In Between the Lines

Chapter 20: If You Can't Fix It, Then Mix It

Something in his tone changed then, though I couldn't quite place it. "Why?"

"Because she doesn't think about anyone but herself. She's selfish and materialistic and vain." I laid my head against the arm rest, tucking my knees up to my chin. "And she was the first person to ever break my heart."

There was a pause. I hated those pauses. I didn't know what they meant, not when I couldn't see his face.

I wished I could see his face.

But eventually Dez said, "Mine was, too."

My chest tightened, thinking of what he'd revealed to me at the cages—that his mother was dead. And that he was only four when he'd lost her.

"What happened to her?"

"She was . . . sad," he said. "Hurting. But she never told anyone why. No one knew the extent of it until the day she turned up dead."

He exhaled, slow and heavy, before he said, "She killed herself."

The world stopped spinning.

It just—stopped.

"My brother was the one who found her," Dez went on. "He was only six at the time, but it haunted him up through high school. It still does. I think it was a part of the reason, maybe the only reason, why he started doing drugs. To escape those memories. It was his way of coping. Of forgetting. And I knew—for the longest time I knew he had a problem. But I never spoke up. I didn't know what to do. I thought, how could I tell my older brother how to properly cope with what he saw? When he was the one who . . .  I had no idea what that must have felt like. I didn't want to pretend I understood because I didn't.

"That was why I took the fall for him two years ago. Because I thought, maybe if I'd spoken up before, I could have caught him before he plunged into that dark place. He got addicted—dependent on the drugs just to get through his days, but as soon as the cops found his stash, I knew where it would land him. And I knew that if he didn't get the help he needed, he would have ended up just like our mom. Dead at his own hands." He paused before he said, "I couldn't lose another person that way."

I only half-registered the tears that were spilling over.

"That was why your act in the cafeteria last semester resonated with me, Peacock. Because you did the one thing I never could. You saw someone who needed saving, and you did something about it—before it was too late."

I couldn't help the small sob that escaped me then. Because Dez . . .

Was that why it looked like his guilt was eating him alive? Why he always carried so much weight on his shoulders?

Because he thought he had been too weak?

"I didn't tell you that to make you feel sorry for me," he said, his voice gentle—as if to comfort me. As if he wasn't the one who needed the comforting.

"I told you that because I want you to know that there's no part of me I'm afraid to show you," he continued, "Not anymore. And I hope one day you'll feel the same way about me."

I clenched my teeth, feeling every false story, every secret, and every lie rise in my throat like bile. I didn't know how to tell him that I already felt that way about him. That I had for a very long time now. But I swallowed back my tears and forced myself into composure.

And I told him a different secret.

"I know you don't like mushrooms."

There was a stretch of silence before Dez said finally, "What?"