Chapter Text
Aaron gives the orange pill bottle a slight shake, as pleased as he gets these days when he hears the contents pinging around inside, signifying that his next few hours will be manageable. If the bottle was empty, he would spend the rest of the day shivering, nauseous, and miserable. Now at least he won’t have to take his chemistry midterm with the former two symptoms. Misery is Aaron’s permanent state, he thinks.
It’s like his mother tells him. Aaron and Tilda were born as gaping black holes, taking in everything only to desire even more. Black tar personified, and the narcotics never fill the pit within him, but they distract him from it enough that he can do other things. Like his chemistry midterm, he chose to focus on studying instead of buying more pills. This time, he got lucky.
On an ideal day, Aaron wakes up and takes a few hydrocodone’s he bought from a friend at school. Some days he switches it up and asks his neighbor on the bus for a few adderalls if he has an exam or a long day ahead. At some point, when he feels the morning dosage start wearing off, he pops a few more hydrocodones or oxys in the men's bathroom closest to his algebra class. He skips lunch, can’t afford it and he usually isn’t hungry anyway. He spends lunch time meeting up with kids with sick or injured family members by the dumpsters outside. Repeat step 2 before the end of the day. During the season, he goes to Exy practice hitches a ride home, and spends the rest of the evening coming down and feeling like his brain is being mixed around on a frying pan before finishing off with a Xanax and passing out in bed. Rinse and repeat.
Today turns out to not be an ideal day because when Aaron returns home from school, his mother is sitting in one of the white plastic chairs on the porch, dragging out the last of her cigarette. It’s 5pm, when Tilda is usually at work. Her latest job was at one of those self-righteous grocery stores over 20 miles away. Aaron supposes that at least she won’t have to keep seeing her latest boyfriend for rides to work anymore.
It’s not the first time that Tilda has been fired by a long shot. And it’s not the first time she’s had a boyfriend Aaron hated. Hated may be a strong word for Tilda’s current boyfriend, Stan though. He wasn’t heavy handed with Aaron’s mother, or stealing from her, or acknowledging Aaron’s existence at all (which was how he preferred it). He was just simply an idiot, and the most boring person to have to make occasional conversation with ever. Aaron could say a lot about his mother. She was a stoic, crazy bitch. She didn’t care much for other people’s feelings, and everything she did was in service to herself. She spent most of her time even more strung out than Aaron was, with a new boyfriend every few weeks. When she wasn’t working, partying, or with some guy, she was catatonic on their grungy couch.
But she wasn’t always like that. If Aaron thinks hard enough, he can remember the feeling of her larger, colder hand holding his and walking him to the bus stop on his first day of school. He remembers her buying second hand clothes for him and setting a plate with microwave food in front of him. They were never well-off, but he always got a gift on Christmas and his birthday. He remembers a time when he thought his mother really loved him in her own way. A time when their bathroom cabinet wasn’t full of pill bottles with other peoples names on them and their fridge had easy quick meals in it instead of cheap seltzers and beer.
Then when he was in 5th grade, she started seeing Gary. And when Gary moved in, so did the booze and pills. The more that Gary smacked her around, the more bruises Aaron had from those cold hands that used to hold onto his. Even when Gary moved out, the booze, pills, and bruises stayed.
Still, Aaron still can’t quite shake the thoughts from his drugged up brain that maybe one day she’ll change back. That maybe this time, getting fired again, will be enough to make her like her old self again. To make her his mother again.
He does the best he can to squash that hope before it grows larger than the oxycodone induced dizziness enveloping his brain.
“No more grocery store?” Aaron asks her, gripping his backpack tighter on his shoulder.
She lets out a breath of smoke, curling her lips to steer the smoke away from Aaron. Once she’s done, and has taken the correct amount of time not acknowledging Aaron’s existence to make him feel like a nuisance, she nods her head toward him. “Stan’s taking us out to Oakland tonight for the game.”
One thing about Dan, he loves the San Diego Chargers. He never misses a game, despite being unemployed and constantly short on funds. He always finds a way to get tickets, and recently he’s been bringing Aaron and Tilda along with him. Aaron worried at first that it was Stan’s attempt to bond with him, which Aaron has no interest in doing as Stan will be gone by next week. However, that wasn’t the case as Aaron usually spends the entire game in the stupid long concession line so that Stan can have a hot dog with his smuggled in beers. And it’s the “least he can do” since Stan paid for his ticket and Tilda can’t stay upright long enough to get to the register. Still, watching the game from the line is more entertaining than reading his chemistry textbook and knocking himself out, even if he doesn’t care much for football.
Aaron just nods in response to his mother, not bothering to get an answer to his question. He already knows it anyway. After unceremoniously dropping his backpack on his bed (which is really just a mattress after his bed frame broke a month ago), and an awkwardly quiet car ride to Oakland, Aaron predictably winds up at the end of a very long line of football fans with a wad of cash in his pocket and a mental list of orders. Stan didn’t even give him enough money to get himself something like he usually does.
Some people passing by give him odd looks. He doesn’t blame them. He’s a thirteen-year-old by himself at a crowded football game and he’s sweating buckets on a seasonably cool day in California (he knew he should have slipped a few pills in his pocket before he left, but he was scared of the cop finding them during the entrance search). Aaron tries to distract himself from the ache, the evergrowing hole inside him making itself known again. He watches the game unfold on the jumbotron, unable to see the field at all. The Chargers are winning, which means that it’ll be a good night for Stan. Aaron hopes that Stan’s high will last until Thanksgiving next week and maybe make him generous enough to buy them some dinner. Though, there’s a better chance that Tilda dumps him in the driveway tonight.
Aaron is watching the linebackers on screen when a movement catches his eye. There’s a man staring at him, unsubtly, suddenly right beside him. Aaron startles, studying the man for familiarity. Doesn’t look like Tilda’s type, too put together and well dressed. Certainly not any teacher or coach of his.
“Sorry, kid. I didn’t mean to scare you, I forgot you’re jumpy.” The man says, voice deep and charismatic. Very much talking to him the way that adults talk to teenagers, at the same volume as an adult but with the tone of speaking to an infant. “Just saw you and wanted to say hi. How’s Cass?”
What the hell is this dude talking about? Aaron looks behind him to see if maybe he’s speaking with someone else, but his eyes are met with open space. He turns back around, and the man’s once smiling face is furrowed a bit, eyebrows down in concern. “You alright, kid?”
Aaron, through the brain fog realizes that he has to respond. “Uh, yeah sorry,” Aaron pauses, scanning the man one more time to see if he recognizes him. Blank. Maybe he does need to lay off the pills. “Do I know you?” He tries to keep the rudeness out of his tone, but he thinks his vocal chords just rub together that way most of the time.
The man looks at him, bewildered. “I didn’t think you were the joking type, Andy.”
Aaron doesn’t think he’s unique looking by anyone’s standards, but usually when he’s mistaken for someone else, they get a good look at him and realize. So either something is very wrong with this guy, or he’s been blacking out and making new adult male friends. Maybe he’s more like his mother than he thought. “I’m not Andy. I think you’ve got the wrong person.”
The man looks at him for a moment and something registers in his head. He takes out his wallet and a pen from his other pocket. “Kid, are you in the system by chance?”
The system? Before Aaron can think about it too hard, the man opens his wallet and Aaron’s eyes catch on the glint of a badge. The guy is a cop. Aaron feels a cold wash over him. Can he tell that he’s in the early phase of withdrawal? Is he going to arrest him? Is he going to have “junkie” on his permanent record for life? He might as well give up on college or even high school for that matter. He needs to focus. Just answer the questions and cooperate and the cop will leave him alone. Don’t be combative, it's the easiest way to avoid punishment. “What system, sir?”
“So, that’s a no.” the cop smiles at him. “I’m Phil Higgins. I work for the Oakland Police Department. There’s a kid in the foster system about your age I work with a lot. His foster family are friends of mine. I think you might be related.” Officer Higgins manages to pull a notepad from his wallet.
