Adam

  I’m watching him through the curtains, you know...they’re always open because we’re fuckin’ weird like that. He notices and I smile, and I guess I’m not really thinking much about anything. When he does that, though, I remember the jealous knot in my gut. It’s too loud to hear what he’s listening to, and he knows that, and I know that he’s probably running the tunes he’s written with Oliver through his head, and he probably knows that and...ah fuck, I really want to punch Oliver in his stupid blond fuckin’ face, but I can’t. I can’t because we invited his band on tour with us. I can’t because Sam’s formed another band of his own with the guy. I can’t because, in a scene that’s dripping with testosterone, Oliver is openly gay, charismatic, and successful. The look wouldn’t be good. Even I know that shit.

  So, because I don’t want to be labeled some kind of hateful bigot...and because of Sam...I don’t do anything about it except let the sour feeling in my gut brew. The back of my throat hurts when I fall asleep. It hurts when I wake up, but also, my mood’s better so it’s fine, I guess.

  I’m excited to be in Oregon. Portland’s a cool little place. Something about it feels old and haunted, the way the East Coast does...except I guess it’s more vibrant because it’s trendier over here.

  We, the west-coast, left-coast know how to have a good time without all that stuffy New England pomp and circumstance. No one’s wearing a suit to a bar out here.

  Well, except me because I keep it fresher than most.

  Anyway, I’m pretty happy. I guess I was just tired last night.

  Maybe it’s because Brandy’s here. I do look forward to her. She’s cool and she’s kinky. She’s 42, but damn does she carry those years well. I let her tie me up once. Just sayin’, she’s cool as hell.

  Anyway, so there’s that...although, I’m not sure how I’m going to swing it now that Sam’s gonna be in my room. I mean, I can deadbolt the door, hang up the ‘do not disturb’ sign and all that. Or I can tell him to fuck off for a while, and I know he will. It’s just that, you know, he’s already made it clear he doesn’t like the things I do, which is all well and good most of the time because he’s usually got his own room to sulk in. What will he do when I ask him to stay away? What if he doesn’t? Shit...I don’t really want to kick Brandy out, either.

  She’s special. Most girls I can finesse away if I want. I don’t have to be rude. I’m a smoooooooth fuckin’ talker. But Brandy’s sharp, and she can smell bullshit from damn near a mile. I won’t be talking her out of the room, and I’m not about to tell her I’m this worried about my best friend’s approval of my well-indulged sex life.

  Maybe she can stay and I’ll just lock the fuckin’ door.

  I don’t know.

  I might be too drunk to worry about any of these things at all.

  Anyway, we get to our hotel room and toss our bags on the floor. I stretch and make my way to the window. I hear Sam beeline for the bathroom to take a shower. He’s fussy about filth. I guess I can be, too.

  I yawn and let my eyes wander. Buildings as far as I can see. People walking. Pretty people. The healthy kind who don’t own cars.

  I don’t want to think about Sam and Oliver, but I do. I’m resting my forehead against the glass, watching people scurry, and I get to wondering about what those songs they write sound like.

  Has Sam always wanted to write? Should I have been offering to collaborate all this time?

  The thing is, we got famous off the shit that comes from my brain, you know? I don’t know what he writes like.

  Fuck.

  There’s a part of Sam I don’t know anything about!

  My belly feels acidic.

  I guess I’ve always just assumed I know everything about Sam.

  I turn and head for the bathroom. I want to bother him. I throw open the door and he takes these hell-fire hot showers so there’s steam everywhere. I lift the toilet seat and start taking a piss. I know he can hear, and I know it’s annoying, and that’s exactly what I want. Some of his attention, even if it’s negative, is better than knowing he’s showing something intimate about himself to Oliver...his new best friend, I can’t help but think.

  He pokes his head from behind the curtain, his brow furrowed, careful to keep his chocolate eyes above my shoulders. He’s only shaved part of his face, so there’s a shadow along the left side. His hair’s all flat and wet along his skull. It’s got a nice shape beneath all that hair. Sam and his perfect jaw-line and lovely head.

  Sammy the most beautiful man in all the world.

  Must be nice.

  Sour, sour, sour fucking stomach. Why? What’s bothering me now?

  I finish pissing while he protests my presence. I laugh and tell him to fuck-off, but it’s lighthearted, you know? That’s just the way it is between us.

  I wash my hands and leave him cussing. It’s enough, I guess. A small fix of Sam’s ire to reassure my fragile mind.

  When he gets out, I take my turn. If he were petty and attention-starved like me he’d probably pull a similar stunt to mine. He’s not, though. He’s always been more measured about his behavior. Knowing now that I maybe don’t know everything, I wonder...is that intentional?

  Fuck, this water’s running cold so fast. How the hell is that happening? Isn’t this a decent hotel!?

  Probably not. We’re always cheap as shit about these things.

  I get out and dress. I dry my hair so it’s not flat and pile it to the side. I brush my teeth and smooth my pants. I’m satisfied after a while and meet Sam near the bed. There’s only one because it was just supposed to be me in here. Even worse for my prospects with Brandy.

