My Torin

by K. Webster

Mine. Holy shit. Did Torin just claim me?

“Mine,” he repeats, his hot breath warming my face. He smells like cinnamon, no doubt having just finished off one of his beloved Fireball candies. “Always mine.” Snowflakes land on my exposed flesh, but I don’t shiver because I’m warm in his embrace. More than warm. On fire. Blazing out of control. An unstoppable inferno. “My Torin,” I whisper,

I couldn’t choose one type to represent you. You’re everything at once. Every pretty thing in one breathtaking package.

Tyler: I thought you could love her. I frown at his words, definitely not expecting him to say that. It distracts me from my thoughts as I run after other ones. Warmer ones. Happier ones. I know I love my brother. It’s just something logical and engrained. We’re brothers. Family. Best friends. When I think about him leaving me, my body physically aches. My heart fucking hurts. That’s love, right? The textbooks don’t explain love in a tangible way. It’s all theories and feelings and shit I can’t seem to put my fingers on and explore. But with Tyler, love makes sense. Logical sense.

With Casey, everything is different. And that, I don’t comprehend. She stifles my breath sometimes. Simply from looking at her. Like just her presence sucks the breath right from my lungs. My ears search the soundwaves on a hunt for a giggle or a sigh or her obsessive tapping. When she’s nearby, the hairs on my skin rise. A tingling sensation ripples across my flesh as though she

carries an electric charge. Magnetic energy that makes my body react on a cellular level. Her scent is addictive. I’ve read about addicts. A cocaine addict desires the high. He snorts the substance into his nostrils and thrives on the way the overwhelming sensations surge through his bloodstream. That’s how it is with Casey. She’s a drug you want to snort and get hooked on. But it’s her taste that maddens me most. The day I licked her neck, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Salty from sweat but sweet. Oh, so fucking sweet. I couldn’t ...

Me: I don’t know how to love. Tyler: Love isn’t something you can control. It controls you. Fills you up and infects every part of you until all you can do is just live and breathe it every second of every day. Me: Sounds like a disease. Tyler: Love is a cure.

“I’ve never been given a choice not to be,” I utter. “I’ve been given challenges my entire life. Challenges not meant for the weak.” I’ve been running and running. Chasing and chasing. I finally have all I ever wanted wrapped up in my arms. Fucking sucks it’ll all soon be over. “Like me? I’m a challenge.” “You’re a reward, sweetheart. You’re my reward for this difficult life.”

Betty, unlike Mona, is how a real mother should be. She’s gentle and kind and loving. Every time I’m fraying apart at the seams, she sews me back together with her hugs and words of encouragement. When their daughter Liv comes over to visit and calls her Ma, I catch myself calling her Ma too. Nobody corrects me.

They were terrified and Misty still suffers from kitty PTSD, but otherwise safe. Now Misty doesn’t comfort Torin, she seeks him for comfort. I think he prides himself on calming her down when she gets worked up. He’s certain she’ll relax once we move into our new place.

This is us. We’re two halves of a whole. The sun and moon working together in perfect harmony.

Until we’re reunited. Again. It happened once before and it’ll happen once again. And I’ll be waiting with open arms, sweetheart. I love you, always. Tyler

“Dadda.” My attention is stolen by the cherub in my arms. “Penny.” “Momma?” she asks. I point outside. She turns around and lies her head back. Together we stare at the suns in our dark world. My wife and my boy wave. Penny and I don’t wave back. But I do say I love you in a way they understand. I smile.