Aaron doesn’t have many relatives. Or at least, if he does, he doesn’t know them. His father’s side is a blank slate, although Aaron is the spitting image of his mother, so it’s unlikely that anyone would be able to see resemblance between anyone on his side. His grandparents are dead, although his maternal grandfather did live long enough to meet him as a baby. Tilda has a brother, Luthor, who they used to visit in North Carolina during the holidays until a few years ago. He has a wife and a son, but they certainly didn’t look like Aaron did. Aaron thought the chances of this cop randomly stumbling upon his secret cousin were slim.
“I don’t have many relatives, sir.” Aaron tries to smile at him dismissively, but it looks more like a grimace.
“Well, you might have more than you think. Unless they figured out how to clone people in the last couple years,” Officer Higgins laughs at his own joke. “In any case, where’s your mom or dad? I want to at least get your info.”
Aaron feels a lurching in his stomach. It's his usual early withdrawal nauseousness, but times ten. His skin goes pale and he feels saliva flood his mouth. He’s going to throw up. Could there be a worse time? “She’s uh…” He trails off, pointing in the direction of the stands.
If Officer Higgins is concerned by Tilda letting Aaron roam around by himself, he doesn’t show it. “Okay. Can you give me your home telephone number?”
Aaron makes a tactical decision. His mom is going to be pissed if she keeps getting phone calls about some fake relative in Oakland, and that he was the one throwing out their phone number. But also, he’s still got oxycodone in his system and he’s about to violently throw up in front of this cop. His biology convinces him to go with the option that gets him away from Officer Higgins the fastest.
He recites their phone number and tries to casually speed walk to the nearest restroom to vomit bile. He guesses he forgot to eat today.
___________________________
By the next morning, as Aaron is shaking an orange bottle once more, this time with the knowledge that he won’t have to go to school, he hardly even remembers Officer Higgins. His mother is downstairs, slumped on the couch. Her and Stan went bar hopping after dropping Aaron off for the night. It’ll be a few hours before she even makes a sound, much less wakes up.
And then the phone starts ringing.
Aaron makes startled eye contact with himself in the mirror. Maybe Tilda won’t be able to get off the couch and whoever is calling will give up. Maybe it isn’t even a mysterious long long relative. Maybe it’s a telemarketer. He approaches the upstairs wall telephone, thinking he might beat her to it.
“Hello,” Tilda’s voice rings gruffly through the house from the living room. She might as well have answered with “what do you want?”
Aaron chews on his pointer finger nail bed for a moment before hastily reaching for the corded phone and putting it to his ear, trying to breath as quietly as possible. Curiosity hadn’t killed him yet, but he certainly should know better.
“Hi! Thanks for picking up,” The voice is chipper and feminine. Definitely not related to Aaron and Tilda. “I got your number from Officer Higgins. I was hoping that if we ever met it would be more rousing than a phone call, but it’s still great to finally meet you.”
“Who the hell are you?” Tilda questions. Aaron is surprised she hasn’t hung up already.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” The woman on the line takes a breath. “I’m Cass Spear. My family recently opened our home to fosters. We’ve had Andrew for about a year now. He’s a lovely kid, just a bit misunderstood, you know? Well, of course you know. You’re his biological mother.”
Aaron’s heart stops for a moment. There’s a chance that it’s not true. That this Cass person has the wrong number, or that Officer Higgin’s messed up. But somewhere, intrinsically, he knows it to be factual in that instant. He has a brother.
Tilda takes a few seconds too long to respond. “How’d you get my number again?”
“Officer Higgins has worked with Andrew a lot through a mentorship program in Oakland. He’s also been friends with our son, Drake, forever. He ran into your other son at the game yesterday and said the resemblance was uncanny. He said they could have been twins. I haven’t told Andrew yet, but I just was so excited I had to give you a call.” Cass is a fast talker.
Aaron knows that he’s in deep shit. That as soon as this call is over, Tilda is going to march her frail body up the stairs and backhand him. But, he doesn’t care. Aaron is the one who should be angry. Tilda kept his brother from him for 13 years! He faintly hears the sound of a lighter, followed by the smell of smoke. He hates when she smokes inside.
Apparently, Tilta decides to give an inch. “Well, they look like twins because they are twins. I couldn’t take both of them.” There’s no sadness or regret in her voice as she says it, it’s just a fact.
Aaron doesn’t just have a brother. A twin. A natural, god-given other half. No wonder he has spent his entire life feeling like a giant black hole that could never be satisfied. No wonder he was so lonely and miserable all the time. This whole time, there was supposed to be someone else by his side. Someone Tilda ripped away from him and never told him about. She let him think he was broken. She let him think he was like her. Aaron’s eyes water until a silent tear tracks down his face and he hurriedly wipes it away.
“I meant no judgement, I swear. I understand that circumstances must have been difficult,” Cass pauses, as if letting the tension settle. “I had no idea he had a twin brother. We have to get them together. I live right near the stadium in Oakland, 1658 Grand Avenue. Does your son- what’s his name? Does he know about this? Are they fraternal or identical?”
Aaron can practically feel the rage rising inside Tilda, the way the air feels full of static and his body naturally curves inwards. “I said I couldn’t take both of them,” Tilda's voice is so loud, Aaron has to move the phone away from his ear. “Andrew isn’t my problem and I want nothing to do with him, that’s why he’s in the system.”
Even Aaron is stunned by the crassness. “I didn’t mean to strike a nerve,” Cass’s voice sounds disheartened. “I understand if seeing him now is too painful for you. But I really think you should give Andrew the chance to know his brother. He deserves that.”
Any chance of appealing to Tilda’s emotions is fruitless because she simply doesn’t have any. “Don’t call this number again”
Aaron swiftly hangs the phone up as well to avoid evidence of his prying. He stands in the hallway for a while, the smell of smoke growing stronger with each of Tilda’s drags. He has a twin brother who lives only a few hours away. His mother kept him, and gave the other one up. Andrew. That’s his brother's name. He wonders if Tilda named him that.
Aaron spends the rest of the day in his room. He doesn’t even leave to get more pills or food. He just lays on his back on his mattress and thinks. He takes a post-it and writes Cass’s address (his twin's address) from memory.
Aaron thinks about nature and nurture. How siblings raised separately often still show behavior similarities. Obviously, Andrew looks like him considering that Higgins knew they were twins. But maybe they would like the same movies. Maybe they both played Exy. Maybe Andrew liked Blink-182 or Red Hot. Maybe he wanted to be a doctor, too.
Aaron imagined Andrew as being the version of himself that was raised by somebody like Cass. Someone loving and optimistic, who advocated for him. Andrew probably didn’t need 5 different pill bottles to get through the day. He probably could sleep at night without drugging himself. Cass and Andrew lived on Grant Avenue, he probably had all first hand clothes and a private chef. Andrew might even be a different clothing size to himself. Andrew might have all the chances he never got, and suddenly Aaron is pissed at Tilda for a different reason.
She hasn’t lifted a finger as a parent in the last three years at least. Why did she keep him? Did she need an audience for her downward spiral? Lord knows she didn’t feel guilty for giving a child up.
He throws himself out of bed with a vengeance. Aaron rummages through his backpack until he grasps his notebook, yanking it open and ripping out a blank page. He takes a seat at his desk (a dining room table that had been moved to his room when Tilda replaced it) with his favorite pen. And then his mind went completely empty.
What is he supposed to say? This is his first interaction with his brother. He doesn’t want him to think he’s too poor to afford nice stationary. Or for his writing to be so bad that Andrew thinks he’s an idiot. Although, he probably will think that anyway since Cass is likely paying for Andrew to attend a fancy private school. Aaron tones down the jealousy and carefully begins to tear off the perforated edge of the notebook paper. It at least looks like he was going for a nice presentation. After much deliberation, he begins the letter with “Andrew,” in his nicest handwriting.
