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My strokes along his ear and scalp continued. I wanted to be a silent force of support, to remind him he wasn’t alone.
“I knew Mom and Dad had a few fights over getting him on medication or taking him to see someone. Dad was against it, said they’d pump him full of so many meds we wouldn’t recognize him anymore. Mom was just desperate, and worried that Tim would start harming himself. It was a fucking mess, and I didn’t know how to deal. I was fifteen when the arguments became more and more insistent, and when I tried to check on Tim—see if he was okay, what with hearing all their bullshit about his depression and what to do with him—but he refused to talk to me. Wouldn’t even open his door. By then, we were in high school, but Mom decided to homeschool us. Not for me, for him. They had slowly taken bits and pieces of my life away and used the scraps to frame a new family, one that was lonely and sad. We stayed away from town, stuck to the mountain, so I lost all my friends, and my brother hated my guts. I was lonely.”
I briefly remembered the first time I had ever seen Davis. He was devastating. Dark hair, eyes the color of a storm, a jaw line that was firm and masculine. Unlike any boy at my school, unlike anyone I had ever seen. I knew then I’d love this man for the rest of my life, but I did remember the cloud that seemed to follow him. It was a part of his allure, like a rope thrown out as bait, for anyone stupid enough to get caught in his thralls.
As he talked, I began putting together a timetable in my mind.
“They couldn’t agree on what to do for him, except make sure he had a healthy diet and got exercise, which was just walking the dog. But up here, you know, we only really get sun during summer, and even then—it’s short lived. It wasn’t enough. When Tim was fourteen, he started talking about death a lot, and I knew in my gut we needed to get him help. So I went to my mom and told her.”
“That was the right thing to do,” I whispered, unable to hold back from adding something to this painful story. How difficult that must have been for him to tell his mother, knowing it could make things worse between him and his brother.
Davis slumped his shoulders and his whole body seemed to curve inward, taking mine with it. It felt like a cocoon. Just the two of us.
“Mom had him in a therapist’s office just a week later. Dad was furious and blamed me for it. When Tim got back, he was furious too—but deep down, I knew I had done the right thing. He was diagnosed with severe depression, anxiety, and a few other things, but he needed meds and the doctor suggested a few changes.”
“Sunshine,” I muttered, thinking that was probably why they had moved.
He nodded, moving his hand up and down my thigh in an anxious fashion.
“After a few months of Tim going to therapy, my parents essentially forgot I existed. I used to blame them for it. My friend’s lives looked so fun on social media, compared to mine. They were going to football games, and getting tacos and ice cream with girls. They were going to dances, and again—meeting girls. You can probably tell where my mind was during that time.”
He laughed, and I smiled, feeling glad that he could find a way to smile about it, but the truth of his life felt like a broken piece of glass that he was trying to peer through to find what used to be inside.
“So, when I turned sixteen, I was ready to get my license. I’d been driving my dad’s truck on all the mountain roads and clocking the time. He’d thankfully started paying attention to my demands to go into town and get a job. I think he was at such a loss with my brother, on how to help him, that helping me at least gave him something to do—or at least alleviated some of the guilt. So, I got my license. My dad let me drive one of his old, beater work trucks into town, and I got my first job doing construction. It was shitty pay, and shitty work, but it got me out of the house, and I needed that more than anything else at that time in my life.”
I had a feeling the shoe was about to drop.
“I made a few friends; Gavin was one of them. He introduced me to a few of his buddies from school, and even though I was still homeschooled, they invited me to hang out with them. For the first time ever, I felt like I had a life. Then my brother’s therapist wanted a session with me. Apparently I had been brought up a few times in the meetings, and she began to worry about my role in Tim’s life.”
“Is that normal, or even allowed?” I wasn’t familiar with every aspect of therapy, but that seemed odd.
Davis brushed his thumb over the space under my shirt, right along my hip bone. Heat flared where his skin touched, and I tried to relax, realizing that some questions he might not be able to answer, depending on how difficult they were for him.
“The therapist had asked my mother, and she gave her approval, so I went in. The therapist talked about how I needed to take more of a role in supporting him. She wanted me to take Tim with me to hang out with my friends. Wanted me to encourage him to branch out and socialize. I was only sixteen. She knew this, and yet she put all the fucking pressure on me to fix my brother, and I resented the wrong person for it. I still hate myself for feeling the way I did and doing what I did…”
A choked gasp was caught in my throat. “You were a child.”
The thumb on my waist moved closer to my rib cage, in a caressing gesture.
“My parents didn’t see it that way, and suddenly I was required to take Tim with me everywhere I went. Except he hated my friends, and town. He hatedeverythingbecause of the depression. I resented him, and eventually my friends stopped inviting me places. I was a stupid teenager, but I still wish I could go back and just sit with my brother in a dark room, listening to his music and just tell him he was perfect, just the way he was.”
Davis paused, stroking me gently. I kept expecting him to continue, but the silence lapsed. So, I touched his jaw and brought his face up to mine.
“That’s enough if you need it to be.” I pressed a kiss to his lips.
His throat bobbed, as he shook his head.
“I want to tell you all of it…it just might take me a second.” A few more silent moments passed before he continued.
“I had to take my brother with me to work one day, just after I turned eighteen. He was sitting in my truck, just waiting for my shift to get over. But Gavin had invited me to a party. I wanted to go, but I didn’t want to drag my brother with me, so once my shift was over, I walked past the truck and headed to Gavin’s, to ride with him. Tim jumped out of the truck, asking where I was going. He sounded…so panicked. I’ll never forget the sound of his voice when he asked me. I felt like such an asshole, but I laughed and told him he could either come with us, or if he wanted to leave, he could drive my truck home. He was sixteen, he had the keys. It just seemed like it would be fine.”
Davis was trembling under my touch, reliving the pain of whatever happened. My throat constricted with tears as I waited for him to finish, although part of me wished he wouldn’t.
“I knew he didn’t have his permit, and he hadn’t had nearly as much practice as I had at his age, but truthfully, I thought he’d wait for me. In my head, I’d go to the party for an hour or so, come back, and it would have taught Tim a lesson not to be so antisocial. So, I left. Got in Gavin’s truck and went to the party. My mom called my cell thirty minutes later. I was still at the party as I pulled my cell up, and when I saw her name flash across it, I knew. Deep down, I knew nothing would ever be the same.
Tim had gotten into an accident. When I arrived at the hospital, my mother slapped me. She was shaking so hard she couldn’t breathe. My father wouldn’t look or speak to me. Tim was in the intensive care unit for two weeks; he almost didn’t make it. And during those two weeks, I just wanted to die. I wanted to disappear. I hated myself.”
Letting out a heavy sigh, he tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling, as if the rest of the story was up there.
