Chains
Zac
I’m probably wearing a track in the floor as I pace back and forth, trying again and again to reach Ike. I glance over at Taylor; I made him a cup of tea, but he’s just holding onto it like a lifeline, letting it go cold. Add that to my list of annoyances; I don’t buy grocery store tea, and what I do get isn’t cheap. After what seems like the billionth ring, finally I hear my older brother’s voice.
“Hey, Zac. What’s up?” he asks casually, as if he has no clue what could possibly be up. Nice try.
“I know you’re in Boston, and I know you brought Taylor.”
“You ran into him?” I can practically hear the grin, and I just roll my eyes.
“You could say that. You could also say he’s sitting on my couch having a fucking panic attack.”
“Um… why is he having a panic attack?”
“Why is he on my couch would be a better question. What the hell, man?”
“Dude, calm down.” Ike’s voice takes on his ‘big brother’ tone, and I huff but shut up for the moment. “Look, I brought him up here because you two need to sort out whatever the hell it is that split you, hell, split us apart. You don’t know what he’s been like,” Ike adds, quietly. “When you left, he just… gave up. Everything, music, family, he just shut down. And I’m not saying it was your fault, but it’s obviously because of whatever happened between you guys.”
“Ike… if you knew…”
“Yeah, well you’re the one who won’t tell me,” Ike snaps. I blink, not used to that kind of harshness from him. He sighs heavily, and I know he is probably running a hand roughly through his hair, as he does when frustrated. “Look, I just think you need to work this out. Alone. You can do this.”
“Ike, I-”
“Good luck.” And with that, the call ends. I stare at my phone, wide-eyed; I can’t believe Ike is doing this to me. I growl loudly, tossing my cell at the recliner; Taylor jumps a mile, dropping the cup and splattering the floor with cold tea and shards of ceramic. I stare at the damage, my hands shaking with anger and frustration, but one look at Tay and I know I need to pull myself together. I just have to get him back to Earth, then he’s gone. I can do this… I hope. I look at Tay again; what Ike said about him shutting down, I hadn’t really thought about it, but Taylor does look thin. He’s always been skinny, but now he’s almost gaunt.
“So… Nat not feeding you enough, or does her cooking just suck?” I mean it as a joke, but it comes out more like an insult. At the sound of his wife’s name Tay cringes a bit, looking further down. Maybe that’s just a sore subject; I know their relationship hasn’t ever been the steadiest, not that he’d ever seemed to care. But I know one thing that always made him smile. “How’s the rugrats? Ezra’s what, ten now? Eleven? What about little Penny, how’s she?”
Instead of cheering him up, the mention of his kids’ names actually makes him retract further. Now I’m starting to worry. Just how much ‘shutting down’ did he do? Ike said he gave up on family, but… Whatever Taylor did on tour, when he was home he was all about his wife and children; well, his children, anyway.
“Tay?” I ask, softer. “What happened with Nat and the kids?”
He looks up at me with the biggest, saddest eyes, but instead of answering he just shrugs. I sit next to him he flinches away; I take a deep breath and move a little further away, and he seems to relax a little.
“Look, Tay… I’m sorry for ripping into you back there. I’m not saying I take it back,” I firmly state, “But I shouldn’t have done it in public like that. Okay?” I go to put a hand on his shoulder, but he flinches away again.
“Dammit Tay, I’m not gonna hurt you! Would you stop acting like I’m out to get you?” I shouldn’t snap, but I’m just pissed that he’s treating me like some big scary bully… and then it starts to click. That’s exactly how he sees me. Apparently he doesn’t remember what caused it, or doesn’t care; all he’s obviously thinking of now is how rough I was on him.
Maybe I did take it a little too far…
Taylor
Zac runs a shaky hand through his hair, then stands up. Motioning toward the mess I’ve apparently made with his tea, he says, “I’m just… I’m going to clean this up.”
He picks up the shattered tea cup and stalks off toward his kitchen. Even though there’s still obviously a current of anger running through him, his shoulders droop almost as if in defeat as he walks away. I watch him walk until he vanishes around a corner into the kitchen, and then I focus on the sounds of him shuffling around and tossing out the cup I ruined.
