Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16
Chapter 17: Bro
Dirk ==> Be a fucking useless piece of shit
You flashstep away, leaving the village, the war, and Lord English behind you. As you run through the trees back toward your home, your mind is a complete wreck. Thoughts are flying in every direction and you think you’ve never been this disorganized. Even when you were starving out in the desert with Jake, everything seemed to make more sense than this.
Because you cannot comprehend that you just watched your father die. That he was alive and completely well an hour ago. And now he is just another part of the collective of souls trapped in Lord English’s body, never to return.
You aren’t even sure what you’re doing right now, but you have to make sure that the rest of your family is ok. You wouldn’t be able to bear it knowing that you had failed twice in one day.
When you reach your home, you sense the tense atmosphere immediately. You rush into the bedroom and down into the cellar room, following the waning light of a flickering torch ahead. You hear Rose’s screams and you smell blood.
You panic, flashstepping as quickly as you can to the room. You almost trip over little Dirk, who is sitting against the wall by the entrance clutching Lil’ Cal to him. Rose is laying in the bed.
A sense of relief washes over you, followed immediately by worry when you realize why Rose was screaming. She’s giving birth.
And you know jack shit about the birthing process.
But like hell if you’re going to let your mother do this all on her own. It’s your fault that your father isn’t here to help her like he undoubtedly was last time.
You’re by her side instantly, on your knees by the bedside. Quickly, you snatch her hand in yours and frantically murmur, “MOM! Mom I’m here. Tell me you’re ok. Oh fuck, please tell me you’re ok!”
Rose’s breaths are rapid and shallow. Her expression is filled with pain when she looks at you and says, “Dirk, sweetie, I am fine.”
“You’re not fine. Fuck that. Tell me the truth!” you say, your voice sounding on edge, desperate. You can’t say why, but more than anything you want your mother to be ok right now. You just want her to be alive and completely ok.
“I have—been a little better,” she admits, her face again contorting with discomfort. “But I am fine.”
“No. No don’t fucking lie to me. I’m an incubus remember? I can feel your pain, I can fucking feel—” you ramble on for a few seconds before you realize something.
Yes. You are an incubus. You can feel Rose’s pain.
But so can the little you. The small child that’s sitting balled up against the wall, clinging to Lil’ Cal as tightly as he can.
It ticks at the corners of your memory like the swinging pendulum of a grandfather clock. Something from the past that has almost resurfaced. Something is still repressing it, but you are starting to remember why you dread this room so much.
“Now do you understand?” Rose asks softly. Her eyebrows twist in agony, and she clutches the bedsheet and your hand tightly. A soft cry escapes her lips, and you know that being in labor is far more excruciating than she is letting on. A minute or so later, her breathing calms down again, her pain lessens a bit, and she looks at you. “Where is Dave?”
Your voice catches in your throat. You don’t utter a single word before you feel it.
An overwhelming sense of grief hits you, pouring out of Rose’s broken heart. She doesn’t say a word, but you see the careful mask on your mother’s face break. Her lips quirk down as her breathing constricts. She looks at you with the saddest violet eyes as tears slowly begin to stream down her ivory cheeks.
“Excuse me,” she says in a shaky voice, withdrawing her hand from your own. Covering her face in both of her hands, your mother sobs.
But fate, cruel mistress that it is, reminds you both that she is still in labor. And it is barely a minute before you feel the sharp angry jabs of another wave of her contractions. Rose doesn’t hold back the scream of agony this time, as she lets out her anger and sorrow at the world along with the torture of childbirth.
You feel so helpless kneeling at her bedside. Again, you insist, “what do I do?”
“The contractions are coming more frequently now. It will not be long before he is born,” Rose says, her voice hoarse from her screaming. She indicates between her legs with a nod of her head. “When he comes, help guide him free.”
Any other day, you would have positively retched at the thought of seeing your mother’s womanly parts. Much less helping her deliver a child from them. But in the heat of this moment, you know that this child’s birth is everything. You can’t say how, but you know that it is the only thing keeping Rose going right now.
So you skirt around to the foot of the bed, where Rose has her knees raised and her legs parted. The blood is everywhere. You can smell it strong in the air, and in the dim flickering torchlight, you can see that it has spilled over a large part of the bed.