  I wonder if he’s worrying about any of it like I am. I mean, he knows, right? It’s not like he doesn’t know me or what I want.

  He laughed about vices yesterday, didn’t he?

  Wait, did he?

  Lately all I can really find is sadness on his face.

  I wonder if he’s going through something as we exit the room and head for breakfast. This troubling thought passes quickly, though because...

  ...Food!! Shhhhiiiittt, I’m so starved.

  We pick at the continental breakfast and sit around a large table. Everyone’s there, at least...our band is...and that dude...uh, I forgot his name...and Amy of course. She plops down right next to me and threads her arm up with mine. I grit my teeth and gently try to pry myself away from her. She grips harder until I decide to let it go.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  While we eat, the conversation flows the way it usually does. Nothing too consequential. At least until the teasing starts. As per usual, that’s lighthearted at first...until Aiden starts ribbing me, and it starts making me feel hot in the cheeks. He’s expressing the usual laments...this time to an audience. He’s got his eyes on Amy, which...I don’t know...is that weird? I fucked her last night...and, like, he’s my brother...and it feels like he’s putting me down to bring himself up.

  It’s just too tempting. I have to take the bait.

  “You hot for her or something? You know we were...”

  “Somebody should warn her,” he sees where I’m going and cuts me off.

  I roll my eyes, “Yeah, yeah, yeah...Adam’s a heartless bastard...Adam’s got no soul, blah, blah, blah, it’s fuckin’ tired, Aiden.”

  Sam leans forward and rests his chin in his hand. His eyes are on Aiden, but they look vacant to me. What’s he thinking about? Oliver and his songs? The new band he’s going to build...the one that will be better than ours...the one that will steal him away from me, from us, from everything we’ve built?

  I want to fucking puke. But also, I’m still arguing with my asshole brother.

  “You see, my brother here...” he’s pretending to be frank, like he’s not poking the bear, but merely spitting facts, “...he’s what you’d call a charismatic sociopath...”

  Amy leans forward, holding onto every word. Part of me wants to get into a relationship with her to spite him. Maybe I should fuck her again...just to put one over on him.

  “Oh?” she asks, a confident smile on her face.

  I roll my eyes again, leaning back, interested in what nonsense he has to say about me this time.

  Aiden nods, “...Yes. He’s the kind of guy that everyone loves...everyone loves Adam. Everyone thinks he’s all handsome and smart, or whatever bullshit, but the truth is he’s obsessed with himself and incapable of giving a damn about anyone else. So, you know...fair warning. You might love him, like all the rest, but he will never think twice about you.”

  I see Sam swallow. He knows what’s coming. I do, too. I want to go there, to leap across the table and attack Aiden like I would if we were in a bar or at home, but this is a restaurant and I also kind of want to prove him wrong, so I don’t. I’ll kick his scrawny, jealous ass later.

  Not that I’m going to let him get away with it.

  I lean close to the girl...Amy. She smells like flowers, and despite my uncertainty about her, I kind of get a little hard. Maybe it’s because I can use her against Aiden. That does give me a bit of joy, a little thrill.

  I’m not vindictive. He’s just such an unbelievable, holier-than-thou dick.

  “See, what he’s not telling you is that he’s only saying these things because he can’t pull a girl like you for himself...”

  His turn to roll his eyes. I grin wider and continue, “I suspect, though, that’s mostly because he’s a repressed homosexual. Obviously, he’s got something stuck up his ass, anyway...”

  His cheeks run hot. Sam moves a little, and I glance. His shoulders are slouched. He’s looking down at his lap and chewing the inside of his cheek. I presume he wants this conversation to end.

  Aiden spits out insults and, well, I guess I’m just trying to read Sam so much I kind of forget about it. He’s my brother. It’s fine. We do this kind of thing to each other all the time.

  Maybe he likes Amy...Aiden, I mean. Or maybe Sam does? Is he mad I’m being too crude?

  It feels like I’m always disappointing him anymore.

  I swallow and look down. I decide to shut up and eat. I feel bad, but I don’t understand why. I’m just ribbing like guys do. I’m just being the same person I’ve always been. Has he outgrown me?

  He’s just been so damn quiet...

  I guess I’ll be quiet, too.

  I eat and let the table settle down. When we leave, Aiden’s up Amy’s ass, and she’s trying to crawl up mine. Her arm is strong. Not that I can’t get her away from me, it’s just that I have no desire to hurt her, and clearly she’s delusional and has ideas about me. It’d be stupid to fuck her again, so I quickly decide I won’t.

  She’s not like Brandy.

  Few women are.

  I hold onto that thought. I kind of expect me and Sam to talk when we’re in the hotel room, but we don’t. He flicks on the television and stretches out on the bed. I lay down and kill time on my phone. He falls asleep, and I do, too. When we wake up, it’s pure instinct, the knowledge that it’s time to perform.

  That’s when I shine, really. I don’t mind pissing away the day.

