pencil shavings

twenty-four: matt

"Peter?"

The tall boy at the end of the alley turns. Not boy - man. And not Peter...

Oh God.

"You talking to me?" he drawls, voice raspy. Like splintered bar stools or something.

"Sorry man. Thought you were someone else."

He smiles faintly below his light beard, eyes shifting to give me the once over. I return the favor. When his hair flops over his forehead with an eerie resemblance to Peter's, he swipes it back with a calloused hand. Swirling tattoos cross his toned forearms, wolves from the look of it, and a band of black ink coils around his left bicep just below his tee-shirt. He's the type of person who doesn't know what it feels like to lose an arm wrestle.

"You from around here?" he asks, lighting a cigarette and easing toward me with a wolf's poise.

"Yeah."

I stand my ground. The easy gait, the severe face, the grease and grim and back-alley filth... Dan is everything Peter loathes. But when he flicks his hair, and his hazel eyes flash with hints of green, that preppy twig is clearly somewhere in him too.

He puffs on the cigarete. "Wish I could say the same. It's nice here."

My throat bobs, but I force my shoulders to relax and slide my hands into my pockets. "Yeah, yeah it is."

The reek of alcohol around us is unmistakable as I steel myself to look back into those bloodshot eyes. "You're his brother aren't you."

It doesn't come out as a question.

The man looks down at me in surprise, arching an eyebrow with painful resemblance to Peter. "Who's brother?"

"Peter's. Your Dan Westin."

All warmth whooshes from the alley as if I began a mini apocalypse inside his head. Dan's face pales and freezes, then disappears into a barred-teeth growl. Everything in me screams that I should run; run really, really fast.

"What are you getting at?" he demands, his chipped teeth grinding as his jaw flexes.

Apprehension sings through my blood, but the fear permeating from those hazel eyes forces me to stand my ground.

"I know Peter," I say, sucking in a breath.

There's a pause as our eyes meet, and I half-heartedly wonder if I could take him in a fight right here, if it comes to it. Up close, he's ragged enough that I might.

That's when all common sense takes a leave of absence in my mind. I don't know why I do it, but it just feels right, taking that step, small but strong, toward him. I clench my jaw, tighten my stare, and go as deep as my voice will let me to rumble, "You messed up and you hurt him. You messed up as a brother, and Peter deserves better than you, but right now you being there for him is the least you can do. You messed up by leaving, and, Dan, now you get to come back and fix it."

For a moment Dan just gazes at me, but his eyes are electric. He clenches and unclenches his fist. Someone walks past on the phone behind me, but he doesn't look away. I don't either. I don't think anything in this alley is breathing.

Then, as if all the electricity in his head fizzled out, Dan turns away, peering vacantly toward the sky and taking a long drag on his cigarette.

"This isn't about you," he sighs. "Look," - he licks his lips and briefly meets my eyes - "I get it. You're worried 'bout him. Whatever. Kid, there are things you just... you know... you just don't understand, 'kay? And you gotta leave that shit alone."

I open my mouth again, ready to fight him on it, but holds up a massive hand.

"I know, I know, I know. You know 'im," he adds, "Relax. He's gonna be fine - we're all fine. He's just whining again 'bout nothin. Little brothers, right?" He chuckles in a way that doesn't meet his eyes.

When I don't smile, he continues, "Just do me a favor." With a graceful step, he closes the gap between us, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

I want to trust him, really do; it would be effortless to fall for those charismatic hazel eyes and that easy nicotine smile.

"Just don't tell him you saw me, okay?" Dan murmurs. "That's all. Not a big deal, yeah? Peter's fine."

He sees his mistake a moment before I rip free from his grasp. "You jackass," I spit. "If you were a real brother, you'd know he's not. Just come back. Dammit - he's worried about you. And you probably don't have a lot of people who care that much, do you?"

Dan's eyes darken to the ink of his tattoos. Not a drop of sunset green left.

"Shut up, prick," he growls, teeth bared again and all traces of that easy smile gone.

"Stop thinking about yourself," I hiss right back. "Peter needs you."

"Shut up."

"I can't believe you're just gonna leave him like this, you pathetic -"

My neck snaps to the side so fast that the world dances in blacks and yellows.

I try to remember how to breathe.

The throb of where his knuckles collided with my jaw swells through my skull, blood leaking from my lip and splatting on the pavement. I watch it shine there, head bowed.

We both pause and lose ourselves to the pain of the moment, my head throbbing so much I can hardly think. But the blood could never contend with the real pain in me - that pain wells in a deeper fracture, from a new piece of me that threatens to shatter me from inside out before anything physical could. And when I look up at that broken, shattered man, and when I feel my blood cry out with that deep pain, I understand the reason why I stopped in this alley in the first place. And nothing matters except that reason.

Standing between the dumpsters, shadowed by crumbling apartments, I shake my head and whisper, "Dan, I know I don't know you, but I can't leave until you come with me. I can't leave until I make this right. You know why? Because Peter and I are friends. Maybe you don't get what that means - but I do. It means that I'd take a thousand upper-cuts to give him what he needs."

When he doesn't move, I square off my shoulders, throw on a lazy grin, and spread my arms wide. "So hit me, Dan Westin," I drawl. "You underestimate how much I like to play hero."

Dan rolls his eyes, but the shock is there.

"Kid-"

"Hit. Me."

His brows raise.

"Come on, show just how afraid you are. How afraid you are of facing what you love. Just hit me... I know it's easier to hit an innocent kid and pretend you're a bad person than face your real reflection. That's your excuse, isn't it? You're just scared of the hurt kid you'd see if you let that facade drop, so you say you're just too screwed up to care about yourself, much less other people."

I hardly realize what I'm saying until it comes out, pouring in careful analysis. Maybe I'm a jock, but what I said was raw - and... easy. Maybe I can't read complex Shakespeare, but I can read people.

Dan's eyes smolder and he opens his mouth, but I keep pushing. And something in me smiles, deeply, because I know I would make Sam proud. Maybe Peter too.

"Guess what, Dan? We're all screwed up. You got that? WE'RE ALL SCREWED UP." Some pigeons explode off the roof, but too much fervour rages through me for my voice to quiet. "WE'RE ALL. SCREWED. UP. AND GUESS WHAT - WE LOVE ANYWAY."

When I drop my outstretched arms, I swear a rush of green floods the tall man's eyes.

Like rain in a lightning storm.

*I hope you're enjoying pencil shavings so far - Please vote, and know that I would love to hear from you! More to come soon (I hope!) :)