I have to focus on something right now, even the smallest noise like that, to keep myself calm. Calm is a relative word right now, though. My body and mind feel completely disconnected, and I can’t seem to find the way to put them back together.
I try to trace the sequence of events that has led to me sitting alone on Zac’s couch while he cleans up my mess. He threw his phone–no, he was talking to someone on the phone. Isaac. I couldn’t follow their conversation, but obviously it upset Zac, causing him to throw his phone and me to spill my tea. Then he tried to talk to me, even though he was clearly still angry. He asked about Natalie and the kids. Why would he ask about them? Didn’t he know?
He didn’t. At least, I don’t think he knew. Just how much he and Ike have chatted about me, I don’t really know, but the confusion on Zac’s face seemed genuine.
Everything about Zac’s demeanor right now confuses me. He yells at me that he’s not angry. He talks softly and calmly with clenched fists. I don’t know which of these things to believe. Maybe they’re all lies. I just don’t know, and I suspect that Zac doesn’t want me to know. All he wants is for me to leave, I suppose. Yet here he is, making me tea and cleaning up after me when I’m too stupid to keep my hands on the tea cup. None of this makes any sense at all.
The sound of a tea kettle whistling brings me out of my thoughts and back to reality. Even though my heart is still pounding, my anxiety has dulled some. A moment later, when Zac walks out of the kitchen, a tea cup in each hand, that anxiety returns but not quite at the same level as before.
“Here,” he says, holding out one of the cups to me. With a tired smirk, he adds, “I know you were born to break shit, but please try not to drop this one, okay?”
Carefully, I take the steaming cup from him and cradle it in my hands. Even though my mouth is dry, I force myself to speak. “Th-thanks,” I say, looking up at Zac and offering him a weak attempt at a smile.
He gives me a little nod, then sits down at the other end of the couch. He doesn’t seem to be seething anymore, but that doesn’t mean he won’t explode again at any moment. To be on the safe side, I decide just to sip my tea as quietly and carefully as possible, and leave Zac alone.
I still don’t understand why he’s keeping me here and why he’s pretending to care about me. He made it pretty damn clear that he doesn’t care at all; if I took nothing else away from the way he left me, it was that I meant nothing to him.
“You know,” Zac said, setting his cup on the coffee table, “you still owe me for that painting.”
That painting… I had almost forgotten about it, even though it’s the reason I’m here now. If I hadn’t been so determined to get one of his paintings for myself, I wouldn’t be stuck on his couch right now. It was pure coincidence that I stumbled into that gallery in the first place, though, so I have no one to blame for my discovery of Zac’s art. The content of his art, though… that’s something I can blame myself for, since it’s glaringly obvious to me that the tormented brushstrokes are all because of me.
“Oh,” I finally manage to say, my voice still hoarse. “How much did you want? Of course I’ll pay for it.”
“I don’t fucking care,” Zac says, sighing heavily and rubbing his eyes. “Just… whatever.”
“You said two-fifty, right? I could pay that much, or more. Whatever you want.”
“Yeah, sure. Fine.” Zac doesn’t look up, leaning back and rubbing his temples.
Zac seems to be getting frustrated, and I’m not sure why. He’s the one who isn’t just telling me what he wants. I stare at him for a moment before saying, “Can you please just tell me what you want? Just… what do I need to pay you or do for you or whatever before I can just go?”
Zac turns slowly and looks at me, his brow furrowed, his lip curled into an almost-sneer.
“What do you mean, before you can go? You think I’m holding you here? You think I want you here? What I want is for you to get over your prissy diva panic attack and go back to whatever rock you crawled out from under!”
I cringe at his words, not even noticing how hard I’m shaking until I hear the tea cup clinking in my hand. I try to steady it, but it’s too late. Hot tea goes splashing all over my hand, my pants and Zac’s couch. I slowly raise my eyes to meet Zac’s, still processing his words.
He doesn’t want me here?