Kookaburra (formerly untitled) Ch.TWENTYFOUR

I don’t go back in the morning to see him off. I don’t watch as he drives off into the morning air. I don’t leave Callum’s sofa, preferring to drown my sorrows in cartoons than in goodbyes.

Matt offered me the night at his house, but I declined. I didn’t give him a reason, because honestly, I wasn’t sure myself what it was. I just didn’t feel right going back to him.

“It won’t always be like this, you know.”

I feel pressure by my feet as Callum sits down on the coarse fabric of the sofa, his arm resting lightly on the edge.

“Like what?”

“Like this. You won’t always hurt so much. It’ll get easier Scott, I promise.”

“What will get easier?”

“You know… the hurt. The pain. The missing. You won’t always miss him so much.”

“It’s not like he’s dead, Callum.” My voice comes out louder than I mean for it to. “He’ll come back.” I notice it rising, but I don’t stop it. I let the volume fly up up and away, as if I can scream everything out. “Kaden hasn’t left me, he’d never leave me. He’s coming back, Callum, he’s coming back. He loves me, you don’t just give up on love because you’re too far away to feel it.”

“Yeah,” says Callum, looking annoyingly calm. “He’ll come back. But in the meantime, what do you have left to remember him by?”

“Shut up Callum, just shut the hell up. You have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t know how I feel.”

“What, you don’t think I’ve ever been in love?” Callum’s louder now. Much louder. But still not matching my volume. “You don’t think I’ve ever had love leave me, leave me alone to other people’s sympathy? Cause I have, Scott, it has. And I pushed through. I’m just trying to help my little brother through the same thing I’ve felt, because that’s what I’m meant to do. But it turns out I am as shit as I thought. Or maybe you just don’t want to be helped. Either way, there’s no point arguing this if you’re just gonna be stubborn. So I’m sorry for trying.” Callum pushes off the sofa, storming out of the apartment, grabbing a jacket on the way. “Bye.” That’s all he leaves me with. ‘Bye.’

I call after him, but he doesn’t stop. He just slams the door behind him. I sit up, thinking everything over. I’m not good at improvising, but I need to do something right now. So I follow him. I grab a hoodie from my bag, which still lies, unpacked, in the guest bedroom and chase his steps outside. And yet, he’s nowhere to be seen.

***

I spend way too much time in my life looking for people who don’t want to be found. And the problem with that is that people who don’t want to be searched for never leave much of a trail. So I wonder aimlessly through the city, guessing his footsteps, estimating his path. And it leads me into exactly the same trap as these streets lead me to last time.

“Hello again, kiddo.”

It’s the same emotions, the same paralysing fear, the same reckless thoughts.

“Hi, B-Bert.” I try to hide my tongue tripping over my words, and fail miserably.

“How are you, Scotty boy?” He’s pressed up close against me, mouth lined up with my ear. The tension of his hand gripped around my wrist is almost identical to before. I beg myself not to shiver.

“I… I…” He twists his hand slightly, and I feel my skin pull around my bones. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, that’s a lie, sweetie. A generic and overused excuse for an answer. And I know for a fact, Scotty, I know for a goddamn fact, that people who say they’re ‘fine’ rarely are. Are you?”

“I… I guess…”

“You guess what, kid?” His hand is snaking down my side, fingertips tickling my skin.

“I… my boyfriend… he’s… ill.”

Oh, really? Well that sucks. And how’s your brother?”

“He’s… I don’t know.”

“Did you show him the file? Does he know you know?”

“He… yeah, yeah, he…” It takes me a moment to realise that all coherency is beyond me, and that I may as well give up on talking.

“Aren’t you mad that he didn’t tell you?”

“He… he didn’t want to… hurt – hurt me.” His fingers are creeping closer and closer to my waistband.

“That’s what he told you.”

“Y-y-yeah,” I stutter as Bert’s hands brush against my belt buckle, and find myself arching up into his touch. “Jesus,” I breathe as he pushes the palm of his hand against me. “Will you… can you… oh, god.”

“You’re just a fucking whore, aren’t you?” he mutters, and I swear I can hear an edge of amazement in his voice. But then he’s pulled me off the wall and back against it, front forwards, without me even noticing. His teeth nip at my ear as his fingers fiddle with my belt. I’m not sure what brings it on, but I’m suddenly reminded that this is Bert, a crack head asshole.

“Off… get off…” I struggle out, ragged breathing interrupting any hopes at articulating sentences.

“Oh, no way,” says Bert, moving to my fly, “you want this Scotty, don’t deny it. You want this so bad.”

“No,” I say, more firmly, “no, I don’t. Get off me, please, just, just, get off me!” I’m yelling now, screaming through the tears. I want him off; I just want him off of me.

“No,” he says, and I can hear the arrogant smirk in his voice. His body lifts off mine for a little and I figure he must be working his own fly.

“Get away from me Bert, this is fucking rape.”

He presses himself harder against me. “Shut the fuck up. You’re loving this. And it’s not rape, cause only girls ge-“ His voice cuts out suddenly, replaced with the slam of a body falling against concrete. All I can think is ‘he’s off, he’s off, he’s off’. I collapse against the wall, still sobbing, body shaking, not even bothering to do up my jeans. White noise surrounds me for a minute, crashing against my ears, until a soft, almost familiar voice emerges from it.

“Are you okay?” it’s saying. I open my eyes slowly, waiting for them to focus. “Jesus Christ,” says Seth, staring down at me, “it’s you…”