“So much blood,” you murmur, your eyes widening in surprise. You glance up at Rose and ask, “is there supposed to be this much blood?”
Rose swallows, and in a shaky voice she replies, “there is always some, yes. But carrying and birthing an incubus has its challenges. I am only human, after all.”
A small sound from behind you makes you glance back to find little Dirk sitting against the wall with his legs drawn tightly up against him. He’s clutching his hands to his ears, trying to block out the feeling of Rose’s misery. You can tell he doesn’t want to let Lil’ Cal go. The puppet is sandwiched in the crook of his elbow awkwardly, held in place by his head and his arm.
Suddenly, you realize that you can’t leave him like this. Quickly, you flashstep over to the little you and kneel in front of him. “Hey.”
He doesn’t look up. Little Dirk keeps his gaze trained to the ground, his hands pressed so tightly to his head that you can see the whitening of his knuckles and the tips of his fingers.
“Hey, lil’ man, look at me,” you insist. Another cry from Rose alerts you that you don’t have much time, and you reach forward, grabbing little Dirk’s chin and forcing his head up.
His eyes are filled with tears. His lower lip quivers continuously, like the steady fluttering of a butterfly’s wings. “Momma—and daddy—” he says, his voice degrading into an unhappy wail of a small child who has far too many feelings and thoughts and far too few words.
“Look at me,” you say to him, slowly drawing your shades down so that you can lock your tangerine gaze with his. When his eyes snap alertly to yours, you do it.
Mine. Dirk, you’re mine.
The effect is instantaneous. His lips stop quaking, his wails cease, and his face becomes a beautifully expressionless mask. His hands drop down from his ears into his lap. Lil’ Cal falls to the ground.
“It’s all gonna be ok,” you tell him, influencing him with a sense of calm. Slowly, you pick Lil’ Cal back up and place the puppet back in the boy’s arms. “Lil’ Cal’s gonna protect you, ok? He’ll make sure your momma’s ok. That everything is ok.”
“Ok,” little Dirk mimics back to you, in a voice that sounds far too much like your own for your comfort. He holds Lil’ Cal tighter to him.
“Good. Good, now I’ve gotta take care of your momma while your lil’ bro’s bein’ born, ok? But you sit right there an’ everythin’ll be just fine,” you reassure him. You’ve slipped back into your dreaded southern, but you don’t care. Who’s here to make fun of you now? Besides, there are far more important matters to attend to.
Like your mother, who is screaming bloody murder across the room. You hasten to her side again before she shoos you back down to the foot of the bed. When you dare to look between her legs you gasp. “Somethin’ white’s comin’ out. Is that—is that the head?”
“Better the head than the foot,” she responds weakly. Rose takes a few deep breaths. Then, she grits her teeth together and bears down, pushing with all of her strength.
The white circle grows larger and larger until what looks like an alien lifeform begins to slowly ooze from her body. For a few moments, you gape at it, completely at a loss.
“Dirk!” Your mother’s voice is laced with warning, and you quickly remember that you have a task to do.
Gingerly you hold your hands out and grasp the baby’s head. With a few more pushes, the head is fully out of her body. The rest of the baby soon follows. You gently guide your baby brother from your mother’s body and hold the fragile infant in your hands.
You never knew Dave was this small. You swear that newborn babies aren’t supposed to be this small. You eye the umbilical cord, that connects the infant’s abdomen to his mother, and you really don’t know what to do.
And he’s not crying. He’s not fucking crying what the fuck do you do???
“There is a blade—” Rose says, her voice shallow and her breathing ragged. She speaks between deep breaths. “—on the dresser. I—sterilized it earlier. Use it—to cut the cord. There is also—string. First—tie it off.”
You flashstep to the dresser even though you probably don’t need to. You find the blade and string, and flashstep back. Carefully, you tie a knot with the string near the baby’s abdomen, and then you cleanly cut the cord. One task down.
But the baby still isn’t crying.
Worried beyond belief, you pick the infant up—
—and the tiny cries of your baby brother ring loudly through the air.
Relief floods your system. You’re certain you’re smiling like a fool, but you don’t care. Your baby brother is ok, and that’s all that matters.
