Gus (Bright Side, #2)

by Kim Holden

I don't want to feel anymore. I'm fucking tired of it.

Speaking of cigarettes, I'm almost out. I'm smoking my last now. At the thought, I hear her voice in my head saying, "You should quit." I answer, "Don't fucking start with me today, Bright Side."

"What's a handsome thing like you doin' in a place like this?" Why not just ask me if I'm up for a fifty-dollar fuck, or a twenty dollar blow job, and skip the chitchat?

Solitude is my companion

Silence isn't the enemy. It can bring comfort and clarity and validation. It's a reminder of time for what it is…presence.

the honest-to-God truth is I don't even know how to function anymore.

Bright Side wasn't only my best friend; she was like my other half…the other half of my brain, the other half of my conscience, the other half of my sense of humor, the other half of my creativity, the other half of my heart. How do you go back to doing what you did before, when half of you is gone forever?

damn, I've loved this girl forever. She doesn't know that though.

Her voice breaks my trance. "I've never had someone make love to me before." She looks like she just won a prize and it makes my stomach churn because for some reason that I can't explain, I know she's right. I didn't fuck her, I made love to her. I'm so confused. I need to get out of here. I slide the bedroom door open and am about to escape when her next words explain everything. "You called me Bright Side last night. What does that mean?" I feel bile rise in my throat and there are tears stinging the backs of my eyes. That name from her mouth is desecration. I can't think of anything worse right now than hearing Clare say her name. I turn on her instantly and am standing over her pointing my finger an inch from her face. "Don't you ever fucking say that name again!" I'm yelling.

"You don't remember?" It's not really a question, he knows I don't. He's stalling. I shake my head. He scratches his bald head. He doesn't want to answer me, but I know he will because that's what good friends do. They give you the bad news even when you don't want to hear it. "I'm not going to get into all the details, but you kept calling her Bright Side…while you were having sex. You told her you loved her, dude."

My stomach empties quickly, but my body doesn't relent. I keep heaving. It makes my eyes fill and spill over. And when the heaving stops, I realize that I'm bawling. I'm on the ground now, knees wet with vomit and snow. I bury my face in my forearms and crouch down on the wet, snow-covered ground. I'm crying like I cried the moment she died. Crying like my fucking world is about to end. Franco kneels down beside me and puts his hand on my back. "My heart hurts so fucking bad, dude," I gasp. "I miss her. I miss her so much."

"I don't know how to be Gus without her, dude. I'm fucking lost as shit."

I did it to hide from life, but now I just feel buried alive.

Nothing goes better with crackers and PB than grape juice." I shake my head again, but I'm smiling. "What are you, five years old?" Franco laughs from his bunk. "Pretty much. At heart anyway."

Eye contact at close range is uncomfortable with most people. And I don't know how to explain it, but I don't want to look in eyes and see scrutiny. I don't want to see him staring at my scars. Most people talk to my scars, not to my eyes. I'm as used to it as I suppose a person can ever be. I don't want to be my scars to him…or anyone.

The last man I trusted with friendship broke me.

Ask me who it was! I want to yell at her. Ask me why my heart can't take that conversation right now. Ask me why I can't get over her. Ask me why my best friend had to die. Or no, better yet, tell me why my best friend had to die. Tell me. Please. Explain it to me. I want to know. I need to know why I'm supposed to go through the rest of my life without being able to talk to her. Hug her. Hear her laugh. Watch the sunset with her. Watch her play her violin. Kiss her forehead. Tell her I love her. Hear her say it back. Why? Why?!

That would go over like a turd in a fucking punchbowl.

"Come on, Scout. We're taking the debauchery outside so cock lobster can smoke." "That's Mr. Cock Lobster to you,"

Maybe that's why you've never been in love." That one simple sentence sets off a firestorm inside me. Bright Side's face flickers in front of me. Smiling. Light green eyes sparkling with mischief. She's been gone for months and I'm still fucking in love with her.

I used to take laughter for granted. I was surrounded by it for years. Then the laughter died with Bright Side.

"You meet any chicks?" He looks at me like I'm teasing him. I raise my eyebrows. "What? That's a legit question. We're guys, girls rule us. It's a fact of life."

"If you sleep in the buff, cover up your snake because I'm coming down."

Lol wtf 😂 Gus is funny

He does and after a two-second hesitation, he walks to a T-shirt on a rack on the back wall that reads, Epic is a state of mind. It's a black tee with faded white ink. "Nice choice. Not that I wanna steal your thunder, but I think I need that one, too."

Do epic 🖤

I open my eyes and my throat seizes when I see her words on my arm. Her words. Do epic. Damn, I loved that girl and everything she stood for.

Most people I've dealt with in life talk, but they don't listen.

"Have you ever been in love?" He hasn't blinked. "Once." "How long did it last?" Looking back up to the sky, he answers. "Twenty-one years…and three days."

Fuck 😭

The menace is still in his eyes and I know he's about to say something awful before the words leave his mouth. "The crying only draws attention to your face." He smiles and his face twists into an evil grin. "Remember when I told you that you were beautiful?" I don't answer. I do remember. He's the only person who's ever told me that. "I. Lied." The evil smile spreads and it settles in his eyes. He's like a wild animal. "Why do you think we always fuck in the dark? Because I can't look at you and get off. You're easy. Easy," he spits at me. "And your pussy is so fucking sweet."

