A very interesting character slumped against a wall. He had a thin, wiry body that reached not a great height of five feet five inches. As a habit, he wore much too much runny eyeliner, giving him a sulky, uncaring appearance. A large, baggy, light blue turtle-neck sweater adorned his upper body, while his legs were clad in simple, tight, jeans. His hair was a dirty blond, and he held it back from his face in a thick ponytail. And he is our hero, the sulky teenager of eighteen.
"Leslie!" called a woman, walking towards him with a bag slung over her shoulder. The teen looked up and nodded his head, standing up straighter and taking her bag.
"Hey, Luke," he said. The woman was stunning. Her hair was a soft, red brown and held its own, flowing down her back. Her eyes were large and mocha colored, her skin perfectly tanned. She wore a short skirt and a small, tight shirt, that was consequently unbuttoned quite far, and high-heeled sandals. "You look sluttish," he said bluntly, turning to leave the baggage claim. The woman rolled her eyes and quickly stepped after him.
"I'm not sluttish," she said.
"Have you noticed what you're wearing?"
"Have you noticed the temperature? Leslie, how can you stand wearing a sweater?" Luke replied, crossing her arms over her chest. Leslie said nothing for a minute.
"How was your flight?" he finally asked, changing the subject.
"Great. I'm a bit jet-lagged, though," she admitted. They came to the front of the airport, and Leslie made his way over to an illegally parked motorcycle. He slung the bag across his shoulder and straddled the bike, handing the helmet to Luke. Luke took it gingerly, giving Leslie a questioning look.
"Look, the motorcycle isn't mine. The helmet is a pure miracle," he replied. Luke slipped it on and climbed on behind Leslie, grabbing him tight around the waist. They roared off into the traffic, twisting between cars.
They entered a rundown apartment, Luke's mouth working a mile a minute. Leslie didn't even pretend he was listening as he walked past Luke, who had collapsed onto the couch, and into the small kitchenette. "Luke, would you shut up for a sec? Someone bothered to leave a message," Leslie's voice was soft, but Luke stopped talking in an instant. Leslie pushed the button and the message was replayed.
"Uh, hi, Leslie, this is Garrett. Uh, I guess you're not home right now, but I need to talk to you. It's about Carrie. So, um, give me a call, my number is 555-5555. Bye." the machine beeped and recited in an obnoxious voice "No new messages." Leslie blinked at the answering machine, then turned and flopped down on the couch, his legs on Luke's lap. Luke was stunned.
"He had the nerve to call?" she asked heatedly. "After all that bastard did, he would actually call you?" Leslie closed his eyes and hummed. "You're not thinking of calling him, are you?" asked Luke in complete disbelief. Leslie shook his head.
"No," he replied. "definitely not," they sat in silence for a few minutes.
"I have a photo shoot at five," Luke said tentatively. "could you-"
"I'm busy," replied Leslie. "take public transportation,"
"Uh, ok. . ." the room feel awkwardly silent once more. "Leslie, what are you going to do about Garrett?" Leslie shrugged.
"Nothing. I erased his message,"
"You can erase his message, but he'll still exist,"
"Not to me," Leslie said, eyes still closed.
Leslie sat on a patch grass, the sky clear and the sun shining brightly. Nearby there was a cluster of trees, and birds flew and sang freely. Leslie sighed. "Can't believe I'm back where I started," he said to the grave next to him. He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a wad of money. "I promised, once I was legally an adult, I would never go back. Sorry," he sifted through the money, counting it. "I bet if you were still here you'd kill me. I'd bet you'd never forgive me," Leslie sat in silence, as if waiting for a reply, then sighed. "Who am I kidding?" he stood up. "I'm such a fag. Look at me, counting money on my own brother's grave. Why do I even pretend you're around?" He gave one last glance at the grave before walking off. As he came to the entrance of the graveyard, he sighed and looked up at the perfect, crystalline sky. "Sorry, Devin," he said simply, before leaving the graveyard.
Leslie groaned and stopped, staring at the person standing beside his apartment door. "What do you want?" he asked, walking briskly past the man and opening his door. "If you wanted to steal something I don't lock my door. Or is there nothing else you could really take from me?" Leslie stepped in, the man following him.
"Leslie, please," he sounded distraught.