Rose is smiling widely now too, and when she reaches for him, you carefully place the baby in her arms. Softly, she cooes to him, “hello there, little one.”
Gently, she wipes the remainder of the blood and mucus from the infant’s body with a soft cloth. By the time she’s finished, the baby is already quieting his cries. As she holds him to her closely and shushes him softly, his cries recede into tiny little gurgles.
She places a kiss atop the child’s head and murmurs, “I am so very very happy to meet you, my little Dave.”
And suddenly it all comes full circle. The reason she changed her mind on the baby’s name hits you like a charging rhino. And just like that, the events earlier in the day come racing back to you.
But you aren’t allowed to dwell on it for long. Rose looks at you pointedly and says, “you put Dirk under your influence. I can tell. Remove it.”
So you do. Kneeling in front of him again, you catch his gaze in your own and give him back to himself.
Yours. Be you, Dirk.
When he comes to and begins blinking fearfully at you, you do the first thing that comes to mind. You pull him into a tight hug. And you try to give him positive feelings of happiness and comfort despite not having him under your influence. “Hey, it’s ok, lil’ man,” you murmur to him.
He clings to you tightly but doesn’t say anything back.
“Your lil’ bro’s here,” you try again to reassure him. “Wanna go meet him?”
One benefit of dealing with a younger version of you is knowing yourself. Knowing that your own curiosity will overcome even the most frightening of odds feels a little bit like cheating. But it works like a charm.
Slowly, little Dirk peeks out from behind you at his mother. “My lil’ bro?” he repeats inquisitively.
“Yep,” you nod back with a smile, hefting him up into your arms and carrying him over to the bed. You place him next to Rose on a non-bloody part of the bed, where he is quick to peek over at his new baby brother.
“What is wrong with him?” He asks Rose, poking gingerly at Dave’s head. “His eyes are closed.”
Rose laughs, gently guiding little Dirk’s curious finger away from the baby’s face. “Do not worry. He will open his eyes soon,” she assures him.
Little Dirk is content to snuggle up next to his mother while she feeds her baby. It’s an oddly comforting sight. But, as your eyes trail away from them back to the foot of the bed, you realize that your work is not done.
For the first time, you find that there is a lot of cleanup to do after a birth. The bed is ruined, and there is nothing you can do about that. Rose instructs you on how to deal with some particularly messy details of the after-birthing process that you would have rather never known about.
After it is all done, you sense that everyone has reached their emotional limit. Little Dirk has already drifted off to sleep, as has the infant Dave. Rose is not far behind and you are feeling weary yourself, though you somehow doubt that you will be able to sleep.
You pick a corner of the room and start to lay down on the floor. But Rose has other ideas.
“Come here,” she says, patting the bed next to the little you. “There is enough room for us all on this bed.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you say. You begin to confabulate several reasons it’s a terrible idea, but before you can voice any of them, Rose interrupts you.
“Dirk,” she says, in a very pointed way. “I will not take no for an answer.”
And you know she means it. Reluctantly, you sigh and walk over, settling onto the edge of the bed. You are surprised to feel Rose’s slender fingers in your hair, running through your messy battle-worn strands. “I am so happy to be here, with my sons,” she murmurs.
Your mother gently rakes her fingers across your scalp in a way that is extremely soothing. You didn’t think it was possible, but you start to feel the stressors of the day wearing away. You’re certain that she stopped stroking your hair, but you couldn’t say when.
In the comfort of the bed in that terrible cellar room, you leave the nightmares of the day behind and drift into a deep slumber.
* * *
Dirk ==> Freak the fuck out
That is exactly what you do when you wake up again and find yourself in that horrifying cellar room. Your eyes snap open, and even though you don’t need to breathe, you’re hyperventilating. Your body is covered in a cold sweat and your eyes wildly snap from corner to corner around the room.
“Dirk, honey, Dirk, it is ok.”
You don’t want to believe the words, but soon you feel slender fingers calmly working through your hair again. The sensation is soothing, and slowly, you start to calm down.
Eventually, you realize that you’re still lying in the bed with your family. Rose is sitting up now, propped up with a couple pillows behind her back. She’s holding a swaddled infant Dave while he feeds. The little you is still sleeping curled up in the bed beside you.
