Mama came into the kitchen, still wearing her own biking outfit, her long hair damp near the scalp. It was Tristan’s eyes, not Byron’s, that searched out the little details that made her her—the shock of white hair by one temple, the twin moles that Tristan had called ‘vampire bites’ as a child. Byron had felt bad about that, even being the observer to his brother as Tristan unwittingly evoked a look of faint hurt on their mama’s face.

Help, Byron thought, as they turned their attention to his brother. Please help me. This is hell. It’s already hell.

“Byron flipped out on me,” Tristan said. He coughed, forced the cough, then touched his throat. “He was upset because I took Katie to the movies.”

That wasn’t it.

“I told you not to,” Mama said, her voice soft.

“He strangled me. Scratched me. Punched me,” Tristan searched his arm, pulled back his t-shirt sleeve with one hand to see where Byron had hit his shoulder.

“That’s too far. That’s too far and then some,” Papa replied. “We’ll talk with him. Where is he?”

Please help. Please notice that something’s wrong.

“Um,” Tristan said, sounding very disconnected. He wasn’t looking anywhere in particular. To an outside observer, it might have looked like a thousand-yard stare. “He stormed out, I think. I looked through the house.”

“Look at me, Tristan,” Papa said.

Tristan did.

See me in here. Isn’t that how it works in the movies?

Tristan’s eyes watered. “Something’s fucked up. A lot of things are fucked up. I’ve been sitting here trying to process, but my thoughts are sparks and I can’t think straight. When I can think straight, I’m worried I have brain damage because it’s really intense.”

“Tristan—”

Tristan stumbled through, not stopping. “And I’m worried he’s going to the cops or something—”

“Cops?”

“Because I got scared when he was strangling me and I couldn’t even hear anything except the ringing in my ears. I stabbed him with the pen I had in my pocket to try and make him let go, and he was so angry. So angry.”

Tristan dropped his eyes. The thousand-yard stare again.

“Tristan.” Papa took Tristan by the shoulders.

Tristan made eye contact again.

“He wasn’t making any sense,” Tristan said.

I made sense, you weren’t hearing it.

Their mama rubbed Tristan’s shoulders. Their papa gave him a kiss on the top of the head. Byron felt it all and he didn’t feel better in the slightest.

“We’ll get this figured out, mi hijo,” Papa said.

Please help.

“I don’t know,” Tristan said. “I feel like something broke inside of me. I can’t think straight—I think in…”