don’t know who the fuck you are, Carlos, or where the fuck you came from or why the fuck you walked into the bar that night at that very moment when you did. But I know that I had been asking, asking without even realizing, for God or the universe or someone to send me some kind of reminder that there was life outside the stupid triangle of my missing brother, this wild sorcerer, and me. Because that’s all I’ve been able to be about for the past couple months, and it’s wearing me out. It really is.
“I woulda settled for a goddamn butterfly or something, you know just something small and momentary to snap me out of it. But they sent me you, you ridiculous, tall, beautiful man, cutting through the crowd of nobodies at the Red Edge and sitting down at my table with a glass of wine and a rum and Coke. I don’t know where all this is going, but I know you did something huge without even meaning to.” She moves closer to me; her hand’s on my leg. “And I know you held me in all the right ways last night.”
I’m hard as a rock.
“And I know you’re like me in a lot more ways than just the obvious one.” I’m laying her back on the couch, tearing her clothes off.
No, I’m not.
I’m letting her nearness wash over me, sinking into the bliss of the moment. Letting go . . . “And I know I want you . . .” She’s hovering over me, levitating for all I know. We’re barely touching, but she’s all around me, her face millimeters from mine. “. . . inside me.” My hands are on her shoulders, peeling away her blouse, sliding off her pants, she’s lowering herself onto me. We’re about to be one, about to once again . . .
“Carlos.”
“Hm?”
“Stop thinking so hard and fuck me.”
Gleefully, I comply.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Trevor stares at me. His eyes are soft, sleepy. We’re in a mostly dark room; my heart beats heavy in my chest; tears streak my cheeks.
Trevor rubs a hand over his face. “What is it, Sash?” My screaming woke him up. Again.
I shake my head; a nightmare’s tendrils still cling to me. Frozen faces, mouths open, reach out of the darkness. Trevor’s always known how to be there for me. I know this instinctively more than anything else. In one of my few shards of memory, I had squeezed my little body into the back of our closet, lost in the forest of Mom’s and Dad’s long winter coats. Trevor squatted patiently outside, telling me stupid stories until I giggled and finally emerged, still teary eyed. Now he watches me for a few seconds and smiles, waits a beat, then asks, “You want to talk about it?”
I don’t even have words. I’m just tired. My whole body shakes.
“You want some tea?”
“No.” Voice gravelly; I try to push back the sound of irritation. He wants to help and, after all, I woke him up. But it feels like something’s clawing up inside of me and I have no strength to play nice.
“Coffee?”
“No.”
“Video games?”
The smile opens across my face so fast I don’t see it coming. I hate video games. Trevor knows this. But he loves them, and that mischievous chuckle of his has always been contagious. It’s one of the few things I remember from life. A laugh powerful enough to survive the shredding of most of my other memories.
I can’t say no to that and even feel a glint of joy surface as he scrambles to set up the game console. The blue light of the screen throws his shadow back against the far wall, and then he turns to me. His face is in darkness, but I can still see his smile.
* * *
I wake up dead.
I must be dead, because my blade has been shoved through the right side of my abdomen and into the couch. I’m literally stuck like a goddamn butterfly. And whatever life force I had is fading fast. I’m thinking it must be a dream and then I remember my own dream, which was Sasha’s dream: a memory. Which means we both opened while we slept.
And she must’ve had one of mine.
She knows about Trevor.
I gasp and then cringe as needles of pain dance up and down my right side. Sasha walks into the room. She’s not holding anything in anymore. Rage dances a maniacal circle around her head. She doesn’t have