When you feel tranquil enough, you slowly sit up and look around. Down here in the dark, you have no sense of time, and you aren’t sure how long you were sleeping. But you do sense something else. Something terrifying is not far away.
“It is coming,” Rose murmurs softly, gently shifting the baby in her arms. “We were hidden down here, but I have lost too much blood. They will sense it, and they will come.”
You know what Rose is talking about. The war. The demons.
She looks at you, her eyes expressionless as she says, “and with it, he will come. Lord English will kill us all.”
It sounds extremely morbid coming from your mother, but somehow you know she’s right. If Lord English finds you all down here, there will be nothing stopping him from killing all of you. And you’ll have nowhere to run.
You want to apologize to her. To tell her you’re sorry, that you’ll go and kill Lord English. But you’ve already failed twice. You aren’t going to pretend that you’ll be able to do it this time.
Instead, you busy yourself with getting up from the bed, lighting a few more torches, and replacing the ones on the walls that have begun to wane after hours of use. You search through the small cupboard and find a few sacks of dried fruits and vegetables along with some dried and salted cutlets of meat. There are also a few canisters of fresh water. You bring some of these to Rose, encouraging her to eat and drink.
She does, though not as much as you think she really should. Instead, she wakes the little you and offers him some food and drink. She also turns to you and murmurs, “you should eat too. More than any of us, you will need your strength.”
As you chew into some dried apple slices, you grow increasingly uneasy with the silence. The little you is barely making any sound, which is so unusual for him. The baby isn’t crying, and Rose hasn’t offered up any more conversation.
What you can hear are the sounds of battle from far away, growing closer by the minute. You can feel the tension and the war in the air, and though you aren’t certain just how far away it is, you know that it is coming closer. It will not miss your home, and as Rose has said, with the scent of blood in the cellar room, they will find you.
“Do you know how to hold a baby?” Rose asks you suddenly.
“Sorta?” you respond uneasily. Babies have never really been your thing.
She smiles at you and motions you over. You sit by her side. Even though you sort of held Dave yesterday after he was born, you balk a little bit when she shifts the swaddled infant into your arms.
“That is right,” she says encouragingly. “Make certain you support his head until he is old enough to do it himself. Do not let Dirk poke any of the soft spots on his head.”
You glance over at the little you, who is already grinning a little mischievously as he eats a dried apricot. “You hear that? No pranks until he’s older. Then you can shower him with all the smuppets you want.”
“Smuppets?” little Dirk asks, looking at you curiously.
“Little toys. Nevermind, you’ll figure it out when you’re older,” you assure him.
Rose watches you gently and says, “if he starts to cry, you can rock him, or bounce him very gently in your arms.”
“Ok,” you agree quietly, looking down at the tranquil face of your baby brother. You’re struck again by how small he is. His little face is reddened and looks a bit squished, but you still recognize him as your little bro. His soft pale hair, the shape of his nose. You’d bet anything that when he opens his tiny eyes to the world, they will be the same shade of red that you have come to know uniquely as Dave’s.
“Do not give him cow milk until he is a year old,” she says softly, reaching over to lightly rub the baby’s feather-soft wisps of hair. “Since he cannot eat solid food yet, you must feed him another way.”
“Another way?” you ask, though you have a feeling you know what she is talking about.
“Dave is an incubus, like you,” Rose explains. Slowly, carefully, she rises from the bed and stands on trembling bare feet, marred with dried blood. Soundlessly, she walks over to the dresser and picks up her wand. “You will need to feed them both your blood. Dirk will not need it as often, but Dave will require it every day, several times, until he is old enough.”
“My blood?” you ask, furrowing your brows as you look at Dave. You always wondered why Bro fed you blood every now and then. You thought it was some sadistic pleasure of his, watching you and Dave suffer through drinking it. But was there another reason? “How long will he need blood?”
“Forever,” Rose says, eyeing you strangely. “Do you not still consume blood? I thought you would have known this by now.”
The image of Bro, holding out a plastic megagulp cup to you comes immediately to mind. He stands there with that cocky grin, shoving the cup into your hands. “It’ll make you stronger,” he always said.
He never mentioned that you needed it to survive. And suddenly, it makes sense. Why Jake was so obsessed with what you ate when he first moved in with you.
