Lovers

Ch. 47: Been a Son

Been a Son (Blew EP Version) - Nirvana

"She should've stayed away from friends. She should've had more time to spend. She should've died when she was born. She should've worn the crown of thorns. She should have been a son."

Jake POV

"You really had to cheap out and get a motel 6? Would you give the same treatment to your beloved?"

I scoff, shaking my head at every syllable uttering from his mouth. Terry forgets, doesn't he? Forgets what a simple thank you would give you. Forgets I'm the younger brother. When I was fourteen left alone for days because he was on a bender of drugs and depressed from mom's and dad's death. Here I was doing hoodlum actions by the local grocery store to gather the last spoiled milk so I could eat cereal. Sure, I could have used water, but I was growing sick of the drying muck.

He came home on the fifth day with skin and bones, dirty fingernails, eyes black from the fights, and maybe a combination of the lack of sleep. Us Dennings boys sleep when we're dead. He was one step away from the coffin.

He stepped into the house, grabbed the bowl out of my hands, and ate the last of the stolen milk. I think that was the last time I loved him. Some would peg that as being overdramatic, but when a loved one continues to disappoint and hurt you with no concern, it's easier to switch it off. Or pretend that he no longer exists in the worry you carry.

I thought he wanted to care for me because I was his brother; instead, he didn't want to be alone. I can't blame everything on Terry. He was only eighteen, the same fucking age that I am now-- and I'm barely afloat. I can hardly take care of myself, let alone a hormonal teenager.

We unpack the bare essentials, which in Dennings's terms, is dropping our bags on the ground and both taking a piss and shit in the cramped bathroom. Dawn would make me shower first, saying airplanes are filthy. But baby's not here, so I don't care about my well-being. Hey, at least I'm aware.

Once Terry's done with his business, we start our journey. Google maps will be our guide today.

"Taxi?" Terry prods.

"You got the money for that?"

He says nothing to that, simply brushing past people and leading the way toward the subway station hunts. People give him dirty looks as he brushes past his shoulders.

I'm glad mine are covered by shades in the heart of deathly stares. Terry has a permanent frown molded into his brows. Can't blame that, either. It's the same as mine, my father's; shit, even Alice and Jeff do that scowl. Andrew too, and soon Casper will adopt the look once he marries into the family. It's that urge to give the bird to the nearest person that decides to cross paths with a Dennings affiliate. My mom was quick to disguise it with a chuckle or with a bittersweet smile. She was always petty, tripping men and women if they screwed over in the most minor ways.

Imagine grabbing the last white bread at the supermarket. When the asshole looked the other way, she would reach over into their basket and give it a squeeze. I was six when she first did that.

Terry is far ahead of me, but he's much taller than the surrounding people, so I cannot lose him. When I reach him, he's standing in front of the tunnel entrance.

"I think we take the five and then on the two," Terry says.

"You think, or you know?"

"Fuck off," he absently answers.

"I'll follow you if you think that's where we should go." I'm in no bother to fight or to make him feel stupid. But if this fuckwad wants to lead us on the wrong path, by all means, waste your own patience.