You Can Have It

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They stare at me, confused, for several moments.

Slowly, Ollie raises his arm to rest against the doorway, subtly blocking my exit as my words resonate with him.

"Leave?" Arlo manages to say. His eyes squint like he heard wrong. "Leave, us?"

As much as every molecule of my body screams not to, I nod. I never meant to come between them; to shake their bond like this. I drove Oliver to craziness; he broke his own rules, because of me. I need to remove myself before he damages their relationship beyond repair.

I'm not worth destroying a sibling bond. They are the only family each other has left. What if it were Lila and me? If our parents were gone and someone got between us like I was doing?

For the first time, I see the same expression on the twins' faces at the same time—

Pain.

They may not realize what I'm doing to them, but I do.

"Wren—"

"Wren—"

They speak in unison. Arlo reaches out for me, but I step away from him. If he touches me, I know I'll lose my nerve. I'll lose everything inside me holding myself together. My jaw clamps and I shove down the hot tears springing to my eyes.

"I can't do this," I say, voice cracking. I try to seem angry, upset, overwhelmed, anything but filled with guilt. "This is too much for me."

"Little Wren," Arlo say softly, stung by my rejection. He glances at Ollie, whose face is blank as stone. "I—I know we're a lot—but you're the only one..."

He can't even finish his sentence.

"Don't do this," Ollie speaks up. His tone is stern, like he's talking to someone who's about to jump off a bridge. Maybe I am.

But I shake my head, push past his arm. He makes a move to grab me, but then thinks better of it.

For the first time ever, he doesn't grab me.

My hands are balled at my sides as I walk down the hall. They follow, either too stunned to speak or hoping I'll turn around if they don't. As I step back over the broken liquor bottles, I notice the book Dad gave Ollie is sitting neatly on their coffee table, the only clutter in the otherwise spotless living room.

My heart jerks in my chest.

"We'll change," Oliver blurts out when I get to the door. "I—I'll change, Wren."

My hand encircles the door handle, but my fingers refuse to turn it. Without looking back, I say, "I don't want you to change."

"Then what do you want from us?" He shoots back. "Whatever it is, you can have it."

I grit my teeth; the door handle digs into my hand but it still won't budge.

"You want Arlo, Wren?" Ollie continues, voice rising. "You want to fuck him without me? Then have at it. Baby Brother, take off your clothes."

"Wren?" Arlo says, almost inaudibly. By the silence hanging in the air I can tell he's not undressing.

"No," I answer. Angry tears finally escaping me. "You can't give me anything."

And I force my hand to obey me—turn the knob and escape what was once my favorite apartment on the planet.

I walk home. The boys blow up my phone, so I turn it off. I need the below-freezing temperature to clear my head, remind my body that I didn't just lose two-thirds of myself.

Instant regret doesn't even begin to cover it. The second I ran into the stairwell instead of waiting for the elevator I wanted to stop and turn around, bang on their door and tell them I'm sorry.

But I can't. I want to protect them, even if that means losing the best things to ever happen to me.

I wrap my arms around myself as the dark city air fills with flurries of snow. My leggings are too thin and my Air Force Ones do nothing to warm my feet. My hair is still damp from the bath which feels like days and not hours ago. When I bring my hands up to pull my hood over my head I see they're stained with Ollie's blood.

That only makes me cry harder.

I know I must seem like a lunatic, walking through the snow with only a hoodie to keep me warm and balling my eyes out, but it doesn't matter.

None of it fucking matters anymore.

I lost the twins. I lost Arlo. I lost Ollie. Just like I lost Noah.

How many more boys will I hurt? Is it all inevitable?

Maybe. Maybe it's just me, though. I'm the problem. Can't hold onto a good thing when I've got it. Can't not fuck it up.

By the time I make it back home, my feet and hands are numb. My nose doesn't feel like it's even attached to my face anymore. The tears have dried but only because it's too cold to cry anymore.

I trudge up the stairs, hoping Lila's still out. I can't take her third degree tonight, and there's no way to explain the blood on my hands that's not my own. The lights are off in the apartment when I enter, and just as I think I might get lucky, I hear sounds coming from her room.

Sexy sounds.

Any other night and I would be intrigued, but now it only makes me sad beyond feeling.

I shut my door quietly and lock it. I don't even bother turning on my light or stripping; I just bury myself in my comforter and hope the feeling comes back to my fingers.

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