By the time I finally get in, Parker's slumped in front of the TV. He doesn't say a word, just pulls the hood of his jacket over his head and pretends I'm not there. Well, at least he's alive, I guess.
"Night night," I mutter sarcastically. This time, I slam my bedroom door. Fuck them all. If they all want to be brats with a motherfucking attitude, I'll be one too.
5
Kade
When I come home from the co-working office that evening, Parker hasn’t moved an inch from his spot in front of the TV. He's still slumped over just like he was when I came home last fucking night, still pissed at me. I wonder if he’s even done something or if he spent the entire goddamn day playing video games.
“Did you bring food?” he asks without looking at me, too busy hunting down some alien bad guy on the TV screen. “I’m hungry,” he adds, in case I didn’t know.
I don’t bother to respond because I’m tired, and I’ve had enough. Instead, I put my paper bag on the counter and produce two bottles of tequila.
A peace offering.
Finally, Parker turns his game off and comes into the kitchen, curiously picking up a bottle.
“It’s not even the good stuff,” he complains right away.
“Yeah, we can’t afford the good stuff, unless you want to chip in,” I snap.
He looks taken aback. Fucking good. I'm not going to be the only one trying to make amends again. “What’s with you?” he wonders out loud.
"You really need to ask?" I sigh. “That fight fucked me up. And on top of everything... June dropped by last night.” I can see his eyes dim with the mere mention of her name.
It’s always been Parker and June. They were so close. I know this is the hardest for him.
looks suspicious and jealous for a split second, but then the look is gone. “So?” he asks, pretending not to care, opening that tequila, and taking a swig straight from the bottle.
I shrug. “She misses us… well, you more so than me, I’m sure.”
“Don’t care,” he says, though we both know he does. She’s his best friend, and it’s killing him that they’re not in contact anymore. And it hurts more because she wants to be, and he thinks he’d be betraying me if he did something about it.
“I need to get drunk tonight,” I say and uncap my own bottle of tequila. I guess we're choosing not to talk about our fight last night. It might be for the best. I really don't want to relive the moment I saw my twin's cum all over my ex-hookup's face.
“I share your sentiment,” Parker murmurs in my general direction while he looks in the paper bag. “No lemons? Or salt?”
“I think today is a day for straight-up tequila.”
"At least we agree on something."
We settle on the couch, each with our own bottle, and watch some nineties movie. It almost feels like everything’s okay if I ignore the shitty atmosphere. Things left unspoken always end up rotting you from the inside, and this fight of ours is just another one to add fuel to the fire. A fire that was already blazing and doesn't seem to go out as time goes on.
“We need to… like, we need a plan,” Parker slurs, and I look at him through the haze settled over my eyes. It’s like staring in a mirror, and though I’ve gotten used to it, it’s a little strange looking at your reflection when you’re as drunk as I am right now.
“Why?” I wonder. "Why do we need to? Why do we need to do anything? We can just lie here and drink our drinks and be miserable together."
He takes a swig out of his bottle, spilling a bit on the couch, but I’m too drunk to care. Plus, I don’t think I can formulate a coherent sentence, anyhow. “We need to get it back,” he says. “And June. I want June back.”
I don’t want you to have June back, my fucked up, twisted mind says.
“So, what’s the plan?” I ask instead, trying hard to ignore the nagging voice in my head. He grins at me and sets the empty bottle down. We’re gonna be so hungover, it won’t even be funny.
“That’s where you come in, brother,” he says cheerfully. We’re about twenty minutes away from him breaking down and twenty-five minutes away from me barfing down the toilet. But at least our argument's fucking forgotten—for now, at least. Until Parker oversteps again. Knowing him, it won't even take him a week.
“We need a plan?” Parker reminds me.
I sit there stewing in my own drunkenness, and I wonder what I should tell him. He’s had enough of it’s-gonna-be-okays and we’ll-sort-it-outs. Instead, I opt for something else. And the words just keep coming when I open my mouth.