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“I’m sorry, Alex, I had a whole day planned out. I was gonna take you to the shooting range and then get shit-faced with ya, but as soon as I started riding, I just got drawn to this place.”
“Don’t be sorry.” I squeeze his fingers between mine. This is starting to feel a lot like him letting me in. He’s sharing something that he doesn’t often let out.
“Today’s a day I usually like to blank out. I’ll do whatever it takes to forget. So I don’t know why I came here.” He shakes his head before scrubbing his palm over his face then sitting with his back against the wall. I can imagine it’s how his brother would have looked all those years ago, as he pulls his knees up and dangles his arms over the top of them. It suddenly feels like there’s too much space between us. I want him to know that I’m here for him, whatever this is… and so I crawl over and sit beside him.
“You did a good thing for your brother.”
“Yeah, I came here to look out for Screwy…” His brow creases as he stares at the floorboards. “But I came here a little bit for me too,” he admits with a weak whisper.
“You felt like you needed to be in here too?” I’m confused, I read his medical notes, and he was never diagnosed with anything, despite the countless therapy sessions he had while he was in here.
“I sure as hell didn’t feel like I could be out there.” He turns his head to face mine, and I don't know what he’s seeking when he stares into my eyes. Fear maybe, clarification?
I nod my head back at him because oddly, I understand. When I stop and let myself think about the fact I’ve lost Danny, everything seems so overwhelming.
“When Beth died, I acted like I was coping on the outside. I was there for my mom, I tried to hold her together, but there ain’t no way of consoling a woman who’s lost her child,” he explains, and it reminds me of the days I spent with my own mom after we found out about Danny. The hours of sobbing, holding her until my arms ached and locking myself in the bathroom so I could weep while she slept.
“Screw had stopped talking to everyone, even me. And it really fucking scared me because everything we’d ever done up till then, we’d done together. Grief put a wedge between us, and I fucking hated it.” His fists tense, and his voice deepens. “He knew I was there for him though. Everyone else gave up trying to talk to him, but I never did. I spoke to him every day, even when I started to wonder if he could hear me.”
“You're a good person, Squealer.” I wrap my arm around his huge bicep and slide myself closer to him.
“Am I?” he asks, the expression on his face vulnerable. It looks out of place there.
“I’ve done bad things. I get a buzz outta making people hurt,” he admits in a low tone that makes my chest hum. “I came here when I was fifteen, lived among all that insanity for a whole year. I told myself I was doing it to protect Screwy, but he didn’t need protecting.” Squealer shakes his head and huffs a sad laugh. “The kid had just killed a man twice his size with his bare hands. The truth was, I was fucking angry too. I was fed up with having to tamp down all the rage inside me, and I didn’t trust myself. I was much safer in here, where I couldn't hurt anyone.”
“Who were you mad at?” I ask, stroking my fingers over the colorful ink on his skin.
“Myself, mainly. Screw took all his rage out on our step-dad. And yeah, the man was an asshole; he deserved what he got. But I was just as much to blame for Beth dying as he was.”
“How can you say that?”
“She was my sister. I was supposed to look out for her. Screw was always the quiet one, even before that shit. But me and her, I thought we were tight. I thought there wasn’t a thing in the world that she couldn’t tell me, and I couldn’t fix for her. Why couldn’t she come to me and tell me how she was feeling?” My heart breaks when he looks at me again, and his eyes are filled with unshed tears. “Why couldn’t she tell me she was thinking of all the different ways that she was gonna end her life?” I wish I had the words for him, but I’ve got nothing. Seeing him like this has come out of nowhere. I wasn’t prepared for it.
“I was the only one who could face going into her room after she died,” he continues, wiping his hand under his nose and sniffing back his tears. “I’d lie on her bed and stare at her ceiling, trying to make sense of everything. That’s how I found the list under her pillow. A list of all the ways she could end it.” The tiny tear that slides out from the corner of his eye breaks my heart. “I should have paid more attention to her and noticed that she was hurting.”
“How did she do it?” I ask, immediately wishing I could take it back. “Sorry, that was insensitive.” I curse myself in my head.
“It's fine,” Squealer shakes his head. “She took my step-dad’s cutthroat to her wrists. Mom was working, and Screw and I were at school. She told us she was sick and that she was staying home, and then when we came back…” Tears stream down his face, and he fiercely swipes them away before he continues.
“When we came back, I found her on the bathroom floor, and there was so much blood, Alex.” His head shakes as he recalls the awful memory. “I knew as soon as I saw her that we’d lost her. And still, to this day, I don’t know why.” His voice cracks, and instinct sets in. I clamber my body over his and straddle his lap, wrapping him up in my arms and holding him tight.
“It still scares me sometimes that Screw doesn’t speak to anyone. He says shit to me when we’re alone, but never about what’s going on in his head.” Squealer's hand slides up my back and fists at my sweater.
“You’re not gonna lose him, he loves you. He would never leave you,” I assure him.
“And what about you?” He uses the hold he’s got on my sweater to drag me off him slightly, his red-rimmed eyes staring into mine. “You gonna leave me when all this Hawker shit’s done?” He narrows them at me like my answer could do him some damage.
“Squealer… I—” He stops me before I can continue, forcing me back onto him and making sure my lips collide with his. He kisses me softly at first, his salty tears slipping between our lips.
“Don’t answer that,” he whispers, pressing his forehead against mine.
We stay like that for a really long time, with him gripping onto me like he never wants us to move. But eventually, he does, and when we’re both back on our feet, he takes my hand in his and starts moving us toward the window.
“How did you get out of here?” I ask him curiously as he climbs out, then reaches his arm back for me.
“The DA dropped the charges after our attorney pleaded mental instability. A few of Rick's exes came forward and said he used to beat them too. It turned into a manslaughter case, and Screwy had youth on his side. Screw underwent some therapy and must have ticked all the boxes, so he got released. You won’t believe it, but that very same day, all the voices in my head just stopped.” He winks at me, reminding me that the mischievous side of him hasn’t left us completely.
“So, when you left here, why didn’t you go home back to Dallas? That's where you're from, right?”
