“So he’s to thank, then?” Ben dug in his pocket and pulled out a cell phone and flipped it between his fingers. “He’s taking care of my baby sister? He’s not pressuring you into anything, is he? I’ll kick his ass if I have to.”
I laughed. “I love you, Benny, but you couldn’t kick his ass. And yes, he’s great. He’s not pressuring me into anything, I promise.” I gave my brother a stern glare. “And that’s all I’m saying to you. I’m not having that conversation with you.”
Ben tapped his phone, and I heard the telltale sounds of Angry Birds. “Believe me, I don’t want to have that conversation, either, but you’re my baby sister, and I know Mom and Dad wouldn’t be open to talking about reality with you. All I’ll say is, be careful, okay? Please? I don’t want to see you on Teen Mom or some shit.” He didn’t look up from his game, but I knew he was being as serious as my brother could be, in the only way he knew how.
I left my chair and slid into my customary place on my bed, against the wall with Ben on the outside. I smelled cigarettes on his shirt, but no pot or any other chemicals. I loved these moments, when Ben was happy, lucid, and sober. This was how we spent time together, how it had been since we were kids. He’d come into my room unannounced at random intervals, and we’d talk, just hang out. He’d lie on my bed and I’d lie next to him, and we’d just hang out. He only did it when he was in a good mood, though. If he was on a downswing, he’d be gone for days at a time, and when he was around, he was closed off, silent, hiding in his room with rap thumping.
I watched Ben play Angry Birds for a while before saying what was on my mind. “You don’t seem high.”
He didn’t react right away. “I’m not,” he said.
“At all?”
He shrugged. “I’m trying to learn how to just deal with the mood swings on my own, no drugs, no meds.”
“Do you think you’ll ever go back to college?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Probably not. I hate school, always have. I’m working at Belle Tire for right now. Changing oil and tires. It sucks, but it’s work, and it keeps me out of trouble.”
“I’m glad you’re working.”
Ben glanced at me as the next level loaded. “Why?”
“Well, like you said, it keeps you out of trouble. You know how I feel about you smoking pot. You should be on your meds, Ben. I know you don’t like them, but they do help.”
“Are you my little sister or my mom?” He sounded disgusted.
“I just care about you. I worry about you. Sometimes…” I struggled with how to say it without insulting him. “Sometimes I feel like you don’t…care. About your future. About yourself.”
“Sometimes I don’t. I’ll never amount to anything, Beck.” He sounded so matter of fact, it hurt.
“Don’t say that, Ben. It’s not true.”
“What am I good at, then? What can I do that’s worthwhile?”
I didn’t have an answer. He didn’t really have any hobbies that I knew of. “You’re a good person, Ben. You have talents. Everyone does. You just have to find yours.”
“You sound like a goddamn guidance counselor. I don’t have any, Becca. I’m good at smoking pot. I’m good at selling it. I’m good at being a bipolar f**king mess, that’s what I’m good at.” He clicked the top button to put the phone to sleep and shoved it angrily in his pocket.
I sighed. “I’m sorry, Ben, I didn’t mean to upset you. I just meant to point out how glad I am that you’re not smoking pot.”
“Well…I’m trying, okay? That’s the best I got.” He stood up and took three angry steps across the room.
“Ben, wait. Don’t be mad. I-I’m sorry.”
His shoulders slumped, and he turned back around to crouch next to the bed, his face level with mine. “I’m not mad, sis. I know you care.” He smiled gently at me. “But you shouldn’t waste your time worrying about me. I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself. You worry about you, huh?”
I frowned at him. “You’re my brother. I love you. Of course I’m gonna worry about you. I can’t help it.”
He shook his head at me. “You don’t need the weight of your messed-up brother on your shoulders, Beck.” He put his hand on my shoulder and wiggled it. “I’m fine, okay? I’m in a good place. I’m working, I’m sober, I’ve even got a girlfriend. She’s good for me, like Jason is for you. Kate doesn’t let me smoke anything but cigarettes, so that’s good motivation. She holds out on me if she finds out I’ve gotten high.”
“Holds out on you?” I wrinkled my nose in confusion.
Ben quirked an eyebrow at me. “You know—she won’t put out.”
I squealed in mortification and buried my face in my quilt. “Eeew, Ben! I didn’t need to know that.”
He laughed at me and smacked my shoulder before standing up. “Hey, it works, doesn’t it?”
“I guess so. I just didn’t need need to know.”
Ben left then, and I turned my attention to my AP bio homework. Jason was picking me up at seven-thirty, so I had to be done by then, which only left me three hours to finish four hours’ worth of homework.
EIGHT: The First Night of Forever
Jason
Two days later
I fingered the keycard in my pocket as I sat in my truck, waiting for Becca. We’d planned this out, and now we were going through with it. My nerves were jangling, and I wondered if Becca felt the same way. I was sure she did. I had a CD player plugged into the lighter outlet and the tape deck, an old-school arrangement that I only used when I was in the mood for something specific. Today it was Johnny Cash, and currently playing was “God Is Gonna Cut You Down,” which seemed unfortunately ironic given the circumstances, but it was still a kick-ass song.
Becca came out just as the song was ending, and I clicked the radio off. She hopped into the cab and closed the door behind her, letting in a cold blast of frozen air. It was a bitterly cold day, the sky clear blue, the sun distant and watery, the air so still and so cold each breath hurt. She smiled at me, and I was struck by how beautiful she was. Her hair was loose, a white knit cap pulled low on her head, a stark contrast to her tan skin and blue-black hair. She had on a black pea coat that came to mid-thigh, and a pair of tight gray yoga pants.