Fuck. What an ASSHOLE. Wow

People I love don't know how to love me back. They hurt me. That's how they love. That's how they love.

Car accident = fire = burns = peoples' stares = embarrassment + anger + introversion + sadness

How old were you when it happened?

11. My dad was drunk. That's why I lived with my aunt and uncle.

Damn

"Ma, who's the old lady with the walker standing in our driveway in her nightgown, filching our newspaper?" I'm watching an old woman with silvery-lavender hair in a pink and purple flowered housecoat steal our daily news in slow motion outside our kitchen window. Ma walks over and stands next to me, her smile wide. "Oh, that's Mrs. Randolph. Her daughter, Francine, moved in next door last month. Mrs. Randolph is visiting for a few weeks for Thanksgiving. She's feisty. You'll like her." "Feisty? She's a goddamn thief. She just stole your newspaper. I think I'm in love with her."

Sometimes you have to listen to the things that people don't say.

"What if your fire died with someone else?"

When they walk away, I feel good. Not because I've been recognized and praised—I certainly don't need the praise. I feel good because I just made that boy happy.

Mrs. R. and Bright Side would've been best friends, I'm sure of it.

I guess sometimes all you need is a little inspiration. And sometimes inspiration is a smile from the right person at the right time.

"I love you to the fucking depths of my soul and back again. You're part of me. Probably the better half. I know your mom always joked about us being long-lost twins, but I don't think that's accurate. I mean, we don't even look alike. I'm way better looking than you are." She's trying to joke, but I can hear her voice getting thicker, heavier. "Whatever," she whispers. "What I'm trying to say is that I don't even think blood relatives have the kind of bond that you and I have. It was a gift. You were a gift. A gift that made my life worthwhile. A gift that made life fun. A gift that filled me with music. A gift that filled me with love. A gift that inspired me to live on the bright side. "Gus, I know you. I know you're dealing with me being gone, that you're accepting it, or you wouldn't be listening to this right now. I know you're trying to figure out where you go from here. I want you to keep writing and performing. Please. I'm begging you. Aside from being on Earth just to be a stellar fucking human being, you're also here to share your unfathomable talent with the rest of us mere mortals. If you need a kick in the ass, open up my laptop and start poking around. There's a folder titled 'Gus's much-fucking-needed inspiration.' That's right, I know you're probably struggling with writing. I know you shut down when you're stressed and I would imagine my departure has brought on some mammoth goddamn stress. Please let the stress and the sadness and the anger go. It's time...

That song filled my soul tonight. She was here, listening, the whole time. I want to knock on her door. I want to hug her. I want to thank her for sharing the past few hours with me. I don't know how to explain it, but the way the song came together, I knew I wasn't alone. I haven't written like that since Bright Side was around. I always feel her in my heart these days, because that's where she lives. I walk around with her inside me every day. And it doesn't hurt anymore. But the presence I felt tonight wasn't internal. It was physical. Tangible. Like someone was in the room with me, feeding me. Little did I know, she was just on the other side of the door. Filling my soul.

there's someone out there who's perfect for you. You just haven't realized it yet." "You think someday I'll meet the one?" I ask, smiling. "I think you've already met him." He's talking about Gustov. I know he is.

Maybe unconventional is okay. Maybe family doesn't have to be perfect to exist.

friends are the family you choose.

"You might be sorry you said that, Impatient, because, like I said, I fucking love a challenge."

Beauty is on the inside, blah, blah, blah. I know that. I preach it. It's my mantra. I've repeated it to myself for years. Repeating and believing are two different things.

And every time my eyes meet his face again, it's as if they're being pulled there. I realize that he's staring at me, and the look in his eyes is sinful and playful and so, so naughty. It's fueling the crowd. And it's fueling me.

The final song causes the crowd to erupt into chaos, and I'm loving every second of it. I don't know the words to the song, but judging by the deafening volume, I'm the only one. Everyone in the room is singing. For that three minutes, I feel like I'm part of something huge. And for the first time, Gus's tattoo makes sense. Because this…everything I see…everything I hear…everything I feel…it's epic. Gus. Rook. They do epic.

His eyes drop to my mouth before finding my eyes again.

He takes my fists in each of his hands and gently pries open my fingers. "So, basically what you're saying is I should tell all the doubt to fuck off, because I'm better than I think I am? That you see me differently than I see me?"

Ahh. I see what he did there…god I love gus

While I'm thinking about what he's just said, replaying the words in my mind, he places a hand behind each calf and lifts my legs until my feet are even with my seat. Then pulls his legs together until his knees touch and rests my feet on top of them. "You don't see the woman I see." His hands part my legs and he lowers them until each of my knees touches the outside of his. I'm trying to listen, but my focus is shifting from the things his lips are saying, to the things his hands are saying. The story is unfolding in his touch. His hands find my knees again, but this time they slide slowly up my thighs. Mid-thigh they roll to the outside toward my hips. At my hips, he doesn't stop until his hands are cupping me from behind and he slides me forward until I'm sitting on his lap, straddling him.

God damn 🥵 he’s slick