"Look, it's only 5:30, I refuse to start drinking before seven. So don't drive me to it," Leslie walked into the kitchen, searching through the cupboards. The man followed him.
"Leslie, please. This isn't about you, or me, it's about-" Leslie whipped around, glaring at the man.
"It's never been about us," he said. "and I'm not mad at you for what you did to me. Oh, no. But I wouldn't expect you to understand complicated emotions, so just get on with what you were going to say,"
"Did you get my message?"
"Yeah, it's about your wife," Leslie spat. "you know what? Forget it. I'm pretty sure there's some vodka in here somewhere,"
"Leslie, don't drink. Please," the man grabbed the bottle of vodka and placed it on the counter. If Leslie had been serious about drinking he would've kept a tighter hold of the bottle. Instead he just turned and crossed his arms over his chest. "Leslie, even when we were dating, you knew I liked girls. So why are you upset about my wife?"
"I'm upset because she's my sister!" Leslie lunged for the vodka, but was blocked by the man.
"Leslie, please just listen to me! This isn't about all the shit that's happened before, it's about Carrie!" the man cried. Leslie glared at him.
"What about her?" he sighed. "Did she cheat on you? Pobre cita!"
"Are you high, Leslie?" the man growled. "and no, she didn't cheat on me. She's pregnant,"
"So you do have the ability to reproduce. Devin didn't castrate you?"
"Leslie, just shut up for a minute! I need help!" Leslie rolled his eyes.
"Need help? You knock up my sister, you deal with the baby. Now give me the vodka." Leslie lunged for the bottle, and the man let him. Leslie grabbed it and took a large swig.
"Leslie, you're only doing yourself a disservice," he said. "it's really sad how far you've sunk. You have to pull yourself together,"
"Who do you think did this to me, huh?" Leslie tried to sip the vodka, but had it taken from him by the man.
"Leslie, I know you want to blame your problems on others, but the fact is that you're a mess because of yourself," Leslie didn't say anything, just stood there, staring at the man.
"Garrett, please. You don't mean it, I don't even know why you even care about what the hell I do. What do I have that you want? Haven't you taken everything?"
"Leslie, just because you lost everything doesn't mean I took it,"
"So why are you turning to me? I'm the last person you'd ever want to ask for help from, so why come in here and act like it's my right to help you? What do I have?"
"Leslie, you're my family," Leslie rolled his eyes and walked out of the kitchen. "Leslie, listen to me! We're like brothers, and I need help,"
"You want my help convincing her to get an abortion or something?" asked Leslie, plopping down on the couch.
"No! We need someone to be the guardian incase we both die. Please, I thought at least we could stay friends. . ." Leslie shook his head.
"You're serious?" he asked. The man nodded. Leslie burst out laughing, clutching his sides and a tear even ran down his cheek. "You know I can't even take care of myself, what makes you think that if you and Carrie both kick the bucket I can raise your kid?"
"Leslie, please. You're all she has,"
"Don't give me that!" Leslie snapped. "She has plenty of friends, she has a career, she has. . ." Leslie trailed off and looked the man in the eye. "When hell freezes over and you give a shit if I live or die. Then, maybe, would I even consider associating myself with you,"
"Leslie, you're just as self-centered as ever! Can't you just think of someone else for once?" Garrett cried.
"Get one of your rich friends!" cried Leslie. "I want you out of my apartment, before I call the police,"
"And tell them what? Your brother in law stopped in? And face it, not that I share their views, but they wouldn't really want to listen to a fag," Leslie glared at him and stood up.
"You know what?" he said, taking out a cigarette and lighting it, then shoving it at the man's face. "That's a fag,"
"Ah! What was that for?" Garrett cleared his face of ash and glared at Leslie. "I'm being nice to you, and this is what I get?!" Leslie sighed.
"Get. Out. Now."
"See? I don't hold anything against you! I thought we could seriously be friends, but it seems you're just being a baby about all of this!" the man screamed, then turned smartly and left, slamming the door behind him. Leslie sank back down onto the couch.
Leslie awoke, and realized he seriously needed to use the restroom. Except he had a body of dead weight on top of him, and a killer headache. "Luke," he mumbled. "get your fat ass off me," Luke cracked an eye open and growled, cuddling more.
