1988

Lenny flopped on the sofa and ran a nail over a dot of black paint on his wrist. He wasn't sure if it was a mole or if he was trying to scratch off a part of himself. When he looked away, the world swayed.

"Do I have freckles?" Len slurred as the little black dot moved around.

Lucas hovered over him. "Do you know what time it is?"

Lenny shrugged. "Two AM? Three?" When Lucas narrowed his eyes and shook his head, he mocked. "Four? Am I close? Is it vampire o'clock?"

Luke leaned to his brother and sniffed. "You stink like a brewery."

"No, that's cologne," Len smirked knowing damn well he did stink like whiskey. It wasn't all his fault. His companion had insisted he drink Tullamore Dew out of his navel. He did not object to his lover's advances and ended up drenched.

"Don't lie to me, little brother." Lucas' forehead wrinkled with worry. He had spent too many nights fretting about his wayward brother.

Len looked up and saw two of his holier-than-thou sibling. "Why not? Because you're a priest?"

"Because I'm your brother." Lucas knelt before Lenny and took Len's hands.

"Save it for the confessionals." Lenny didn't want to be held, but he had no strength to pull away.

"Where were you tonight?"

"Out." Gravity was pulling him down. He tipped to the left, but Luke pushed him upright.

"I'm aware you were out," Lucas said through clenched teeth, "Out where?"

"Someplace wickedly delicious."

"Tell me."

Lenny grinned.

"Were you with those boys? The ones I had to chase out of your room last month?"

Lenny held up one finger. "Only one. Boy. Singular."

"I told you before –"

Lenny cut his brother off. "I know what you said. I did nothing under your roof. We were at his house painting. I painted him."

"What were you using for acrylics? Scotch?"

Lenny rolled his eyes.

"That boy clearly wants one thing from you, Lenny, and you know it. Your body. I doubt he gives two shits about your painting."

Lenny's head rolled onto his shoulder, then his shoulder rolled onto the side of the sofa. "It is my mind he adores." He closed his eyes. "And my art. He sees beauty in the darkness, Lucas, something you never got."

Like a good holy man trying to save a soul headed for destruction, Lucas began to pray under his breath. He brought Lenny's hands to his heart before touching his lips to the knuckles. "I see the beauty, Lenny. Even though your art looks like something out of Dante's Inferno, I see the passion that drives you and that terrifies me, for it will be your undoing. Your fucking passion teamed with your fucking darkness are going to kill you one day."

Lenny let himself float in a bubble of inebriation. His step-brother's words fluttered to him annoyingly. The need for sleep came and tried to bat those stupid words away. "Stop trying to save me, Luke." He thought of the suitcase he had already mentally packed. He had a plan to leave the crippling town and Luke's suffocating embrace.

"It's not me, it's God. God is trying to save you, Len."

Warm, sticky, Tullamore Dew scented fingers pulled Lenny towards sleep; towards the belly of an inebriated beast who offered the promise of sweet dreams. "God's dead, Saint Luke," he uttered, "and you can't pray him back."