The Ideal - L.P. Maxa Page 0,3

was six, Nate was seven but we were in the same class. Jeremy had been nine, and too older brother cool to hang out with us. I’d loved them both from the moment we met. I’d been in love with one of them forever. For years I’d fought it, I’d begged and pleaded with my stubborn heart. It’d be so much easier on everyone if it was Nate who gave me butterflies. Unfortunately, for all of us, it had always been Jeremy. He was easy going, quick to laugh, innately kind, and so incredibly gorgeous.

Well, they were both hot as all get out. Both brothers had extraordinarily deep brown eyes and dark shaggy hair. Where Nate had hard lines that made him look like a man, Jeremy had this baby face that girls swooned over. When I was younger I used to have this recurring dream: Jeremy would come to my window and wake me with a kiss. He would tell me to pack a bag and that we were running away. That we were going somewhere where we could be together, on an adventure. When I would wake up, I’d cry. I had wanted so badly for it to be true. I kept on crying because the guilt I felt for wanting to run away from Nate was overwhelming.

I’d never asked to be Nate’s keeper. No one had ever asked if I wanted to be his reason for living: his reason for fighting the darkness.

Nate wasn’t a sociopath. His parents had taken him to psychiatrists and had him tested and evaluated to be sure. He seemed to fall between lots of different diagnoses. One didn’t fit, but a lot came close. He wasn’t violent toward the people he loved. He was capable of love, and he did love. Nate didn’t understand social norms, like someone with Asperger's, but not. He was socially appropriate with me and his family, and he didn’t display any of the other diagnostic indications. It was more like he was perpetually cranky and had the shortest fuse in the history of the world. He didn’t have any tolerance for…well, anything.

He hit first and asked questions later. I’m guessing here: not because he wanted to hurt people, but because he didn’t understand them. He had a switch, and it seemed he could flip it on and off at will. He could either care, or not. Portray empathy, or not. As it turned out, he usually opted for not.

I never asked Nate about his feelings or the way he saw the world. I’d been so young when we met, and I accepted him for exactly who he was. I wasn’t sure why I didn’t question him more as we got older, his whims and moods affected my entire life.

I had never been on a real date except for one guy my freshman who’d stolen a kiss under the bleachers. Nate punched him in the nose, twice, shattering it. I had a flirty little thing going with a guy from my English Lit class, the only one I didn’t share with Nate. He saw a text from him on my phone while I was in the shower. He’d blocked the guy’s number and the next day the poor kid had a black eye.

After that, word was out. Don’t look at Savy, don’t talk to Savy. She was off limits, unless you wanted to get a beatdown from Nathan Deacon.

Now, four years later, I was worn out, my nerves were shot, and I needed a break. Nate was emotionally exhausting. It took everything in me to keep him level, and by now, there was nothing left for me.

I was elated and terrified of spending the evening in the attic with Jeremy. I’d never been alone with him. Nate was always there. Even when he wasn’t, Jeremy and I had never thought to hang out without him. Probably because neither of us wanted to deal with the inevitable fallout. Nate would never take his anger out on me, but he would punish his brother one way or another.

“Savannah, honey, Uh, Jeremy is here.” I could hear the question in my mom’s voice as she called up the stairs to my room. Jeremy had been over to my house a hundred times, but never without Nate standing between us.

“I’m upstairs.” I checked my hair in the mirror and quickly swiped on some lip gloss. I turned in time to see him reach the top of the stairs, his hand resting on