Jake knew. He always fucking knew. And now that you know just how long he’s been alive, you aren’t surprised. Jake probably knows a lot more than he ever lets on.
Someday, if you ever manage to sort this whole mess out, you will ask him about it. You will have a chat for a few months and find out everything your fucking enigmatic boyfriend knows.
“You will have to feed him your affection as well,” Rose continues, picking up a torch and walking across the room.
Suddenly, you realize why she is telling you these things. You look up at her and murmur, “no.”
Rose purses her lips. She knows what you are truly saying “no” to. “It is the only way,” she replies solemnly.
“No, no!!!” you say, your voice raising loud enough to wake Dave, who shifts and wails in protest. You stand up from the bed and start walking toward her. “I can’t let you do this! I can’t let you go!”
Rose smiles at you sadly, “you have to. The demons are already at the door. Can you hear them?”
You can. The growling and hissing and scratching of the lesser demons reach your ears now that you are listening for them. You know that they will only be followed by more powerful ones soon. And then, the worst of them all.
“I placed wards on all the doors and windows earlier so that none but us could enter. But it will only be a matter of time before they find their way inside,” Rose says solemnly.
Little Dirk peeks out from behind you and asks, “Momma, what are you saying?”
“Dirk, come here sweetie,” she says, kneeling down. When the little you runs over to her, she wraps her arms tightly around him. “Baby, I love you. I love you and am so proud of you. Do not ever forget that.”
Rose glances up at you and repeats, “do not forget that.”
“Momma why are you saying this? Why are you so sad?” little Dirk asks, clinging to her tightly.
“You are such a smart and strong boy. Momma might not see you for a very long time,” Rose says to him gently, calmly. “Do not ever be afraid to do what you believe is right. You have a good heart, Dirk. Promise me that you will always follow your heart.”
The little you seems to be catching on slowly to what is happening. Tears begin to pour from his eyes and his fists ball tightly into Rose’s shirt. “No momma, do not leave me!”
“I have to, sweetie, I have to go,” she whispers, then kisses the side of his head softly. “Now promise me, Dirk. Promise me you will follow your heart.”
The little you is trembling now, and you hear sniffles in between his words. “I—I promise.”
“Good boy,” she says, hugging him tightly to her once more before letting go. “I love you.”
“I love you too, momma,” little Dirk wails back, his voice disintegrating into sobs of sadness.
“Mom—” you find yourself at a loss for words. You hadn’t realized it, but you had been slowly walking over to her until you stood next to her. “Don’t go. We’ll figure this out. We’ll—”
Rose smiles sadly at you and leans over, circling her arms around you gently. “I love you, Dirk. I am thankful that I had the chance to meet you, and I regret that our time together was so short.”
She lets go and leans over, placing a gentle kiss on Dave’s forehead. “Goodbye, Dave. I wish the best for you. I hope that you and John will grow old together and always have the happiness that you share for each other.”
Dave makes a tiny sound, and for the first time, he opens his eyes. In the darkness lit by the soft torchlight, he blinks at Rose with the vivid wine-red eyes you remember.
Rose smiles brightly, “red, just like your father. Oh Dave, I am so happy I had the chance to look into your eyes this once.”
She stands back up and regards you with a small smile. “Please take good care of them. And do not ever forget that you are loved. Goodbye, Dirk.”
You don’t say anything. You’re stuck in place, holding onto the infant Dave as your mother walks down the long stone hallway. You’re aware of the little you clinging to your pant leg and sobbing profusely as she ascends up the wooden staircase and disappears.
Shortly after, you hear the sounds of battle above. Magical explosions and the screams of demons fill the air. Rose’s presence is strong, like a powerful beacon. You know that she is fiercely fighting. And she is winning.
First you hear the cries of lesser demons as they fall, and then the distinctive shrill screeches of more advanced demons. Rose’s energy is fantastic, and you can imagine her above, wielding her wand like a gladiator against a hoard of thousands.
You don’t know how much time passes.
The fighting seems to last forever.
And finally, you feel it. The darkest, most foul evil presence imaginable. You know who is outside your house now.
Lord English. The same monster that killed your father is now going to claim your mother.