Over the course of the next week, he adds to the letter each day. It starts with him describing how he found out about him. The next day, Aaron gives some basic information about himself, like what school he goes to, his position in Exy, how he wants to be a doctor. It’s surprisingly earnest, more earnest than Aaron can ever remember being, but not earnest enough to mention that the 2 adderalls he popped at lunch are helping him write the letter. It’s meticulously written too, drafted on separate paper first and rewritten until it sounds natural.
The next day he adds information about their family. He doesn’t write much about Tilda, just mentioning that they have a mother and not a father. He doesn’t want to crush any birth mother fantasies that Andrew may have. By the 5th day, he manages to hunt down a picture of himself, Tilda, some random boyfriend, and Luthor’s family from Christmas a few years ago and adds it to the envelope he stole from his school library stash. Then, on Thanksgiving, early in the morning, he finishes the letter off by stating that he wants to meet Andrew at Cass’s house (he mentioned earlier that she seemed nice on the phone) as long as he is okay with it.
Then he puts it in an envelope, adds a stamp and prints the address as neatly as he can and quietly inserts the letter into the mailbox. It’s a cool November morning outside, and as Aaron lifts the flag on the mail box, he finds himself wishing for the first time in what has to be a long time. He wants a brother. He wants Andrew, more than he even wants Tilda to be his mom again. If God existed and felt bad for what he did to him, this is how he could make it up to Aaron.
Aaron looks around him to make sure he’s alone before quietly whispering to himself, “Let me have this. Please.”
____________________________
Aaron must be the dumbest person on the planet. Tilda isn’t one for household chores. Aaron can’t recall the last time she washed a dish or wiped anything down. But one thing she is consistent about is checking the mail, because that’s where her final paychecks end up when she inevitably gets fired. He should have known better.
Not even an hour after he put his letter in the mailbox and made a childish wish, Tilda was slamming his door open, her long pale hair flowing over her shoulders. It's thinner than he remembers it in his youth. She flings the unopened letter onto his desk. She must have recognized the address. “Are you a fucking moron?” Aaron flinches. “Giving away our information to random cops and listening in on my fucking calls.” She grabs his wrist and drags him up from his mattress. Her grip is tight and painful. Aaron tries to be as small as possible. There’s no getting out of this one.
“What? Nothing to say for yourself?” She’s furious. More angry than he’s ever seen her, even when she’s so drunk she can barely talk. “Jesus Christ, Aaron. Are you a toddler? This kid isn’t your brother. You haven’t even met him. He doesn’t know you and he doesn’t want to hear from you. Throw that shit away, it has a better chance of getting read in a dumpster.”
Maybe it’s because he’s almost burned through his morning hydrocodones, but Aaron feels a rage like no other stir in his gut. His ears get hot and his head aches. He looks up to meet Tilda’s eyes. “You don’t know that,” Aaron says, Tilda scoffs. “You probably haven’t seen him since the day he was born. When you took him from me.”
Tilda’s face scrunches up in a weird way before a terrifying grin forms on her mouth. She releases Aaron’s wrist, which he cradles to his chest. Then she’s laughing. Aaron hates when she gets like this. Tilda only laughs when she’s about to hurt someone. The only thing she finds amusing is pain, and Aaron braces himself. “Whatever, Aaron. Go ahead and mail it, dumbass,” Tilda points a finger at him. “You should be grateful. It could have just as easily been you. I’m going out.” Then she slams the door behind her. Aaron doesn’t move until he hears the front door close. Finally, he lets out a breath and inspects the blooming bruises on his wrist. From out his window, the mail carrier is two doors down. Aaron grabs the letter and runs. He hands the mailman the letter with something that feels almost victorious.
Please, he thinks. Please, let me have this.
_______________
He checks the mailbox everyday for a week. He gets up early to do it, he doesn’t trust Tilda not to throw away anything from Andrew before he can see it. There’s an inexplicable pep in Aaron’s step, he’s cut his pill intake by half. On Tuesday, he answered a question in algebra voluntarily. Exy practice has gone better than usual too. Aaron even went to McDonald’s with his teammates on Friday after the game.
He just knows that Andrew is going to respond. Maybe twin intuition is really a thing because late at night (because he can’t fall asleep without benzos) he watches out his window and wonders if Andrew is thinking about him. If he’s curious about all the same things Aaron is. If Andrew had also lived his entire life feeling like half of a whole, like a tar pit. Regretfully, he hopes so. He’d feel less alone.
When he’s brushing his teeth on Saturday, he wonders if they have the same mannerisms. If they both chew on their nails or if they’re both significantly shorter than every other boy in their classes. He imagines Andrew’s face, his own face but happier, opening the letter.
Aaron lives with his head in the clouds until he checks the mailbox on Saturday morning. Tilda is home. She started a new job at a dive bar down the street. Already seems to have moved on from Stan, as a new car has started driving her to work in the evenings. Working at a dive bar, especially one as trashy as this one, often means that Tilda comes home trashed. But Aaron has found that a drunk Tilda is way easier to deal with than Tilda on her usual blend of spite and pills. And she sleeps longer too.
Aaron carefully shuts the door behind him. Walking barefoot down the driveway to the mailbox. There’s the usual credit card offers and coupon papers, and right on top is an envelope addressed to Aaron Minyard.
Aaron practically runs back inside, throwing the mailboxes contents on the kitchen table and cradling the letter in his hands with a reverence he’s never known himself to have. The envelope is standard, probably bought in bulk. The penmanship on the front is shabby, his own name practically scrawled across the envelope, and instead of Andrew putting his own name, he has placed a sticker with Cass’s name and return address in the top left. The stamp is Thanksgiving themed.
Aaron hears a creak from the stairs behind him and he knows that he should take this letter behind closed doors, but he can’t wait any longer. He rips it open as Tilda descends the stairs. The handwriting inside is just as terrible as the envelope, but Aaron can read it just fine:
Aaron Minyard,
I have no interest in meeting you. Do not reach out to me again.
I already have a brother.
Andrew
He doesn’t even sign the bottom, just his name written in all caps. The letter barely takes up a third of the page. Aaron’s was a full page front and back. Aaron re-reads the letter several times, searching for some kind of hidden meaning or something he’s missing. What was even the point of responding?
Aaron feels…empty. He feels like the pit inside him has consumed him. Like he should just give up. Nobody will ever understand him or care about him. Every good thing that happened to him in the last week is tainted now, because this is what it led up to. He’s brought out of his stupor by the sound of Tilda letting out a breath over his shoulder. “I told you that would happen.”
There’s not enough air in the room suddenly. Everything is cloying and suppressing. He wants to let go. He wants to feel something besides this agony of rejection and the tightness in his throat. The clink of glass hitting wood snaps him out of it. Tilda slides an open cider towards him. “You look like you need help.” She looks at him with something like pity before taking a swig of her own bottle. He wasn’t sure she was even capable of something like pity anymore, so he drank the whole thing. She gives him another one and he does the same thing.
At one point, Tilda tells him, “Some friends from work are coming over tonight. Have as much as you want.”
Aaron spends the next 20 minutes taking one pill out of each of the orange bottles he keeps on his person. Tilda keeps handing him drinks, she must have stolen them from the bar. He loses time completely. One second he’s at the table with Tilda, Andrew’s letter on the table between them, and the next he’s slumped on the couch, music blaring from MTV on the small box television. The room is full of adults in varying stages of intoxication. Tilda has done this before, but Aaron has always hid in his bedroom with a pillow over his ears until it was over.
His vision is like a flipbook. He worries, dully, if he has overdosed. He can hardly form a thought and his hearing is going in and out. One second, there was the overwhelming sound of chatter all around him and the next loud ringing. His eyes manage to focus on his mother across the room.