"Lukey sleep," she said into his shoulder.
"Luke, get off me,"
"I'll tickle you,"
"You wouldn't dare,"
"I would. . ."
"Fine," Luke rolled off of him and fell onto the floor. Leslie stumbled to his feet and into the bathroom, puked, flushed, used, flushed, washed, and left. Luke was sitting up when he got back. "Did you puke?" she asked. Leslie nodded and fell onto the couch. Luke clambered up and back onto him. "Don't go bulimic,"
"Ugh, remind me that vodka and Garrett don't mix,"
"Garrett was here?"
"Morning, tell. Now, sleep," Leslie pulled a pillow over his head and Luke sighed, giving up and resting her head on the pillow Leslie had over his.
Leslie awoke late the next morning, and wished he hadn't. He had a bitch of a headache and felt even worse than last night. "Leslie, why don't you have any food? I had to go to McDonald's for Christ's sake to get a-"
"Shut up, Luke," Leslie groaned.
"Oh, and Nicolette-"
"Good morning chico!" came a Spanish voice. Leslie moaned and buried his head in the pillow.
"Shut up, Nicolette." he whispered. He then felt a hand on his back.
"I'll make you a special Spanish tea, right? It'll get rid of your hand over in no time! Go take a shower, and when you get out I'll have tea,"
"No," groaned Leslie.
"I know Spanish,"
"Chico, come on, get up. Did your boyfriend leave you?"
"I haven't had a boyfriend since high school," Leslie replied.
"Get up. What on earth could make you dink like that?" asked Luke as Leslie rolled off the couch.
"Why are you so loud?" he asked, ignoring her question.
"Leslie, why did you drink?" Luke asked, being louder than necessary. Leslie groaned loudly and turned over.
"Garrett stopped by for a chit chat," he said softly.
"You let him in?"
"He followed me,"
"So what happened?"
"What?" Luke screamed.
"Christ!" Leslie clutched at his head.
"Oops, sorry," Luke grabbed Leslie and dragged him to his feet. "you have to go take care of yourself, all right?"
"So you can have a place to stay for free?" snapped Leslie.
"That's the hangover talking. Leslie, who on earth bought you Smirnoff?"
"It doesn't matter," Leslie let Luke help him down the hall. He was then thrown in his bathroom, the door slammed behind him.
"You get your act together, bastard, or so help me-"
"What's this all about?"
"I know where you got that vodka!" Luke screamed. Leslie heard her turn and leave. Sighing, he didn't bother getting up from the tiled floor. He stared at the ceiling and contemplated killing himself. Sure, he needed money, but that badly? Would he rather go hungry than. . .?
Leslie eventually got up and took a shower, then came back out into the living room. Nicolette, his Hispanic neighbor, was sitting on the couch and very calmly drinking tea. There was no sign of Luke. "Where'd she go?" Leslie asked softly. Nicolette shrugged.
"Probably to some hotel. Want the rest of this?" she stood and handed Leslie the tea cup. Leslie downed it, or what was left, and handed it back to her.
"She's really mad at me, huh?" he said, walking into the kitchen and grabbing an orange off the counter. He peeled and ate it, Nicolette watching him silently.
"She really has a right to be mad at you," Nicolette sighed. "I mean, if I knew you were doing that, then of course I would've stopped you," Leslie said nothing, leaving the orange peels on the counter and walking over to the couch. Nicolette sighed. "You promised your brother," she said. "how could you break a promise to your brother?" Leslie rounded on her, anger flashing in his eyes.
"Devin is dead," he snarled. "he doesn't care what I do. He's dead, and he's never coming back," Leslie lay down on the couch, putting an arm across his eyes. Nicolette sighed, sitting at his feet.
"Leslie, I know it was recent. . ."
"Yeah, nine months," Leslie said. "and in that short, short time Garrett has managed to forget both Devin and me, get married to our sister, and get her pregnant,"
"At least he's moved on,"
"Nicolette, after something like how Devin died, how can he fucking move on? You know what, I don't want to talk about it. I'm just going to sit here on my couch and not think about it," Nicolette sighed, and left Leslie alone to not think about what had happened.
A/N: If you're reading this, I love you! Please continue reading, I need to improve my writing! And review, that's the only way it's going to get better!