Page 167 of Trailer Trash

“I am tired of being the life of the party, aren’t you? All we do is make everyone laugh.”

“That’s not a bad thing.”

“Yes, it is. We finish a music video or performance, and do what? Go sleep for three days because it wasn’t as fun as we hoped?”

“We get tired,” I mumble, but even I know that isn’t true.

“We’re depressed, Kill, and nobody gives a fuck. It’s always us that have to make everyone happy. People are leeches. They feed off our entertainment and leave us empty.”

“I like making people laugh,” I counter.

“Then you’re an idiot, because it’s killing you. What’s the fucking point?” He holds the gun in his limp wrist, waving it around. I watch it, tensing every time it points my way.

“Bro, I think you need to chill. Did you take downers or something?”

“Fuck, you’re in denial. Do you even love Frida? Or are you just with her because that’s what you’ve accepted? A boring, joyless life where we feel like shit secretly.”

I shrug. “It’s not all bad. I love her, and so do Mom and Dad. You’ll find a girl. The rest? That’s what the coke’s for.”

“We can’t be crackheads and raise a family.”

“We’re just having fun. I won’t always need it,” I remind him.

“I don’t think I want to be here anymore.”

I freeze.

The statement sends a jolt of electricity through my body.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

He sits up, placing his elbows on his knees. He stares at the gun in his hands and sniffles. Tears etch down his face.

I’ve seen Asher cry. Just not in public. Someone could walk in and see him. So I do what I always do when something hurts. I try to make him laugh.

“Hey, bro, relax. I know chicks go into savior mode and give out pussy when they see a guy cry—”

“Funny,” he says dryly, then looks at me from under his brow. “I’m sorry, Kill. I don’t want to stay here just for you.”

I’m on my feet before I realize it. “Hey, Asher! Come on, man. Chill. You’re talking crazy.”

He racks the slide.

My heart stops.

I don’t move a muscle, afraid a sudden shift will end in disaster.

“Asher, put the gun down. I love you. Our whole family loves you. Fuck, everyone does.”

“I love you all, too, but I won’t feel like shit every goddamn day for other people.”

I balk, offended. “You’re my best friend. My twin. What the hell? You can’t leave me, can you?”

He stares directly into my eyes, a perfect reflection of myself.

“I fucked Frida.” He breaks into a sob.

“What?” I say, breathless.