She’s listening to some guy, fresh beer and a cigarette in the same hand. She’s not laughing or smiling, she doesn’t do that. But she’s letting this dude, probably new boyfriend, chat her ear off. She sways slightly to the music. It’s the most carefree that Aaron has ever seen her. At some point between their morning bender and now, she must have gotten dressed up in dark colors and done some kind of smoky look on her eyes. He understands why Tilda is able to get all these guys. She’s captivating in a disturbing way. She’s mean and she’s an addict, but there’s something beautiful about her.
She manages to catch his eyes, her brows furrow in concern and she puts her drink down. Tilda moves past the other occupants with the grace of someone who is used to being intoxicated and squats down in front of Aaron. She says something, but Aaron can’t hear it.
“-ron. Aaron, idiot, what did you take?” Her face is stern. Through the constant blacking of his vision, Aaron searches her eyes that match his own for any emotion. He finds none. The concern she has isn’t for him, not actually. It’s because she would really hate to have to explain to the police why her 13-year-old is dead on her couch on a Saturday night.
He starts to fall asleep but she slaps him awake, harder than necessary. Tilda inspects him for another moment before she leaves. Aaron lets his head hit the back of the couch again.
All of the sudden, he is 5-years-old. He’s in the same spot on the couch, clothed in Walmart dinosaur pajamas. He’s crying, although he can’t remember why. Then Tilda, a younger, healthier looking Tilda is sitting in front of him again. Same look of fake concern and empty eyes. “Can’t fall asleep, Aaron?”
Aaron feels himself nod and more tears well up in his eyes. He sobs without meaning to. It’s been several hours since Tilda told him to go to bed. Aaron has tossed and turned for so long. He’s frustrated and bored and wants nothing more than to just stay up.
Tilda leaves and returns a moment later. “You look like you need help.” She motions for him to stick out his hand and she dumps a small white pill into it, thrusting a glass of water in the other. Aaron takes it, unquestioning. It’s the first time he ever has a Xanax, and it's the first time he sleeps through the night. Tilda doesn’t smile as he hands the water back (she doesn’t do that), but she looks vaguely pleased with him.
There’s unfamiliar arms around his shoulders and under his knees. Aaron has a full body jerk. “Jesus kid, I’m just takin you upstairs.” It’s the guy Tilda was talking to earlier, probably-new-boyfriend. He’s carrying Aaron upstairs. Aaron closes his eyes to avoid throwing up.
He is deposited not-quite gently onto his mattress and the man leaves. Tilda enters the room a moment later with a glass of water and a sigh. “Drink up.”
“I’m sorry,” Aaron tells her, voice hoarse. Tilda just rolls her eyes. Aaron manages to sit up enough to take the water and drink half of it. “What did you mean earlier? When you said that it could have easily been me that you gave up?”
Maybe Tilda is more far gone than Aaron had ever seen her, because her eyes narrow and she leans back in his desk chair. They can both still hear the music and voices from downstairs.
“Your father,” she starts, and Aaron tries his best to listen because he knows this is as honest as she will ever be. “Was a drunken mistake. I was angry at my fiance, and I was flunking out of college. But I loved to drink. So I drank, and then I fucked your father and forgot about it completely. I found out I was pregnant a few weeks later, after my fiance and I made up,” She takes a drag from her cigarette and pauses until she lets the smoke out. Aaron hates the way he knows the smell will stick to all of his stuff. “I never told him about the other guy. Figured there was a better chance it was his anyway. It gave me an excuse to quit school. The mistake came back. Claimed that twins ran in his family and he knew you were his. My fiance found out, ran off. It was too late to do anything about you guys, but I knew I couldn’t keep you. Not anymore. My fiance was the only person I’ve ever loved, I think. And I hated you for taking him away from me.”
Aaron hums his understanding, settling into bed. It’s like some kind of fucked up bedtime story.
“I didn’t even hold you both when you were born. I asked the nurse to take you away. The hospital staff questioned my decision a lot. They gave me your hospital bands so I could claim you later on if I wanted. They thought I had postpartum or something.” She shrugs. “I assigned you names at random. Tried to pick ones that wouldn’t make you freaks later on. And then I left.” Aaron swallows loudly. “I’m not sure what made me come back a few weeks later. Maybe it was guilt for giving you away. Maybe I just didn’t want to suffer alone anymore. But I picked up a bracelet and claimed you. I didn’t even look at the name before I took you. I just knew I couldn’t possibly raise two babies. So, yeah, that’s what I meant by that.”
Then she gets up, grabs the empty glass from his desk and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. Aaron isn’t sure if his mother ever loved him, but she certainly doesn’t now.
__________________________________
Aaron goes back to school on Monday. He tries to banish Andrew and all the childish longing that he brought with him out of his mind. He focuses on his school work, Exy, and his pills. Winterbreak comes around and Aaron spends his days getting high and trying to keep as much distance between himself and Tilda (and Tilda’s new boyfriend), which isn’t hard. His teammates invite him on a few outings before Christmas. He goes once and by the end of it he’s so socially exhausted he goes right to bed when he gets dropped off at home.
He wakes up in the morning on Christmas eve and suppresses the child within him that longs for the days when that used to mean something special. Tilda was off last night, so he’s not entirely shocked when she enters his room. He doesn’t even look her way, just hears the sound of paper landing on his desk. “Don’t get excited.”
She promptly leaves and Aaron groggily sits up and slides the envelope she left towards him. There’s a familiar sticker on the top left corner with the name “Cassandra Spear” adorning it. Aaron’s eyes widen and his heart rate skyrockets. He hurriedly opens the letter. It’s not from Andrew, he knows that immediately. The handwriting is cursive and lovely, very unlike the blocky letter Aaron received previously.
Dear Aaron,
I hope this letter finds you well. My name is Cass and I am your twin brother's foster mother. I spoke with your mother on the phone a bit before Thanksgiving about getting the two of you together. I don’t have any siblings, but my son, Drake, has taken to Andrew, so I understand how powerful and important sibling bonds are. Your mother didn’t seem interested in introducing the two of you for her own reasons, but I was glad to find out that she changed her mind (wink, wink) when we received your letter.
When I first told Andrew about you, he was so excited. He wanted to know everything about you. Andrew hasn’t had the best time in the system, and sometimes he can be cruel and unreasonable as an attempt to protect himself. A bit after we read your letter as a family, Andrew told me that he had no interest in meeting you and replied to your letter saying as much.
I understand if you’re too hurt to want to try again, but I swear to you that your brother wants to meet you. He’s a complex boy and the holidays are full of bad memories for him. I encourage you to reach out to him again in the spring. Until then, I hope that you and your family have a happy holiday and new year!
With Love,
Cass
Aaron doesn’t know what to think or do. He leaves the note open on his desk for weeks. On one hand, Cass knows Andrew better than Aaron does, maybe he’s just a big Scrooge and sent a nasty message. On the other hand, Andrew couldn’t even send him a real message himself. But then again, why would he respond to Aaron’s letter at all if he had no interest in communicating with him? It’s almost like Andrew wanted Aaron to know that he existed. Or maybe he just thought that Aaron would relentlessly try to communicate with him, which would be annoying.
By the time that March rolls around, Tilda has lost her job again. She’s angry this time though. She completely wrecks their house that night and when Aaron tries to stop her, he ends up with a black eye.
He eventually decides to write to Andrew again. It’s not like it could hurt anything, Andrew already seems to hate him anyway. The letter he writes is simple this time. Just asking if he would be interested in meeting at the Oakwood mall during spring break. Maybe the neutral location would be better. He mails the letter on the 15th.
On the 20th, right before spring break, Tilda is sitting on the porch smoking when he gets back from the bus. Exy is over, and Tilda is going on almost a month of unemployment, which means that the two of them are in the house together a lot more than usual
“Cass called,” Tilda says, voice flat. Aaron’s interest peaks, but he doesn’t dare let himself hope again. “Andrew’s in juvie.”
Aaron’s jaw drops involuntarily. “For what?”
