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“Do you feel like you’re missing out on something by being with her?”
“Not at all.”
“Then what’s the matter? So, shit’s not how you planned. Based on how fucking girlishly happy you look, I’d say it’s better.”
He leans back, regarding me for a long moment.
“What happened to the guy that said commitment is death to any man?” He eyes me curiously.
Your sister, that’s what fucking happened.Though I’m not really committed to Barlow. At least, not in the standard sense. Sure, I’ve given up fucking other girls for her, but that’s because I like fucking her more. It doesn’t mean anything...
I once again push the thought away.
“Still true, at least for me, but if you, my brother, are happy, I can live with it.” I push to a stand. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get my ass in the shower.”
“Fuck yeah you do, I can smell you from here.” He busts my balls.
“Fuck you.” I flip him off as I make my way toward the hallway.
“I need to run to the store in a bit. Do you mind if I take your Jeep?” he asks, not moving from his position on the couch.
“Grocery store?” I ask, pausing at the mouth of the hall.
“Unfortunately,” he grumbles.
“Can you pick me up some Gatorade?”
“Sure.”
“Keys are on the hook.” I gesture toward the front door.
“Thanks, man.”
“No problem.” I head down the hall before slipping into the bathroom, wishing like hell Barlow were here to wash me clean.
——
I’m bored. Like pacingaround my room going fucking stir crazy, bored. The apartment is way too quiet and with Barlow’s scent swirling around me, I can’t fucking think about anything but when I’m going to get to sink into her next.
It’s getting bad. Like bad, bad. Like, I can’t fucking close my eyes without seeing her. I can’t breathe without smelling her. I can’t move without feeling her. It’s like she’s everywhere, burned into the furthest recesses of my brain so that no matter how hard I try, I cannot shake her.
I trip over a notebook sticking out from under my bed. Leaning over, I pick it up and flip it open, seeing Barlow’s face staring back at me. I flip to the next page and then the next, every single one almost exactly the same. I don’t know why I drew her so much when I was younger. Even though she hated me, drawing her gave me a weird sense of peace in an otherwise chaotic existence.
Sketching the frame of her face, her eyes, the shape of her lips – it was like therapy for me.
Snapping the notebook closed, I lean down and grab the other three I stuffed under my bed the night Barlow and I unpacked my room. She nearly got a hold of one of them, which is how she ended up in my lap. And while I know the kiss in the bathroom was a turning point for us, that night is what really changed things, at least for me.
I stack the sketchbooks on top of each other and then make my way to the closet, stuffing them in the far corner of the top shelf, tossing a sweatshirt on top of them for good measure.
I know I should probably just toss them out. Brennon would probably lose his shit if he ever found them, but I can’t bring myself to part with them.
Once I’m satisfied that they won’t be easily stumbled upon, I make my way into the kitchen, thinking maybe I’ll eat something. Only when I open the cabinets there’s next to nothing in them. No wonder Brennon was going to the store. It’s his week and clearly he put it off until the very last fucking minute. The fridge is almost as bad, unless I want to eat one of Barlow’s disgusting Greek yogurts or those nasty little wheels of cheese she loves so much.
I cringe, slamming the door shut.
“Well, fuck,” I mutter, looking around the room. “Fuck it.” Without really thinking it through, I slip on my shoes, throw a hoodie over my t-shirt, and grab my apartment keys and phone before I’m heading out the front door.
I don’t have to wonder where I’m going, I already know. And when I find myself standing outside ofBrewersless than ten minutes later, I’m not the least bit surprised.
