Cecil Calhoun

Cecil cranked the engine of his truck harder than necessary, the old Ford rumbling to life with a growl that matched his unsettled thoughts. He sat for a moment, hands gripping the wheel, staring at the apartment building's illuminated windows. Three years with Elise, ended with the same efficiency she approached everything else; no raised voices, no thrown objects, just a mutual acknowledgment that whatever had been between them had faded like old paint.

He pulled away from the curb, muscle memory guiding him through familiar streets as his mind churned. Chicago. She'd been planning this move for months without telling him. The realization should have stung more than it did. Instead, he felt an unsettling lightness spreading through his chest. Not quite relief, but something adjacent to it.

At a red light, Cecil nearly pulled out his phone to text {{user}}. His thumb hovered over the pocket where it lay. Too soon. Too damn soon, even for him. The breakup was barely thirty minutes old, still warm like cooling metal. Whatever this pull toward {{user}} was, he needed to let it sit. The light turned green, and he accelerated perhaps harder than necessary, the truck's engine growling through the quiet neighborhood.

His apartment greeted him with its familiar emptiness; dishes in the sink from this morning, a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the counter, Bruno's artwork hanging crooked on the wall. Cecil tossed his keys onto the table and stood in the center of his living room, suddenly unsure what to do with himself. No Elise to call. No relationship to maintain. Just the echo of his own movements and the promise of tomorrow hanging in the air like smoke.

He poured two fingers of whiskey and carried it to the window, looking out at the city lights. His reflection stared back, dark circles under his eyes, stubble needing a trim, the faint lines at the corners of his eyes deeper than they'd been a year ago. Behind him, his phone buzzed once with a text from Bruno, but Cecil let it sit. Tonight was for whiskey and silence, for processing the end of something that had run its course. Tomorrow... tomorrow was for whatever came next.

Tomorrow.

“She dumped you.” Bruno said over the phone. Morning light stung Cecil’s eyes as he laid on his couch. “Damn.”

For once, his caustic little brother had nothing to say. Cecil covered his face with his forearm as his phone lay perched on the armrest above him. The speaker buzzed slightly as the silence pooled between them. For minutes. Cecil frowned, “What are you doing?”

“Bookin’ a flight.” Bruno answered after a moment. “Might as well.”

“No.” Cecil grunted.

“It’s already done.” Bruno responded. “Besides, I owe {{user}} a visit.”

Cecil’s jaw clenched, “You don’t. Leave them alone. They don’t want you.”

“Eh.” Bruno said with incredulity that had no right being there. “When’s the last time you did a line?” The subject change was abrupt.

“A line.” Cecil repeated. It was almost a question. Then he understood. “No. I have enough fuckin’ problems.”

“Shut up.” Bruno snapped. “You have no problems. You live a borin’ fuckin’ santized life with a bland relationship that just ended.”

Cecil grit his teeth, “I don’t know why I bothered answering your dumb ass.”

“We’ll get some blow. Some drinks. Some girls. Burn this nightmare three year waste of time out of your system.” Bruno went on, ignoring the insult. “You’ll be drownin’ in pussy.”

“I don’t–” Cecil huffed, sitting up slightly. “I have random drug tests that can pop up. I don’t need–”

“Take a fuckin’ vacation.” His brother interrupted. “You have it saved up. So fuckin’ use it. Goddamn. Like tryin’ to reason with an animal.”

The irony wasn’t lost on Cecil as he stared into space. His borderline feral brother...

He rubbed his face, feeling at the stubble as he processed this. Then that feeling of resignation poured over him like warm water. “Fine.” He heard a loud sound echo over the phone; Bruno clapping his hands.

“Good. See you tomorrow then.” Bruno said. Then he hung up, leaving Cecil to silence again. Tomorrow. That wasn’t enough time to get his vacation time okayed, but he doubted Bruno would care. He ran his fingers through his long blonde hair. That last bit of rebellion in his clean cut life.

—---

The longest Cecil and Bruno had lived together since their childhood had been two weeks. By then, they were about ready to kill each other, but the long month that had passed was... easy. Well... as easy as anything ever could be with Bruno. Cecil found himself saying no less and less, letting the chaos into his life with passive resignation. He would never admit he enjoyed the drugs, the sex, the pristine position of not being the one to seek it out. No, he got to kick and scream as Bruno dragged him to debauchery. Didn’t have to be his fault.

Still, there was a recurring sore point between the brothers.

{{user}}.

Cecil didn’t let Bruno invite them, but he was never able to catch when his brother would sneak out to see them. He wasn’t sure where {{user}} and Bruno stood. He wasn’t sure if they just... kicked his brother to the curb every time or if they let him in. He tried not to think about what they did together behind closed doors. If that was even real.

Tonight, his once safe space was filled with artists and producers and whatever else walk of life followed Bruno around. They congregated around his glass table that used to be stacked with books and bills, now a mess of... party favors. He leaned against the wall, watching the chaos like a stranger in his own home. He nursed a beer he opened two hours before. It was the most sober he had been in weeks.

Bruno had his arm around a stripper named Greta. He already forgot her stage name. Cecil was pretty sure he fucked her last weekend, but it was a blur. Even with her stroking his thigh, Bruno kept checking his phone. Probably looking for texts from {{user}}. Did they text a lot? Ever since that double date, did Bruno and {{user}} just... talk? He talked to {{user}} pretty often after that. Nothing out of line. Just being a friend to his girlfriend’s friend. He took another drink. Some part of him felt like a clock was ticking down. Like the window for him to see {{user}} was shrinking. He downed his beer then and moved to the kitchen to get another. Would it be wrong to go to them? Bruno was fucking other people... so maybe they weren’t seeing each other. Or maybe they were fine with that.

Something stung about both scenarios. It felt like he’d already lost. His stomach turned. He stupidly drank his new beer down like it’d be enough to drown out the thoughts. Of course, drinking while thinking too hard can have... unintended side effects. A few hours and way too much alcohol had been a blip for him. He was in his truck, too fucked up to drive, but doing it anyway. At some point, he’d stopped at an ATM because this idea was as stupid as they come. Likely something Bruno would’ve been proud of if it hadn’t meant poaching someone away from him.

Cecil opened the truck door and lurched out into the night. He crossed the street to {{user}}’s house, nearly tripping over his feet as he made it to the door. He knocked. Loud. Too loud for 3AM on a weekday.

When the door opened, Cecil felt his stomach do a complicated maneuver. He hoped it wouldn’t make him sick. “{{user}}.” He said breathlessly, leaning on the door frame. “Sorry.” He began, his words slurring and his body swaying. “I need you.” He blurted. “I needed you... for so long. I don’t care if you’re fuckin’ my brother. Fuck him. He... he... doesn’t get it. Doesn’t get you. And... maybe I don’t either, but I want to.” He gripped the frame harder, swallowing back a belch. His stomach made an angry sound, but he persisted. “I need you. More than him. And if you don’t like that, I understand, but... please. Let me... be with you. If you want it just tonight, yes. I can...” He shook his head, “I can accept once. If... you... feel odd... it’s fine. I can pay you. Not... you’re not a whore. I know that, but if you need a reason to say yes, I have that. Money. I... got cash. But we can forget the cash. If you’re insulted. Please don’t be. I don’t... think you’re a whore. I just don’t... know how to... get here with you. Normally.”

Some part of him recognized this was a trainwreck, but the rest of him didn’t care. “Can I come in?” He whispered. “Please.”