Tilda shrugs. “Didn’t ask. She said he won’t be out for years,” Tilda gives him her cruel smile, the only one she has. “He seems troubled. Not worth your time.”
Aaron has to go inside before he brings up the fact that he skipped lunch to pay some kid for his mom’s percs. He tries not to be disappointed. He hadn’t gotten his hopes up like last time, but now it feels more finalized. Aaron doesn’t have a brother, not really. And he won’t for at least the next few years, probably more because said not-brother has no interest in him at all.
He lets it go as much as he can. Throws himself into school, ignores the everpresent hole inside him by shoving different pills into it. Eventually, Tilda runs out of money for him to steal and the pills run out. He starts doing odd jobs around his neighborhood. Landscaping, dog walking, pool cleaning. The lights get turned off in May. Too long with no utility payment and his mother can’t get a job, her reputation too bad and employment history too sordid. There’s not even a new boyfriend to leech off of. As classes wind down for the summer, Tilda stops in Aaron’s doorway while he studies for his English final.
“We’re moving to North Carolina next week.” She says it like she’s observing the color of the sky.
“Huh?” Aaron responds, looking up from his textbook. “Why?”
“Luthor wants to move. He’s offering us his old house.” She yanks a hair tie off her wrist and begins gathering her pale hair into a bun.
“For nothing in return?” Aaron looks at her skeptically.
“For our allegiance to Christ, Aaron,” She rolls her eyes. “He’s put his kid in a fucking conversion camp. I think he wants to start fresh with you instead. You’re not queer, are you?”
Aaron blinks at her for a moment before shaking his head. To be honest, he hasn’t really given it much thought. There were a few girls he went to school with that he found pretty, but he doesn’t have the energy to date them.
“Good. Then you’ll be a perfect meal ticket.” Tilda sighs and leaves him alone.
By the end of May, Tilda and Aaron move across the country.
It isn’t until he’s sleeping in the passenger seat of a rental truck (paid for by Luthor), a dark highway stretched out in front of him, that he remembers Andrew. He’s in a cell somewhere in Oakland. A boy with his face, maybe even his interests and mannerisms. Somebody whom he feels intrinsically connected to, even if it may not be reciprocated. And he has no idea that Aaron is going to be further away from him than he’s even been before. The chances of them ever meeting couldn't be lower.
His last thought before the benzos kick in is of the wish he made by the mailbox those months ago and how it all crumbled in front of him.
__________________
Things get better in Columbia, but Tilda and Aaron get worse. Their new house is quaint, but it has a little kitchen and a living room. Tilda scouted out some furniture at local garage sales and resale shops. She works the front desk at a locally owned motel in town. She’s dating some businessman who stays there often for work, but they keep their affairs outside of Aaron’s new house.
Aaron has a real bedframe now, and a desk. But above all of the other changes, Luthor comes over once a week and delivers them homemade food from Maria. Aaron actually puts on a bit of muscle for the first time in his life.
There are some major downsides. Luthor's random weekly deliveries mean that Tilda and Aaron have to be secretive about their contraband. Even secular books or VHS tapes will set him on a tangent. He hasn’t even seen the booze and narcotic stash under Aaron’s bed. Luthor also demands that they go to his sermon on Sunday mornings and attend brunch afterwards. Aaron doesn’t believe in God, but if it means that he gets to eat tamales for another week, he can pretend to pray for a few hours.
Tilda hates it. She’s always extra medicated on Sundays.
Aaron starts at his new school in August. The students in Columbia are nicer than the ones in San Jose. They’re slightly less wealthy, and slightly more interested in new students. Aaron gains a reputation as a smart but silent figure until he joins the Exy team. Exy seems to be extra popular on the east coast. Aaron’s not startlingly good at Exy, but he’s good enough that the other students know his name after the first game.
With the additional influx of cash, and Tilda’s proximity to all kinds of people with different meds, Aaron and Tilda sink deeper and deeper into their respective bits. Aaron starts practically falling asleep every time he sits down in his morning classes. He can hardly make it through the school day and Exy practice before he’s passing out in bed. He throws up frequently and seemingly randomly, too.
Tilda gets sent home from work several times for falling asleep at the desk. Apparently she told her boss something about undiagnosed narcolepsy. Her drinking gets worse too, especially on Saturdays in preparation for Sunday church.
She’s more irritable than he’s ever seen her, and the multitude of bruises on his body are evidence.
On Halloween, Aaron goes to a party with a teammate and tries fentanyl for the first time. It works much more quickly and it’s much more of a relief when it kicks in. He feels lighter. Too bad the patches are so expensive.
Thanksgiving rolls around and Luthor requests Aaron and Tilda’s presence. He also announces that Nicky is back from sabbatical and will be joining them. Aaron hasn’t seen Nicky in over 5 years, but he remembers him being loud and playful.
Aaron recalls Nicky yelling in his ear while they opened Christmas gifts. Or him laughing jovially while they played tag in the chilly weather. Nicky was like sunlight in a bottle, constantly happy and witty. Aaron was a pit.
Though the Nicky that sits across from Aaron on Thanksgiving is a far cry from the little boy who chased him around outside. Aaron has rarely seen another human being look as broken down and hollowed out as Nicky. He looks how Aaron and Tilda did after their bender a few weeks back. Bruised and lifeless.
Maria brings food to the table, setting a traditional Thanksgiving spread in front of them. Aaron would honestly prefer if she served more tamales instead, but he’s grateful nonetheless. He doesn’t remember his last real Thanksgiving dinner. Luthor leads them in prayer and the food is dispersed. Nicky stays silent throughout the meal, only giving simple responses, mirroring his own mother.
Luthor asks Aaron about school. He gives him the clean version. After dinner, Tilda tells Luther that she doesn’t feel well and Maria takes her to the guest bedroom. She’s fine, just needs to sleep off the meds for a bit.
Once she’s gone, Maria brings out a pie. It's sweet and intricate and Aaron eats it as slow as possible.
“Has your mother been ill?” Luthor inquires between bites of pie.
Aaron stiffens. He prefers his pie uninterrupted, but Luthor has been generous to him. He covers his mouth with one hand. “You could say that.”
Luthor grimaces. Aaron’s not particularly good at reading people. In fact, teachers used to tell Tilda that he was “socially delayed” as a child. Which means that Luthor must be very easy to see through.
The thing about Luthor is that he’s so nice. Nice to a fault. Other people who are only around him on Sundays think that it's the righteousness of good working through him, allowing him to pray over others and donate to lost causes. At first, Aaron had a hard time reconciling the person Luthor is at the pulpit and the dinner table, with the father who sent his only son to a conversion camp, like God shipping Jesus off to Earth. Really, there’s two different Luthors who work towards the same goal. There is a Luthor who provides Aaron and Tilda with a home and food, and another Luthor that forces them to be paraded around his church every Sunday. There is Luthor who would do anything for his son, but the other one is totally fine not seeing him for a year so he’ll be fixed.
The first time that Tilda and Aaron went to Luthor’s church, it was the day after they moved in. The sermon was fine, just long. Something about loving thy neighbor and the strength of the community. As soon as it was over, Tilda was bolting for the door, eager to light a cigarette and wait for Luthor by the car. Aaron was close behind her, but Luthor looped his arm into hers and put his other hand between Aaron’s shoulders and steered them towards the lobby.
“This is my sister and nephew. They just moved here.” And then, “Oh, they actually moved into our old house. Tilda was struggling to find a job in California and was strapped for cash.” And even worse. “Nonesense, family is never charity. Besides, I wanted to support her addiction recovery journey as much as I can.”
It was the same few lines to every church-goer they greeted for over an hour. And every time Luthor mentioned Tilda’s addition, they’d look at Aaron’s mother like she had terminal cancer.
