Becoming Brett

36. With James

Wes was a mess by the time I reached him. He was a ten on the scale for sure, Laurel just standing there sobbing.

In hindsight I feel a little bad I yelled at her but she clearly wasn't doing anything to help.

It was a long one too, almost 45 minutes before they let up enough for him to get in my car. And even then he tic-ed all the way home, a constant blur of movements and cuss words beside me.

And the whole time James was hiding in the back of my wagon. Needless to say he was more than frustrated with me by the time I let him return to the front of the car, his playfulness about finishing what we started later gone. Thankfully though Grace was home when I got Wes there, it was easier to leave Wes. Though I left Wes for a not happy James who sat silent in my front seat for the most part.

I apologized the majority of the way home and he just kept telling me he was tired. He was tired of hiding, of being a secret. Of me not even letting us hang out as friends alone.

And there I sat trying to reassure how different it'll be once we leave this town. Once we graduate. Once we're just two people in a sea of strangers.

Once. Eventually. In the future. Not now.

We weren't on great terms, even as I dropped him off a block from his house and we said goodbye. He said we were fine. Fine.

We weren't fine, I'm not an idiot.

So I came up with an excuse to see him today, explaining to my parents that Wes needed me again. His tics were out of control and Grace wouldn't be around. My mom took my beginner lesson and set me free.

But it's not time for James yet, my lie to my parents not a full lie. I did promise Wes I'd hang out. And I am.

He cycles through his normal tics and thanks to yesterday he clicks. The hand clapping is new too.

"Fuck!" He shouts. "I'm sick of this."

He lets out a frustrated breath, falling back into the couch.

"So what actually happened yesterday?" I ask.

There was too much chaos yesterday to ask. Today however, it's just Wes and I and the history channel.

"It started with Sawyer." He mumbles, his head jerking to the side twice and he winces. "And then Laurel."

I cock my eyebrow at the bitterness in his voice at the mention of her name. "What'd she do?"

Hazel eyes meet mine, overwhelmed with annoyance and exhaustion as he tics again.

"She started yelling at, bitch!, Sawyer, trying to get me (normal tics) to stop suppressing and then when these two new stupid tics (as if on cue they rear their head and he clicks and claps) and she pointed them out." He grunts, holding back. "The rest is..."

He's hit with a series of tics and when he's finally still he makes no move to finish his sentence. Not that he needs to, I get the picture.

I lose his focus to the TV, taking a moment to watch him as he stares off. He probably doesn't realize it but his distraction brings him stillness at least for a few minutes. I'm not granted with any reprieve as I mull over his words.

Laurel is an idiot.

If her goal was to accomplish what I think it was, she tried to achieve it in the dumbest, most insensitive way possible. But I'm not as angry at her as I probably should be. I'm sick of Sawyer and his antics.

"Have you talked her?" I ask.

Wes breaks his gaze from the TV and asks "Who?".

"Laurel." He tics.