Page 8 of Twisted Needs

“How do you live like this?” Anders calls out in genuine horror. “It’s like one of those dementia pictures where you have to spot five real items even though it’s just a bunch of blobs and shit.” Before he grabs the ice cream, he starts moving things around in there like it’s some compulsive thing he needs to do.

“Just don’t look in the pantry,” I warn. “It might give you a brain aneurysm.”

“Trust me…I won’t.”

I can barely recognize the sweet, sensitive kid he used to be. Now, he has the magical ability to walk into a room and own it with a confidence no one his age has.

When he carries the nearly-empty pint and a spoon back over to the couch, he lets out a deep sigh that reeks of unresolved issues. As the world’s only Anders-whisperer, I pick up on it immediately. “You’re giving me a vibe.”

“I’m fine,” he lies, spooning a heaping mound of chocolate ice cream into his mouth. “I’m not giving you a vibe.”

“You lie a lot when you’re cranky.”

His face drops. “Fine. I don’t know,” he sighs, pursing his lips. “I’m just fucking overwhelmed. Everything just keeps adding up.”

I frown. “What things?”

“I don’t know,” he sighs like he’s thought about this too much. “Just things.” The fact that he can’t even come up with the words to explain it just tells me he’s been sitting on this and overthinking it for a while now.

“I get that,” I say softly, lightly shaking my head and smiling gently at him. I put my hand on his shoulder and give him a friendly squeeze. “You don’t have to deal with things like that all on your own.”

“Well, I don’t want anyone to feel obligated to help.”

The kid has never known how to accept the help people are offering to give. It’s like he finds shame in being given things he never asked for.

“That’s what we do for the people we love—and love isn’t an obligation.”

Anders lets out a deep breath like he’s giving himself time to fully take it in. The idea that there are good people in his life who would never want to hurt him…I can tell he’s having difficulty reconciling with it. He’s always carried more than he should when it comes to stuff like this.

“Anyway,” I sigh, changing the topic. “I am, in fact, obligated to tell you that if any more beers go missing overnight—” My mouth pulls into a grin once I see him trying to call me old and lame through brainwaves. “Hey now…I’m very serious. Get it through that pretty little head of yours that in this home, we don’t touch things we shouldn’t.”

Anders snorts, his face brightening up the entire downstairs. “You know, I have a really funny dirty joke⁠—”

“No, no, no. Please spare me,” I blurt, standing up.

He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “God, you’re so lame. This is why you’re dying alone.”

“Damn,” I mutter. “Have you ever said one nice thing to me?”

Anders doesn’t answer.

He walks the empty pint over to the garbage and tosses it away, shifting over to the sink to wash off his spoon. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he says, turning to look at me. “You know how he is.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Anders leans against the counter. “If I stay here then I won’t hear the end of it. He’s just gonna keep hounding me until I cave.”

“He’s not making you do shit,” I point out. “You’re eighteen.”

Something stirs inside me. Maybe that came out wrong. Anders doesn’t seem to pick up on it though, so maybe I’m overthinking. It shouldn’t matter as much as it does to me that he’s eighteen now, but my brain for some reason keeps getting caught on it whenever the thought crosses my mind.

“You have a full ride,” I continue a little more carefully this time. “You can stay in the dorms. Or here if you want. Find a job if you need more money. I know you’ll make this work, Anders.”

“What if he’s right, though?” he asks in a voice so low it’s practically a whisper. “My entire family is moving half-way across the country.”

“You have me,” I remind him. “I’m contractually obligated to be here for the next few years, so I guess I’m all yours.”

“Ah. Right.” He widens his eyes. “I have a babysitter. Luca might actually love that.”