It has been months since they had moved in. Even Aaron has noticed that Tilda looks like a walking NA “before” picture, and honestly he doesn’t look so good himself most of the time. There is no way that Luthor thought Tilda was recovering in any sense of the word. Luthor has never suggested any kind of treatment or help for Tilda’s issues, only that they attend his sermons and allow him to show them off in the lobby afterwards like poor rescue animals.
The truth was that Luthor Hemmick cared only about his image. As long as people thought that he was a God-fearing man who loved his heterosexual son, and his wife whom he had saved from damnation. As long as they thought he was a generous philanthropist who would give everything to save his innocent young nephew and his mentally sick baby sister, then it was worth banishing his son, ignoring his wife, and enabling his nephew and sister to fall deeper into the void. To Luthor, everything was perfect if everyone was playing their roles to his standards.
Luthor lets the grimace slip from his face before pressing his lips together. “I will pray over her swift recovery, then,” He looks between Aaron and Nicky as if he’s deciding which one to interrogate. “Now that you’re older, Aaron, I suppose we can discuss it. I’ve always thought that Tilda never quite got her light back after she lost that baby. I’ve asked God to uplift her numerous times over the years, but his love works in complex ways sometimes.”
Aaron’s confused. “What baby?”
He wracks his brain. Wondering if there was ever a time when Tilda may have been pregnant. Aaron supposes that she’s always thrown up pretty frequently, but narcotics can have that effect at times. He doesn’t remember her ever going to the hospital or shopping for baby items.
Luthor looks stunned for a moment before picking up his water. “She didn’t tell you…” Luthor’s face relaxes into resignation. “You had a twin, Aaron. But they are in the heavenly gardens now.”
Aaron almost chokes on his pie. Aaron supposed the Oakwood Juvenile Detection Center was probably not the worst JDC to exist, but ‘heavenly garden’ was pushing it. He tries to ignore the stab of pain and longing that echoes through his chest at the thought of Andrew.
There’s a younger, more naive version of Aaron inside him that wants to cover for Tilda, let the Hemmicks keep their sympathy for her. She’s his mother, and though the last few years have been tough, he’s still alive because of her. But the older Aaron sitting at this Thanksgiving table can only hear Tilda’s voice on repeat telling him:
“I didn’t even look at the name before I took you. I just knew I couldn’t possibly raise two babies.”
He pictures her satisfied face the first time she drugged him to make him go to bed. He thinks of every meal he had to figure out to make because Tilda was out with some random guy on a weekday bender. Bruises on his face and his wrists, being slumped on the couch for hours before she notices.
“She lied to you.” Aaron’s tone is harsh. Luthor places his fork carefully onto his plate, leaning in. There’s confusion on his face, but Aaron keeps his eyes trained on the uneaten pie. “I do have a twin brother, but he’s still alive. He’s at Oakland Correctional. Not sure what for, he wants nothing to do with me.”
Aaron takes some satisfaction in Luthor’s stunned expression. The man is for once, speechless. Aaron feels the intensity of a gaze on him, causing him to look up from his plate, right up at Nicky.
Nicky’s dull eyes are looking at Aaron with an intense sympathy, unlike any Aaron has ever received. They sit in eye contact for a bit, before Nicky’s hoarse voice asks, “What happened?”
And it’s a question Aaron didn’t even realize he had been desperate for someone to ask for the last year. He tells them everything, practically reciting the letters he read a million times from memory. It’s cathartic, a hurt that festered deep inside him for so long that letting it out feels like closure. He had no one he could talk to about it. Tilda would just make fun of him. His friends at school didn’t need to know his business. But Luthor and Nicky are family, and Nicky listens so intently the whole time.
By the end of it, Luthor is writing down Cass’s address on a napkin and Nicky is pulling him into a hug like they’re children again.
____________________________________________
Aaron ends up regretting saying anything about Andrew to Luthor. What used to be civil food drop-offs once a week have turned into hours-long screaming matches between Tilda and Luthor.
“You have a God-given responsibility as a parent-”
Tilda scoffs. “Yes, and God and I chatted about it and decided that responsibility should be transferred to the state. He’s not mine anymore, we aren’t attached in any way.”
“That’s ridiculous, Tilly.” Luthor raises his voice. “He has your blood. He has your likeness. God gave you a child and you threw him away. Don’t you know how many women would have loved to be in your place?”
Even from upstairs, Aaron can practically feel the waves of rage coming from his mother. She laughs cruelly. “You only care because it’s a member of this family you can’t control. And I did keep the child ‘God’ gave me.” She says “God” the way some people say “Santa Clause,” “And all I’ve got is trouble for it.”
“Well, maybe if you actually looked after the boy-”
“I’m not taking parenting advice from you. In case you forgot, my son’s not a fag.”
There’s the sound of a door being thrown open. “I’m flying to Oakland to meet Andrew in October. I already spoke with his foster family. I’m not going to let you keep this family apart.”
The door slams and glass smashes against the back of it. Aaron stays in his room.
_____________________________
Tilda gets a car in March. Aaron didn’t even know she could drive, and had never seen her behind a wheel before. She still doesn’t pick him up from practice, but the season is almost over anyways.
In May, right before Aaron’s 8th grade year comes to a close, he meets Hailey. She’s a friend of a friend (the friend who sells oxy for the lowest price at lunch). Hailey has never been to an Exy game and certainly has never been in an honors course like Aaron is taking.
Hailey probably comes to school once a week, usually in a variety of different mismatching pajamas. Aaron has never seen her smile, but he thinks she’s effortlessly beautiful. She has long dark hair that’s so straight, it always looks styled. And her frame is thin, but he can tell that she's athletic and strong despite not being involved in any sports.
Hailey gets him to smoke weed for the first time in their mutual friend's basement after the school year ends. He’s laughing at every little thing and his posture is relaxed. Hailey is funny and talkative while high, it seems, entertaining the boys with tales of her mothers messy relationships and how she “donated” what they smoked tonight.
Aaron doesn’t say anything about his mother, although the similarities between Aaron and Hailey are endless. Eventually, Aaron’s friend leaves to find some snacks.
The TV is on, playing some old sitcom that only comes on at night. Neither one of them are really watching it. “What’s your deal?” She doesn’t ask it unkindly, just curious.
Aaron laughs again. “What do you mean?”
“You’re a straight A Exy player who goes through a pill bottle a day.” She gives him a look before flattening out her paper to roll another blunt.
Aaron searches his sluggish mind for a clever response, but all he ends up with is honesty. “My mom’s like yours.”
She rolls her eyes, flicking her lighter. “Well, yeah. I figured that.” She takes a deep inhale from the fresh blunt. “I mean, why are you trying so hard?”
The question hits his core. He’s never said it out loud before. It could be because she’s staring into him with those deep blue eyes that he has a hard time looking at for too long because he finds her so pretty. Or the why the weed has relaxed his muscles and softened his brain, but he puts it to words:
“I want to be a doctor,” It makes him flush just saying it. “The pills just help me get through the day.”
Hailey laughs and offers him her roll. He takes it and breaths in, trying hard not to cough in front of her. “I don’t think they let junkies be doctors.”
Aaron blushes, embarrassed. “I’d quit before residency.”
Hailey shrugs. “I guess I can’t say anything myself anyway,” She pulls up her sleeve, exposing her arm before quickly covering it. But Aaron saw the track marks, even if it was just a flash. “It’s better than anything in a bottle, if you’re down to try.”
Aaron winces. “I don’t like needles.”
Hailey laughs for so long that Aaron almost forgets what he said in the first place. “You’re scared of needles and you want to be a doctor.”
Aaron starts laughing too, despite himself. Maybe it was a stupid dream anyways. He doesn’t know any junkie doctors, and perhaps he doesn’t have the stomach for medicine anyways. When they finish the blunt and the laughter dies, Aaron kisses her.
_______________________________
The summer is simple. He spends every waking moment around Hailey. They take turns sneaking into each other's houses and spending the nights together, being as quiet as possible. Then they’ll meet up at the mall or the beach, spend the day doing whatever.
