Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
So I take the easy way out and change the subject. I ask Dusty about his work at the autobody shop, and then we just talk…about dumb things. Nothing big or important, while continuing to pass the whiskey bottle back and forth. Dots dance in my vision. My skin tingles. The alcohol is doing its job in getting me drunk and making me chattier than I would normally be.
In this moment, drinking and talking with Dusty helps me forget how angry Dad is at me. Helps me forget that I went out of my way to help East today, but all he wished was that I were Morgan. And maybe Dusty wishes that too right now, but it doesn’t feel like it. It’s almost like we’re friends.
“This is nice,” I say, immediately wishing I could take the words back. I don’t get a response, so I ask, “Dusty?” And damn, I sound drunk.
He’s got his head against the lighthouse. He turns slightly in my direction, putting us so close, I feel his warm breath against my lips.
“Hmm?” he asks, and he’s looking at me…like he doesn’t hate me. Like he doesn’t think I’m the worst brother in the world. Not at all like he wants nothing to do with me because Morgan is so much better than me.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi,” he replies.
My whole body buzzes. I’m not sure what’s happening, but for one moment I just want to forget all the negative shit in my life. I want to see what it’s like to be Morgan—the one Mom loved more, and the one East prefers. The son who doesn’t do as Dad says and makes his own way in life. The one who’s leaving for California in a few weeks, even though our dad doesn’t want him to.
And then our mouths are touching. When his tongue lashes at my lips, I register that I’m kissing a man, and I’m not into dudes. At least, I never have been, but it feels so damn good. I feel wanted, though I know Dusty doesn’t want me. He wants Morgan, wishes I were Morgan, is probably trying to hide from the pain of loving Morgan. And I…want to feel some of the things my brother does. Or maybe I really am the biggest asshole who ever lived and I’m only doing this to hurt my brother. I don’t want to believe that of myself, but my thoughts are foggy. There is so much weight bearing down on me every day of my life, and for whatever reason, in this moment, kissing Dusty, I’m able to forget that.
“What the fuck!” Morgan shouts.
Hearing my brother’s voice electrocutes my heart, fries it. Dusty and I rip apart and hurry to our feet. Shit. Why did I do that? What the fuck is wrong with me?
Before I can get my bearings, Morgan’s body slams into mine, tackling me to the ground. Pain explodes in my face when he punches me.
“What are you doing? You don’t get to touch him! He’s mine!” A second hit makes contact with my already aching face.
Fire in Morgan’s eyes blazes down at me, hatred in my brother’s piercing glare. It makes all my insecurities bubble to the surface, and not just that, but my rage too. Fuck him for always being better than me.
“Morgan, get off him. It’s not what it looked like!” Dusty shouts.
Morgan turns to look at Dusty, and I take advantage, shoving him off me and to the ground. My arms act of their own accord, fists slamming into Morgan the way his had just done to me.
We fight, battling for dominance, swinging and letting out a lifetime of anger. Every moment of our lives has been leading up to this, all Dad’s words to me about Morgan making me see red. I feel like I’m not even in my own body anymore.
I don’t notice Dusty coming until he’s knocked me off Morgan, my head hitting the ground bringing me back to myself.
“What the hell is wrong with the two of you?” Dusty shouts.
Morgan stands up. I’m still on my back, breathing heavily, Dusty beside me.
Morgan spits blood onto the ground. “Fuck you, Rhett. You did that on purpose. You kissed him because you knew it would hurt me.”
The thing is, he’s partly right. I can hate myself for it and know it’s wrong, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true. But none of this is easy. Morgan isn’t innocent either. How many times has he hurt me? “Or maybe I just want him and he wants me,” I lie. “It was a hot fucking kiss.”
Why did I say that?
It’s mean, angry.
I always told myself I would be just like Dad, and it looks like I am.
Morgan lunges at me again, but Dusty manages to scramble between us before he can hit me again, and Morgan immediately stops. He would never lay a hand on Dusty.