  So we go to this little joint across the street. Our opening acts are buzzing. We’re all backstage on couches, sharing beers. Amy crawls into my lap and I let her because Brandy’s at the bar anyway and can’t see us.

  Maybe I can talk them both into a night...

  No, no, no. This girl is weird, remember?

  Put that thought away, Adam. There are better women to do that sort of thing with.

  I rub her back and notice that same hollow look in Sam’s eyes. I realize he’s watching my hand, and I’m not sure what that means. I decide he hates me and all that I am, and I carry that energy around for a while. I hear the folksy girl who opens for us first. She’s a lesbian. She’s in Sam’s new band, too.

  Lots of gay energy around us these days.

  Does that mean something?

  Before I can think about it much Amy’s whispering things in my ear that, um, well, aren’t too bad to hear. I decide to grab her ass because, obviously, she wants me to. No harm, no foul in a little physical flirtation.

  Sam’s sad eyes brighten when Oliver approaches. The two of them walk off, getting lost in conversation until it’s time for that douche-bag's band to play, too. My gut burns with jealousy. I try to ignore it, so I turn away from them and make out with Amy for a while. Once I hear Oliver out on stage, I pry my face from hers and see Sam still lingering where he’d been, so distant, so alone. He’s not looking at me anymore. He’s on his phone.

  He’s probably pretending not to judge me. I’ve pushed far enough that I’ve lost his attention.

  There’s a craving inside me. I decide to fill it with beer.

  While I swallow down Coronas, Jayson...yeah, that was his stupid name...he winds up next to Sam. They’re not talking, but...I don’t know...I guess I notice something? Like...something comfortable between them, even though they’ve just met...?

  Why is Sam comfortable around everyone but me anymore?

  I’m being paranoid. I’ve got to knock this shit off.

  I set my beer down and gently nudge Amy from my lap. I won’t lie, she’s got me lit. I ignore it. I pace and pretend I’m occupied on my phone.

  I want to go stand with Sam.

  A few years back, when we had a big tour and this crazy successful album, we would stand like that together. We’d stand and laugh. We’d joke. We’d elbow each other and talk about the next big hit, the next tour, the next monolithic thing we’d create together.

  And then my dad got sick. I got busy. Sam started spending time with Oliver. He got reclusive and weird. He always looked sad, the way he does now.

  What happened to you, Sammy? Why aren’t you telling me about it?

  Have you told Oliver what it is?

  Goddamn it, I feel so sick!

  I miserably wait for Oliver’s band to finish. The crew sets up our gear. We hang backstage and wait to pounce, then we go out strong and loud.

  Thankfully, on stage, things are more familiar.

  I can feel the heat pouring from Sam’s body. He spins with that guitar the way he does. He jumps from speakers and shreds on it from the floor. His energy is, and always has been, beautifully fucking electric. It energizes me and makes me feel whole. We share my mic so close our cheeks nearly touch, then, like the tide, he naturally glides away. Our eyes find each other’s, always helping me feel centered in the chaos of lights, sweat, and screams.

  There’s nothing in the world that can make me feel like this.

  That’s why I don’t want Oliver to take him.

  Another guitarist...no. There’s no one else in the world that can play that shit like Sam.

  This mixture of emotions is obstructing my breath when we finish. I feel aimless when we get off stage. Sam, as if baptized in the light, the fame, the general high from what we do, seems to forget his sadness. He smiles without effort. He laughs. He talks with everyone. I want that to stay, that happiness.

  That’s really all I want.

  I want him to be happy the way I remember him...although, now that I’m saying it, I’m not quite sure I remember when he genuinely has been for a while.

  When...?

  Before I can dwell on it, we’re out in the night air, walking toward another bar where we doubt we’ll be recognized. We all drink. It’s not like I’m the only one. It kills some time until the venue is cleared, then we go back because it’s emptied for us now. We sit at a high rise table, all of us, all the bands, Oliver included. The night happens, but I can’t say I register a whole hell of a lot of it.

  I lose track in the fog of my inebriation.

  The last thing I really remember are those sad, sorry eyes. I drift to the hotel room, and I don’t do any of the things I thought I would. I don’t tell Sam to fuck off. I don’t lock the door or hang the sign. I just pull Brandy to the bed and kiss her like...like...I don’t know, like somehow she can save me from everything that makes me feel like I want to die.

  We’re not kinky like usual. These emotions...it’s the same as it was with Amy, only worse because I know Brandy’s body.

  What the fuck is happening to me?

  I feel panicked. I feel like I could cry, like my heart will explode, but I channel it all into making sure she’s satisfied. When she is, I let myself get satisfied, too. We collapse into the sheets.

  Normally, I’d hold her.

  She pulls my head to her chest and holds me like a mother might instead.

  I wouldn’t know.

  Mine left right after Aiden was born.

  I wasn’t good enough for her.

  I couldn’t make her stay.

  As I regrettably sob against the softness of Brandy’s skin, I realize I’m not good enough for anyone these days.

  I realize I can’t do anything to make Sam stay with me.