He feels free with her. He’s in love with her, and he tells her as much even though she never says it back. She’s witty and fun and affectionate, as long as she hasn’t gone too long without a hit. Aaron prefers to not be around her at all when she’s missed an opportunity to raid her mothers stash.
Still, he’s been alone a lot less since they got together. He has an excuse to avoid his house when Tilda is throwing a fit. Sometimes, she lets him smoke or gives him pills for free.
The extra bruises are worth it.
________________________________
Luthor flies to Oakland at the beginning of October. Aaron feels a flutter of old hope in his chest for the entire weekend Luthor is gone, as if maybe the last two years will have changed Andrew’s mind.
Even though Aaron’s life has elevated slightly from the hole it was in two years ago, most of the time he was still miserable. The drug usage had gotten more intense. Aaron walked around bruising almost 24/7, from Tilda and Hailey. And his grades had slipped compared to last year. He was blaming it on adjusting to high school, but really he didn’t have the motivation anymore. No medical school was going to take broke junkie, no matter how high his grades were.
And ever since he discovered that the void inside himself that he’s been trying to fill his entire life is the shape of a twin brother he never got to meet, he hasn’t been able to stop noticing. But he knows better than to let himself hope for anything to come of Luthor's sabbatical.
Andrew said it himself, he already had a brother.
He tries to tell himself that it's a coincidence that he’s not hanging out with Hailey’s on Luthor’s first day back from Oakland, when he will most likely be dropping off food and eager to talk about their estranged family member.
Luthor walks in around noon on the following Saturday with a shepherd's pie in hand and papers in the other. He greets Aaron and passes him the pie, which he puts in the fridge as Luthor removes his jacket.
“Is your mother home?” Luthor asks.
“No, she took the early shift at the hotel,” Aaron looks at the time on the stove. “Should be home any minute though.”
“Can we sit, Aaron?” Luthor proposes, although it sounds more like a demand.
Aaron nods and focuses all his energy into not getting excited at the idea that there’s enough to talk about that it's worth sitting down. Aaron and Luthor sit across the small dining room table from each other. It’s the first time Aaron remembers using it.
“As you know, I flew to Oakland last weekend to meet your brother. The Lord has really put this situation on my heart recently, and I will do everything in my power to reunite the both of you and your mother as a family.” Aaron tries to overcome the habit of tuning Luthor out every time he mentions God. “Andrew’s foster family was kind enough to allow me to stay with them, and they are wonderful people. A perfect christian family. I went to the juvenile detention center on Saturday and I was able to meet Andrew.”
Aaron’s heart flutters. “What was he like?” It falls out before Aaron can stop it.
Luthor’s lower lip shrivels in what seems like disgust before looking at Aaron with sympathy. “Andrew… isn’t like the Spears,” Luthor pauses, as if thinking carefully about his words. “He moved in with them a few years ago, but before that, God sent him many obstacles. Satan has a hold on the boy, I think. The devil has made him unable to accept the love the Spears offer.”
Aaron finds himself frustrated. “Okay, but what did he say to you?” Does he want to meet me?
“He didn’t say much,” Luthor tells him with a sigh. “He’s quiet and downright emotionless in an offputting way. I honestly don’t think that he is capable of caring about anything, much less understanding the care of others.”
Aaron thinks that some people would probably describe him that way. Aaron came off cold and rude most of the time and he preferred it that way.
“The point I’m trying to make here is that Andrew doesn’t belong with the Spears.” Luthor says and Aaron hears the truth behind the words. Luthor thinks the Spears are too good for Andrew. “He belongs with us. God gave him to Tilda, and he is her burden to bear as he intended. Even Andrew voiced that he did not want to be placed back with the Spears after his release. He has rejected all of their visitation requests. And he said he was interested in meeting you now.”
Aaron could fly out of his chair. It’s stupid, getting excited over someone he’s never even seen. Maybe Cass was right and Andrew really had just needed more time before meeting Aaron.
“I don’t trust Andrew enough to leave you unsupervised with him,” Luthor starts, shuffling through his papers from earlier. “But I know how much meeting him means to you. I scheduled you a visit with him during Thanksgiving weekend. I haven’t told your mother yet, but we fly out on Black Friday.”
Luthor slides a plane ticket across the table to Aaron. Aaron can only stare at the date on the ticket in awe. He’s going to finally meet Andrew in just a few weeks. After two years, 15 years if you really think about it, Aaron will have his brother back. Tilda chooses that moment to throw the front door open and bustle into the room. Aaron, sensing the bad mood, gathers up the ticket and retreats to his room.
Luthor and Tilda begin their usual argument again, this time with the added bonus of Luthor going behind Tilda’s back to introduce the twins.
Aaron clutches the plane ticket to his chest, sliding down the door. He feels his lips pull into a soft smile involuntarily.
He thinks out to anyone who will listen. Please. Please let me have this.
________________________
Tilda is still asleep when Luthor picks him up for the airport. Aaron has never been on a plane before, but he’s more wary than nervous. He spiraled while packing the night before. He heard that airports have started doing thorough inspections of luggage and passengers since the attack in September. Aaron really doesn’t want to interact with law enforcement any more than the situation requires, so he resigns himself to feeling sick the whole weekend and doesn’t take any pills with him.
He’s already yearning for something by the time they’re in the TSA line and Luthor is talking his ear off about some kind of bible study. Aaron is glad he decided to leave everything at home in the end, as the search is incredibly detail oriented. The TSA agents watch him closely, although Aaron isn’t sure if it's all in his head or not. Aaron’s sweating by the time the two of them are sitting at the gate. Luthor has pulled out his bible at this point, although Aaron isn’t paying attention.
He feels sluggish and wired at the same time. Jumping at every sound, his leg bouncing up and down nervously. Eventually Luthor gets up and buys him a cinnamon bun, which he only eats a few bites of, knowing his body will reject it swiftly. He tries to keep his mind from drifting to Andrew.
“Are you excited to finally meet him?” Luthor asks, mouthful of dough.
Aaron twitches. Is he excited? Nervous for sure. There’s definitely some part of him that feels the same sense of wonder and excitement about the whole ordeal, but much more of him is doing everything it can to damp down the optimism in case his heart is broken again.
I already have a brother.
Aaron shrugs in response and Luthor looks displeased.
The plane ride is uneventful. The last of Aaron’s flight anxiety leaves after the plane takes off, replaced with boredom and bone deep exhaustion from fighting down nausea. After a brisk walk through the airport, Luthor rents a car. It’s a newer looking black camry. It’s not until the pair are unloading their luggage in the hotel room that Aaron thinks to ask:
“I thought the Spears invited us to stay with them.”
Luthor stops his rummaging and straightens out. His face is carefully blank. “Their real son is in town this week for the holiday. I assumed that it would be too crowded for the both of us to stay,” He pauses, looking away from Aaron. “Cass had only offered to house me during my visit anyhow, I’m not sure how she would feel about multiple guests. It’s best to avoid any misunderstandings”
There’s a strange amount of weight on the word “misunderstandings”, but Aaron isn’t willing to question it and risk opening up another bible conversation. He can only pretend to listen for so long. Luckily, Luthor ends up taking him to a local diner for dinner and they walk around the Durant Square Mall to kill some time before returning to the hotel to get some sleep. It was strange to return to the area after so long, Aaron felt nostalgic about everything they passed despite never really feeling at home in California.
Aaron spends the night kneeling on the bathroom floor in the dark, throwing up into the porcelain toilet every few hours. He eventually starts thinking of ways he might be able to get some pills to make this stop, but he refuses to pay for a bottle he can’t finish in one weekend. For as distressing as withdrawal was, he would still take it over potentially getting flagged by TSA as a druggie. If Luthor notices Aaron’s sickness from the other room, he doesn’t check in.
