ProbablyPartyPoison

aqua-harry:

antoni: always surprised when someone compliments you, hesitant when it comes to bold prints, greek yogurt’s #1 fan, closet bookworm, terrifyingly witty, cries quietly

bobby: loves a good sectional, can only see shades of navy and gray, can’t say no to a floral bermuda short, always wonders if you’re ready to see more, all about functionality

jonathan: hates sulfates, always lifting others up, the horniest of the group, not afraid to show affection and/or demand attention, a true hoe for DIY face masks, gives absolutely zero fucks about what others think

karamo: the Dad of the Group, softly demands that everyone have their shit together, believes there’s no such thing as too many bomber jackets, constantly reinventing yourself just because you can

tan: emotionally unavailable, fucking loves a french tuck, wants you to be you but elevated, rolls sleeves when lacking confidence, always ready for sex, please don’t touch my hair

yeah im just gonna. post this. im very proud of it. small piece of original writing, slightly gay, the usual.

“We should get out of here,” Reed says, sitting in the driver’s seat of their still-parked car.

“Out of Steve’s driveway?” Sebastian looks up; it’s the first time in an hour that either of them has spoken.

“Out of Mojave.”

“What?”

“We should skip town. Go out to Vegas or someplace.”

“You’re just saying this because you’re upset. We should just go home – rest, maybe.”

“Go home? Seriously? You think we can just go home? Back to that tiny fucking apartment that now has three less people than it should? It’s empty. My brother’s dead, Seb. Mickey is dead, Stella is dead. All their stuff is locked away in storage and the apartment’s empty. And now we’ve lost Hannah, too.”

“We haven’t lost her. We can still visit – Steve and Rick said we can visit any time we want.”

“But we won’t!” He hits the steering wheel with both hands. “We’re not going to visit! You and I both know that! We won’t visit and we’ll just end up as a pile of bones in the fucking desert while she grows up without us.”

“We’re not dead yet.”

“Maybe I want to be.”

“Don’t say that. What good would that do? And leaving her with them was your idea.”

“It was Stella’s idea. ‘If something happens to me, Hannah goes to live with Rick.’ And, of course, something happened to her. Something happened to her, and now I’ve lost half of my goddamn family! So now Rick, the twin brother Stella hasn’t lived with in seven years, is taking care of Hannah instead of us, the people who have raised her since birth! I love Hannah. I’d never leave her. But this is how Stella wanted it. So that’s how it’s gonna go.”

“Reed.”

“What.”

“Rick lost a sibling, too. You’re not alone in this.”

“He didn’t raise Stella. He’s not the one outliving a little brother.”

Sebastian sighs. “I don’t want to leave Hannah either. She’s our kid just as much as she was Stella’s. Let’s just go home. If… if we’re going to leave the apartment, we should at least go back and pack up our stuff. Rent another storage locker or put our stuff in with Stella and Mickey’s.”

“…Yeah. Okay. Let’s go.”

“Should I drive? You’re crying.”

“… Yeah.”

They switch sides, Sebastian in the driver’s seat, Reed in the passenger’s. From the front room window, Rick watches headlights illuminate, watches the car pull out of the driveway. Over to the end of the street, turn the corner. Drive off down a half-dirt road. Vanish.

A week in Death Valley. A week in Red Rock Canyon.

“Vegas is too close. We gotta go somewhere else.”

Three months farming in Desert Camp. A weekend passing through Cactus City, a month in Sunfair Heights, a month in Goodsprings. Weeks on the road, endless nights spent staring at endless stars. Gas stations and train car diners, convenience stores and oddity shops. Finding work wherever help is needed.

“Maybe we should settle down for real. Find a little place. Find real jobs.”

“Would you go back to Mojave?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you miss them?”

“Yeah. I miss them.”

There’s one day where the air gets drier and the temperature drops below sixty and Reed realizes how long they’ve been away. It’s been almost a year. It’s Hannah’s birthday. He calls Steve and Rick’s house from a payphone, idly reading the graffiti as the phone rings. Steve picks up, but tells him that Hannah isn’t home right now; Reed tries to ignore how his heart clenches when Steve says the word ‘home.’ He tells Steve to pass along the birthday wishes, doesn’t try to call back when Steve said she’d be home. Hours later, Sebastian pulls over on an empty, dusty road, the moon full and the night cold.

“Are you asleep?”

“No.”

“Did you call Rick and Steve?”

“Yeah. While you were getting coffee. She wasn’t there. Steve said she and Rick were out.”

“Did you talk to Steve?”

“Not really. Pleasantries. Asking how we were and where we were and what we’re doing. If we’re planning on coming back.”

“We’re not.”

“Not yet, at least.”

“Your hair’s getting long.”

“Is it?”

“I could cut it for you, if you want.”

“In the morning.”

Reed goes quiet. Time passes. He speaks up again.

“Y’know what I miss?”

“What?”

“Mickey’s cooking.”

“We have his recipe book.”

“It’s not the same, though. Remember when we tried to surprise him when he got that promotion?”
“And we burnt the chicken!”

“It just wouldn’t be the same, I guess. No duets across the apartment.”

“No Stella playing guitar on the couch while Mickey shows Hannah how to cut peppers.”

“No Stella. No Mickey.”

“Do you miss them?”

“I miss them so fuckin’ much, Seb.”

“Are you writing them a letter?”

“Like last year, yeah.”

It was almost a ritual. Write the letter the day before, deliver them the next. Wait by the mailbox until Sebastian’s scuffed up watch hits 4:56 PM. Pray, if anyone’s listening. Drop the letter in at exactly 4:58. This is the second time Reed’s done it. It has to be exact. It’s the same time they got the news about Stella and Mickey. It was almost a ritual. He stands by the mailbox for a long time after the letter has fallen to the bottom, long enough for Sebastian to walk away, to find another payphone close by, to drop coins in the slot and punch in Rick’s cell phone number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Rick.”

“Sebastian?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“What’s going on?”

“Just wanted to call. Tell Hannah we’re sorry we missed her birthday.”

“Is Reed around?”

“He’s sending a letter.”

“A letter?”

“For Mickey and Stella. It’s the fifteenth. It… it makes him feel better.”

“Will you try to come around for the holidays? Ten days ‘til Christmas, you could probably make it.”

“We’re in Picture Rocks, now. I’ll have to see what Reed says.”