True Lies Are As Good As False Honesty

Frank’s POV

“Brandon?” I called, not really expecting him to reply. He’d been sick lately, puking and stuff. He’d been looking terrible – red rings around his eyes and he looked pale and sickly. It was as if he’d been sequentially breaking down...like you make a big Lego tower and piece by piece it falls down to a spectacular crash of color.

“Man, I’m so fucked up,” I heard Brandon giggle frivolously. I pushed open the door to my room and saw him huddled under a blanket facing away. I locked the door behind me. It was so stupid I had Brandon locked up in my bedroom. It’s like when your mom tells you you’re not allowed a pet and you find a dog off the street and lock it in your room.

She’d come to Vegas and found me, god only knows how, and forcibly dragged me back here, back home. I’d snuck out and brought Brandon back with me, it was stupid and I knew I’d get caught eventually but what else was I going to do? Just leave him?

I crawled onto the bed and put my arms around him, resting my chin on his shoulder. He felt clammy and was whispering to himself. I sat up and tried to see his reflection in the glass window. He looked psychotic, his eyes were wide and a joker-like smile painted on his face.

“Brandon, are you ok?” I asked slowly, tilting my head to the side trying to catch a better look at his reflection.

“I’m good, I’m really good, I’m fucked up as hell,” he cackled.

I moved so I was sitting in front of him. He smelt quite horrid, I don’t know when he last bathed and...oh nasty, I think there was still puke in his hair.

“Are you high?” I asked, unsure what a high person was like in real-life. I’d been so over-protected by my mom I’d only seen what drugged-up people were like on tv. He smiled, pretty much confirming it. I sighed in a mix of emotions-frustration, confusion, hurt, fear and I don’t even know what else. What do I do now?

*