By the time that 7am hits, Aaron takes a good look at himself in the bathroom mirror, flinching as he flicks the lights on. He looks terrible. He’s more pale than usual, his face is puffy and the skin around his eyes looks fuller than usual. Aaron has a sheen of sweat over his whole body. Aaron lets out a sigh before splashing cold water in his face. Andrew’s first impression of him is going to be this sweaty, sleepless, pathetic version of himself. But there’s nothing to be done about it.
Luthor drives them to the Oakland Juvenile Corrections Center around 9am, stopping at a Starbucks on the way in. Aaron actually orders a black coffee, despite not really liking the beverage. He hopes that the caffeine will ease the exhaustion plaguing him from a night of upheaving.
As they park the camry, Aaron feels a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, but it’s not vomit this time (Aaron isn’t sure if he has any of that left anyways). There’s a confusing mix of anticipation and dread fighting for dominance within him as he starts through the front window at the blocky letters that say “Detention Center.”
It’s the feeling he gets before his Exy team faces a much better school. He’s nervous and uncertain, but he’s waited for this for so long. Wanted it so badly, whether he likes it or not. After what is probably several moments too long, he pulls on the camry’s door handle and joins Luther by the hood of the car.
They wait for only a few minutes before a middle aged cop is escorting them to the visitation room. They pass by the large visitation room, with several occupied picnic tables. Instead, the cop leads the pair of them into what is probably an interrogation room.
The light in the room is dim, which Aaron is grateful for. There’s a heavy metal table in the center of the room, two metal chairs positioned on either side. The cop tells them to wait in the doorway before returning with a third metal chair and placing it against the way far.
“Alright, we don’t allow minors to visit on their own so you’ll need to be supervising the whole time,” The cop points at Luthor. “There will be an officer in the room for the duration of the visit. Visits are limited to an hour. Please do not make physical contact with the inmate or attempt to aggravate them in any way, or the visit will be cut short. Are we clear?”
Aaron nods carefully, approaching one of the chairs at the table with reverence. He sits down and feels relief, standing up is nauseating, but the chair is profoundly uncomfortable.
“If you guys are all set, I can have him in here in about 10 minutes.”
It’s the longest ten minutes of his life. Luthor, blessedly, stays quiet during the wait. Aaron tries not to fall down a well of thoughts, wanting to stay in the moment more than anything else.
At last, the doorknob shifts and Aaron jumps. As the metal door swings open, the first thing Aaron sees is orange. And then it’s like looking into a fun house mirror.
It’s like he’s watching a different version of himself be led into the room by the officer. The boy in the jumpsuit's face is exactly Aaron’s, only a bit more gaunt, looking more like how he did before moving to North Carolina. He is short for his age, like Aaron, and his skin and hair is pale like Aaron’s is. Like their mother’s is. Where Aaron’s hair is longer and tastefully messy, the boy’s hair has grown out a bit from a previous buzzcut. His face is blank and his brown eyes are like black holes, but they’re studying Aaron the same way Aaron is studying him.
He can see everything about himself reflected back at him. The overly straight posture of someone trying to seem like they are more than white trash. The way that his hands are cuffed together in front of him, and he’s trapped in this place. The way that his eyes stay locked on his mirror image in fascination as the officer behind him ushers him towards the only metal chair left in the room.
As the officer guides Andrew’s shoulders down to force him to sit, Aaron is finally looking directly at his brother. And as he lets his eyes trace Andrew’s face, his own face, he finds that instead of excitement or interest, the only emotion he has access to is rage. It’s hot and shocking.
This is the person who told him in writing that he wants nothing to do with him. Now, he goes back on it, and he doesn’t even seem excited to meet Aaron. Maybe he’s just so bored that he’s willing to let Aaron entertain him. Maybe Andrew’s other brother lost interest and the spot is vacant.
Aaron is so sick of being unwanted.
Luthor clears his throat at some point, Aaron supposes that the staring went on for too long. “It’s good to see you again, Andrew. How have you been?”
Andrew doesn’t even spare Luthor a glance. It’s as if he said nothing at all.
Andrew maintains eye contact with him as he tilts his head to one side. “Who did that?”
Aaron tries to hold the intensity of his brother's gaze, but is difficult to match. “Did what?”
“Your eye.” Andrew says. Their voices are similar too.
Aaron has honestly forgotten about the shiner. In fact, he doesn’t even remember if it was from Tilda or Hailey. These days there’s an equal chance of either one. And nobody ever asks about the bruises that never seem to leave Aaron’s skin. He’s a jock and he hangs around the burnouts, who are always fighting for fun. Luthor never draws attention to it, but Aaron’s sure that he’s noticed. Just like there’s no way that he didn’t hear Aaron puking his guts up for the whole night. He just doesn’t care.
Aaron had never told anyone that Tilda hit him. But to be fair, no one has ever cared to ask. Aaron’s eyes flit around the room. There’s a cop standing in the corner still and Luthor would be pissed if he made their family look bad in front of a stranger. “I don’t remember,” Andrew’s eyes narrow, and Aaron rushes to correct himself. “It was an accident. I play Exy.”
“Andrew, don’t you play for the Exy team here too?” Luthor encourages from the corner and Aaron is moments away from telling him to shut up.
Andrew ignores Luthor again, and Aaron can’t deny the sick satisfaction he gets from the waves of irritation that come off of Luthor as a result. The anger is dissipating as he watches Andrew, a blank slate taking its place, because when he looks at Andrew, he doesn’t see much looking back.
“Where did you stay last night?” Andrew questioned, blank faced.
It’s a bizarre question, and Aaron is left with only confusion. “Hotel,” Aaron responds. “Holiday Inn a few miles south.”
Aaron watches as Andrew’s gaze finally leaves him and takes a breath. Andrew is looking at Luthor with a cross between annoyance and something unidentifiable. Then those eyes are back on him.
There were questions that Aaron wanted to ask, but they all went out the window when Andrew was led into the room. “When do you get out of here?” He almost cringes at the way his voice shakes when he asks.
Andrew shrugs in response, keeping his cuffed hands in his lap.
“Are you going to stay with Cass again after this?” Aaron imagines it must be difficult to finally find someone like Cass and then end up in a place like this.
“Actually, I wanted to ask about that as well,” Luthor pipes up from his corner, where he’s supposed to be an observer. “I know that there’s some contention between you and the Spears. Your mother, my sister, has a house in North Carolina and I’m sure she misses you greatly,” Aaron almost laughs at the notion. “I can talk to your case worker if you’re interested.”
“Contention,” Andrew mocks, refusing to look at Luthor. “What do you think?” He asks Aaron.
Aaron squirms at the question. Honestly, he hadn’t considered this as an option at all. Cass had been so kind in her letter and on the phone that it never occurred to him that Andrew wouldn’t be eager to run back to her. And Tilda doesn’t even want Aaron, he can’t imagine her with both of them.
Aaron thinks about the night he received that first letter from Andrew. When he almost overdosed and Tilda tucked him into bed.
I’m not sure what made me come back a few weeks later. Maybe it was guilt for giving you away. Maybe I just didn’t want to suffer alone anymore. But I picked up a bracelet and claimed you.
Maybe Aaron doesn’t want to suffer alone anymore either. Maybe he was never meant to.
“The house is nice,” Aaron lies. “You could meet mom.”
“And the three of you would get to actually be a family the way the heavens intended.” Luthor adds.
Andrew slowly nods his head. Time moves quickly after that, with Luthor dominating most of the conversation and Andrew pointedly ignoring him. Andrew doesn’t say another word until it’s time for him to leave. He’s getting up at the officer’s request, but he’s still studying Aaron.
“You should quit,” Andrew says as he walks through the doorway. “Doctors make more than pharmacists."
The sound of the door closing echoes around the room. Aaron leaves that day feeling like he doesn’t know much about Andrew, but with the knowledge that Andrew knows Aaron better than anyone else in his life.
It’s uncomfortable to say the least.