Chapter Seven: Fear.

I watch Gil fidget as we lie next to one another. It's another one of those awkward times when we don't know what to say and what to do. I pull him closer to me and nuzzle my nose into his neck. He pushes me away, staring at the sheets of my bed. His eyes wander until they lock with mine; I want him to say something, anything.

"Would you like me more if I was a girl?" He asks resentfully.

"What? Why would you think that?" I cup his face in my hand.

"Because then we wouldn't be as fucked up..."

"I would love you just as much but never more, but I'd be afraid that I would ruin your life if I haven't already..." I kiss him, craving his touch. "I wouldn't be able to touch you; I'd be too afraid."

–vii–

"So, boys, we need to conduct some interviews about your personal lives because the world is curious." The host chuckles to himself as Gil and I sit across from him and his cameras. "No names please."

"I'll agree to that." I interject.

"So, the world wants to know who are the lucky ladies?" The host arches his eyebrows inquisitively, and I begin to feel the itch to fidget. An extended period of silence falls over us. "You mean to tell me you boys haven't got a single lady?"

"Nah, we're just pulling your leg," Gil answers with a smirk planted on his face. "I got a girl, sexy as hell." I can see the laughter behind his eyes. "She knows what it takes for a good roll in the sack, if you know what I mean."

"Can't say that I do," the host eggs him on.

"Well, if you want specifics, she does this thing with her –"

"What about you, Ludwig?" I snap back to attention.

"Me? No, I have school." I sound so bland.

"Tell us about your daily lives."

"Sleep til noon, go to work, come home, eat, and drink." Gil winks at the camera. See, he's better at playing this game.

"I just –" my head throbs with a sudden pain. "I...um...have...what are we talking about?" My mind just derailed.

"About your daily life." Gil reminds me.

"Right," I laugh. "Nothing too exciting. Wake up, go to school, come home, go for a run, take a shower, homework, then sleep."

"You too are polar opposites aren't you?" The host asks; my head really hurts.

"Just a lot," Gil chuckles; I can't remember the question...

"Um, I have to excuse myself for a bit..." I can feel the sweat beading on my forehead. Without a reply, I stand up and walk away from the public opinion and its cameras. Gil doesn't follow me; he has to make up excuses for me first. I can hear him down the hallway and through the bathroom door. "Yeah, he's been a bit sick recently." My head feels like it's exploding, and I'm stuck holding it all together with my hands. A knock resounds throughout the dark bathroom.

"Ludwig, are you okay?" It's a camera man. If it was Gil, I could have whined like a little bitch and not worried about anything.

"Yeah, just dandy." I take a deep breath, open the door, and head back to the interview. "Sorry for my random absence."

"That's fine; tell me about this photography situation you've got. Your brother says your on par with your father." The host asks with piqued interest. My face lights up a bit; I can talk photography.

"It's something like this: I wanted to go into photography like my father because I enjoy sitting behind a camera rather than be ogled through it, but I can't say I mind what I've been given either. It's just photography is..." My brows knit together as my mind races to remember what I was in the middle of talking about.

"Photography is?"

"It's...well, it's one of those...things..." Gil is staring at me in disbelief; he's afraid because he knows what my short term memory dilemma means. I do too... "It's a...it's a hobby that's the word." I finish as if I didn't just spend the past minute making an ass out of myself stumbling over such a simple word...

"Sounds like you're a bit tipsy, Ludwig." The host jokes in an ill manner.

"I guess it does...wait what?" Gil stands up, calling all attention to him.

"It's nice to meet you, whatever-your-name-is, but we're very busy. So this is the end of the interview." Gil's voice is on the edge of a demand.

"But there're more –" Gil snaps.

"I don't give a shit what else there is; get the fuck out of our house." Gil commands, and the host just stands there dumbfounded. "Take your camera-shitheads and get out."

"Gil," I want to calm him down.

"No, they need to leave." Gil yells on the verge of sadness.

"I'll lead them out, calm down." I press my hand to his shoulder.

"Tell me to fucking calm down, my ass." Gil falls back into his chair.

"Sorry about my brother," I apologize as I lead the host to the door.

"Is it true?" The host whispers into my ear. "Is it true that your brother's a bastard?"

"Of course not," I hiss back as I am pushing this ignorant asshole out the door. When the door slams shut after the last cameraman, Gil calls from the living-room.

"Why didn't you tell me?! You can't remember for shit?! You know as well I fucking do what that means!" I bite my lip and stare at the ground. "What do you just expect us to sit in the dark while you let it eat away at your brain again?!"

"What else can I do?!" I yell back, knowing what he'll say.

"Get treatment, you ass. Did you really think I wouldn't care?!"

–vii–

I sit in the doctor's office. 'MRI' is what they keep throwing back and forth, and then 'biopsy' joins in. As damaged as my memory is in its current state, I remember those words from when I was little. The doctor asks me to take out my contacts; she just wants to see the damage from the last time. She stares pitifully at me; I ignore her and get ready to sit in the MRI machine. Stripped down to my boxers, I lie down on the machine's table. I can see the technician through the window; she's absorbed in her work. "Let's play a game, Ludwig. If you can sit still until the table comes out from the machine again, we'll get ice cream." It's not that easy anymore. I'm slowly transported into the MRI scanner, and I lie still, thinking of anything but this. My mind wanders to Gil and how upset he was; no, I'd rather not think of that. I'd like to think that he's next to me; yeah, that'd be nice. I've never prayed, but now, I find myself begging for this to be a false symptom and just me being an idiot. I don't want to go through that again. I don't want to make them upset; I don't want Gil to disappear from the house. He'll never come back if it's true. I wallow in my fears for forty-five minutes, oblivious to the fact that the MRI ended; I lie on the table with tears pricking at my eyes. The technician calls me out of the room, and I make my exit walking around like an automaton, smiling when I should to deceive those who worry.