Night Children

13

The extent of the recent communication between my brother and I was painful small talk, mostly short questions with monosyllabic answers. We weren't mad at each other, I don't think, since it wasn't like we were avoiding each other—we were just sour. There were some conversations that stuck around long after the last word had been spoken.

Of course the remainder of the family had noticed—after all, when something was off within our little close-knit pack, everyone felt it. It had been the same way when Mom and Nell had been fighting around a year ago. The men of the family noticed, but we were just too afraid to intervene.

Nell, Mom, and even Dad had tried to talk to Alfie and I. But it was no use—the result was short questions and monosyllabic answers. For example, Mom might ask: "Are you and Alfie okay?"

I would reply, "Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

"Yup."

"Do you want to talk about it?"
 "No."

"Ah, so there is something to talk about?"

"No..."

"You know you can tell me anything, Theo—"

"Bye."

Then she would avoid the topic for twenty-four hours before trying again, all with the same result. It was no use. If there was anything to mend between my brother and I, we were the ones who would have to do the mending. It had always been that way between Alfie and I, ever since we were small. It didn't matter if it took days, weeks. We opened up when we felt like it.

My bluetooth speaker, resting at the edge of my desk, droned out some obscure alternative song from a playlist I hadn't made myself. I didn't like it, but was too lazy to get up and skip it. I was splayed on my bed, watching the ceiling fan spin, letting my brain run over the archives of my recent life. There was Reese and his dad's odd "fetish." There was Cal and her technical son. There was Ethan and his threat. There was Alfie and the strange way he'd looked at me, his cryptic words.

I groaned and rolled over onto my side. The curtains lifted and fell to my window seat again, tossed by the night breezes. The stars and moon watched me from beyond the pane. I just didn't know what I wanted anymore. I had been so used to my life before Cal, before Reese, before anything, that I didn't know I could ever have more.

Is that what this was? More?

I gave another groan. I hated being philosophical.

My phone buzzed. Startled, I felt around for it, tugging it from my pocket. Holding it above my head, I squinted at the notification:

bloodymary: are you in to big thrills

I paused before replying, not sure what I was getting myself into.

theodoredacosta321: i guess

theodoredacosta321: depends though i hate rollercoasters

I waited for what felt like an agonizingly long time, but was probably around thirty seconds, before I got a response:

bloodymary: you should really close your windows at night...

The message sent a cold feeling through me. She couldn't...

Slowly, I returned my phone to my pocket and got to my feet. My fingers were shaking, some part of me praying that she wasn't there and some part of me praying that she was.

I reached the window seat and peered out into the night. "Jesus Christ, Cal. You're insane."

She stood there under my window, just in front of the bushes. Waving her phone at me, she replied, "No! That's not what you're supposed to say. You're supposed to say: 'O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?'"