sad smile before he rejoins Mom and Austin in the kitchen.
My eyes flick up to the second story again.
It’s time to go watch fireworks. Austin tells me as much with a warm, lazy kiss to my cheek.
I should be happy.
I tell him and my parents to go on without me. I fake that I have an upset stomach, that I just need to use the restroom andI’ll be right out. Austin doesn’t ask another question. I’m pretty sure he’s still under the illusion that girls don’t poop. Mom asks if I need anything with a worried bend of her brows, but I assure her I’m fine.
Dad holds my gaze before they go, some sort of warning in his eyes.
I ignore it.
As soon as they’re gone, I tiptoe up the stairs, but I don’t go right. Going right would take me to my bedroom.
I go left.
To his.
Two soft knocks on the door announce my presence. That door is cracked, and when I push it open a few inches, I see the room is pitch black. It’s silent, too. But it smells like him, like mint and ice.
“Aleks?”
I slip inside, shutting the door behind me and letting my eyes adjust. There’s a flash of red from a firework bursting over the lake, and it illuminates a slumped form in the corner of the room.
Aleks is sitting on the floor, his back against the built-in bookshelf that still hosts a number of his trophies from high school. He has one leg extended in front of him, the other bent, his arm balanced on that knee with a can of beer hanging loosely from his fingertips. His eyes are fixed on that can, unmoving.
He looks like shit.
The more my eyes adjust, the more I see it — his pale skin, the purple under his eyes, the slouch in his shoulders. This isn’t my cocky, annoying best friend.
This is his dark twin, the one that always lives inside him, the one he’s always running from.
I used to assure him this part of him didn’t exist, but eventually, I realized the truth. Now, I just try to remind him this isn’t him — not really.
I’m not sure he believes me.
Wordlessly, I drop down to the floor next to him, my back against the shelves, shoulder brushing his triceps. I extend my legs, my feet only coming to the middle of his calf.
Aleks circles the can in his hand a bit, the liquid inside it making a swishing sound. “Your dad send you up here?”
“No. Why would he?”
He laughs at that, shaking his head before draining the rest of his beer. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because he just found me in here with a handful of pills.”
He crushes the can and tosses it next to his foot.
He crushes my ribcage with those words, too.
“Aleks…”
“Save your breath, Strings,” he says, dragging his hands back over his short hair. “Your dad already lectured me.”
“It’s not lecturing,” I defend. “It’s because he loves you. We all do.”
Aleks lets his head fall back against the shelf, turning slowly until he’s facing me. His eyes are glazed. “You love me, huh?”
My stomach does a dramatic dip, like I just went over the first big hump of a rollercoaster and now I’m plummeting toward the earth.
