Kevin walked around the room, and took a picture frame off of the old-fashioned desk. He brought it over to me, and set it in my hands. I took a deep breath, and turned it over, not really knowing what to expect. The picture was of Justin's mother, when she was younger. She was 18 when she died. In the picture, she was probably 13. She was smiling, and she was in this house. In the room that Justin and I sleep in.
"How did you know her?" Kevin studied my reaction, probably contemplating whether or not to give me the truth.
"I've always known her."
"I asked how Kevin." I gritted my teeth, and squeezed the frame in my hands. Kevin shrugged a response, and I took in deep breaths, trying not to blow.
"Would you like a drink Nicholas? I know you enjoy them." Kevin left the room, and within a few seconds he had a glass with bubbly clear liquid in it.
"I don't drink anymore Kevin. I'm a changed person." Kevin smiled, and took a sip of the bitter substance.
"You know, if you hadn't drank that night, she may still be alive." I watched Kevin smirk, drinking the vodka with pop in it. I shivered, remembering. Knowing that every word he spoke revealed the painful truth. "How do you think Justin feels?"
"I know how he feels." I fought back the tears clogging my throat, and Kevin stepped closer.
"Do you?" He breathed at me, making me inhale the irresistible drug he carried in the glass in his hand. I nodded my response, and he chugged the rest of the alcohol. "Do you know what it's like, having an alcoholic father, a murdered mother. Knowing it's all your fathers fault. You're so young, and your father, cracking at the seams, doesn't see you. Doesn't see the hurt filling your eyes."
"STOP IT!" I threw the frame across the room, and I watched it, sailing in slow motion, and I watched the glass shatter as it met the wall. I watched the fragments fly to the floor, scattered.
"Painful?" I breathed in hard, tasting the dry air, trying to ignore his taunts.
"Who are you?" I looked deep into his eyes, trying to see inside. Kevin smirked once again, and left me in the room. I listened closely, and I heard him whisper words in a different language. I walked towards the doorway to the sounds, not really understanding. He heard me, and turned slightly.
"Yes Nicholas?"
"Why would you want me to remember?" His eyes darted back and forth between mine, and he pressed his lips together.
"She was very important to me too."
"I don't understand—"
"No one does. No one could ever understand." He turned back around, not allowing me to see his face.
"I—"
"I think you better go with Justin, Nick. Before things get out of hand." I nodded, and walked to the staircase. So many questions were swirling around my mind, but now was not the time to bring any of these up. How could he possibly know her? Why was she here when she was younger? How does he have pictures of her? How does he know about my past? And most of all, what the hell was in that room he cherishes so much?