That night, I'm dreaming. Dreaming a horrible nightmare.

It's the same one I always have, the one that really happened. I'm standing in my living room in my parents house and the telephone rings. I don't remember what I was actually doing at the time, but this nightmare always begins with me standing in the middle of the room.

I turn and go to the phone. My parents had been out on a date while my brother had decided to hang out with some friends. That's how it really happened. Completely innocuous. Downright normal. Utterly innocent.

"Hello?" I speak into the phone.

Sometimes it goes how it really went, with my mother a blubbering mess on the other line. Other times it's much more sinister, a twisted reality of what was to come.

Unfortunately this time, the demons decided to play with me again.

"Hello?" I ask again, because all I hear in my ear is static.

It's a horrible sound, a shrill sound. It comes and goes, like someone trying to tune a radio. Sometimes it's soft and I can barely hear it, and then it swells, causing me to pull the phone away from my ear. I always bring the phone back to my ear though, trying to hear.

"Tristan."

The voice is faint, and I can barely hear it.

"Hello?" I try again.

"Tristan."

"Who is this?"

"Tristan."

"Hello? This isn't funny, who is this?"

"It's--"

"What? I can't hear you. Who are you?"

"It's Tyler."

"Tyler? Where are you? I can barely hear you."

"I'm--"

"What was that?"

"--find me."

"Find you? Ty, you're not making sense and I can't hear you--"

Then, the line goes crystal clear.

"I'm dead, Tristan. Come find me."

My eyes spring open. They immediately overflow in a cascade of tears. It's dark, and I can barely make out the shapes of my childhood bedroom.

I hate this. I don't know what I hate more, the fact that I had this nightmare, or the fact that I've gotten so used to it that I actually prefer the other version. The real version. The version where everything plays out like it did in reality on that day.

This dream always leaves me in the same state. Cold and clammy, crying. I hate hearing Tyler's voice in my head, because it's not real. It sounds like him, but I know it's not. I know I'll never hear his voice again, outside of a recording. Even so, given that option, I don't even know if I would want to hear his voice.

If I heard his voice, it would be like he was here. But he wasn't. He never would be again.

How is it that someone can just...cease to exist? They're there and then they're gone. Poof. How can someone just suddenly not be there?

Normally this was when I'd whip out my phone, jump on a hookup site, and go fuck someone's brains out. But I technically was with David now, or at least it seemed like I was. I had left his house without any sort of definition of what we had. Even so, we had admitted to one another we liked each other. It was close enough to where I would feel very wrong hooking up with some rando now.

Then, like a whispered ribbon memory floating through my brain, my thoughts shift to Orion.

Orion. He didn't know that half the reason I get up so early is because I'll often dream of Tyler and not be able to go back to sleep (or chose not to for fear of returning to my nightmares). Granted I naturally am an early riser, but a lot of it has to do with wanting to avoid the uncomfortable feelings that come with dreaming about my dead brother.

In fact, Orion doesn't know about Tyler, period. And why should he? He has enough of his own pain, I needn't add to that. Yes, of course I felt like a prick for hiding something like that from him. On the same token though, I was pretty sure he would have been able to understand why I never said anything.

That's why I was able to handle Orion, I think. We held a silent, mutual understanding. We had something that I don't even think Orion knew was there. What we silently shared was pain.

I knew every rash act carried out by him was poor judgement due to pain. I knew because I did it, too. My outlets were less destructive, but it didn't change the fact that whenever I felt down I'd go bury my dick in someone. I didn't know how to make myself happy any other way anymore.

Sure, I hadn't gone through as much as Orion had. When we were together, he had told me bits and pieces of his childhood. It was never much; I learned most of it when he found his birth mother. He didn't like to talk about any of that, and frankly I didn't blame him. I don't like talking about, or thinking about, Tyler. It's still really raw for me, even though it's been awhile since he passed.

There was the added layer to Orion, too. I always got the feeling there was a deeper undercurrent to Orion's problems. What those were, he never told me. Occasionally I would catch it leaking out of him though. It was like his body couldn't contain the pain, it was too much for one simple vessel, and it would show in his eyes. My Orio would become the physical manifestation of pain, and every time he unknowingly cast his sad eyes in my direction, it would take my breath away.

My time with him was a loving patience. Sure, his trauma surpassed my own, I'm certain. Yet his intense sorrow was still something I could relate to, because my own was buried deep inside my chest. I got the feeling Orion and I had things we would never be able to get over. Yes, we might learn to cope and function in life, but get over the loss of my brother, ever? That was sheer fallacy.

I had always hoped that Orion would learn to cope, too. I really thought I was helping him in that way. I thought his meds were enough. I thought his therapy was enough. Yet he proved to me one thing:

None of that was enough. Worse, I wasn't enough, and he proved that by trying to kill himself.

So I had to let him go.