Page 94 of One Week in Paris
He tears himself from me. He’s a complete mess. “It was my fault,” he scoffs. “It was my fault as much as anyone else’s. I teased him too. I thought he was funny… I was just a kid. I was only twelve when he died.”
I take his hand again, and squeeze it hard. “Exactly… you were only twelve, Oscar. You didn’t understand.”
“I didn’t do anything to stop him. We used to share a room, and in those last weeks, he kept talking about how he wanted to end it all, how he wanted to shoot himself in the head. I never told my parents.”
“Oh, Oscar…” I’m without words. Has he been carrying this guilt all these years… for about twenty years? “You were just a kid,” I remind him again.
“I know, but I should have said something… I should have spoken up.”
“Your brother had a lot of issues. Maybe, this was inevitable.” I hate this. I hate not knowing what to say. I’m usually pretty good with people. I’m always there for my friends. I’m a great listener, but this… I just don’t know what to say. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” I ask.
He smiles. “You know… I haven’t been happy since Jeremy’s death… not one day, not a single day have I forgotten what happened. But when I met you, things changed. All of a sudden, I was actually happy, and although I didn’t completely forget, I remembered less. You knew nothing about Jeremy, and it was just the two of us. I didn’t want to ruin that.”
I bite my lip, not quite knowing what to say. “I understand.”
We get lost in the hushed sounds of the night again; voices in the distance, the soft blare of distant horns.
Oscar takes my hand and kisses it. I smile up at him. “We should probably head back,” he says. “You look cold.”
“I’m fine,” I lie.
He smiles. “You’re freezing. I know you, Kayla.”
“Why don’t we go back home, and turn on the electric fireplace,” I suggest. “I’ll make cocoa.”