Slowly, you turn your back to the wall and slide down to the floor. You can’t take this. You can’t handle it. You can’t.
Rose’s energy brightens like a supernova star, and you know that she is giving everything she has to this fight. You feel it as Lord English’s dark energy lashes out. The ground above you rumbles and you feel the shockwave as several of the walls in the home above you break and collapse.
And suddenly, Rose’s energy begins to wane. It grows smaller and smaller until, like the dying light of a candle that’s reached the bottom of its wick, it extinguishes.
You know that your mother is gone.
And almost as quickly as he arrived, Lord English leaves. You feel his presence recede from the home, satisfied with the outcome. The screeches and wails of the demons that follow him also grow quieter.
The sound of war fades until you are left with silence.
Slowly you become aware of little Dirk, who is quaking beside you, clinging to your arm and to Lil’ Cal with his face buried in your shirt. And Dave, who has somehow fallen asleep.
And suddenly, it hits you like a shooting star falling from the sky above. Suddenly you remember.
You remember being down here, in this horrible cellar. You remember your mother’s face, her gentle words to you. You remember watching her leave and knowing you would never see her again.
And you remember something that no child should ever remember on his third birthday.
You remember feeling your mother die.
And the emptiness that follows. And the sorrow that losing her places forever in your heart.
But you also remember that your savior comes too.
That Bro finds you now, and that he makes everything better.
So you wait and hold little Dirk tightly. Bro will come. He’ll make it all better.
He’ll make it all better.
But the minutes tick by, and you feel the swinging pendulum of the metaphorical grandfather clock of your life. The passage of time becomes a burden and you begin to doubt yourself.
But you know that Bro will come for you. You remember him saving you.
Bro was always there for you.
Bro was always there.
Bro was always there.
As the silence fills your ears, something horrible suddenly slides into place. Like the missing piece of the puzzle of your life, it suddenly clicks.
The reason Bro was acting so strangely before you left on April the 5th to fight zombies at the Old Plaza Mall. The reason your parents never asked about Bro. The reason you never saw him around in the past. The reason your father sounded so peculiar when he mentioned Bro earlier today. The reason Bro is the same height as you, has the same color eyes as you, walks like you, talks like you, and likes My Fucking Little Pony just like you.
The reason he probably loves Jake. Just like you.
“You’re a Strider. We look out for each other. I’m giving you a partner—”
“Heh, you do know me better than anyone.”
Oh fuck fuck fuck.
“Striders stick together.”
You shut your eyes, take a deep breath, hold it in, and slowly let it out. In a moment, you’ll be ready for this.
The pendulum swings.
And you open your eyes.
Slowly, you turn to Dirk and gently detach him from your arm. “Hey lil’ man, look at me.”
Dirk looks up at you, his nose and cheeks puffy and red from crying. He doesn’t say anything as you slowly remove your shades and calmly look into his eyes.
“I never told you who I was, did I?” Gently, you rest a hand on his shoulder and place just a hint of influence on him.
Slowly, Dirk shakes his head.
“I’m Bro. I’m your older brother,” you tell him softly.
You reach into his fragile soul and place the suggestion deep into his mind, where he will never think to doubt it. Where it will live until this exact moment when he places it into himself in the future. “I know things look like they suck right now. And you know what? They do. This is one of the lowest fucking points in your life. But I’m gonna make sure that all of this turns out ok.”
“Bro?” he murmurs softly.
“That’s right,” you agree, ruffling his hair and giving him your best Strider smirk. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. But you’re gonna have to learn a thing or two about being a Strider.”
He watches as you gently wipe the tears off his cheeks.
“First, Striders don’t cry. We’re too cool for that shit,” you say. Then, you pull him into a hug. “And second, Striders stick together. It’s what we do. So you can count on me, lil’ man. Cause I’m not going anywhere.”
“Bro—” Dirk mumbles into your shirt, hugging you back tightly.
“Yeah,” you agree, suddenly feeling like all is right in the world. You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, or how you’re going to fix anything. But you know that you will. You will because you have to for Dirk. You have to so that Dave can grow up and meet John and live out the rest of his years happily with him until he’s old as fuck just like your mom wanted.
You’re going to do it all because you have to. Because that’s what Bro did.
And now, you’re him. From now until April 5th, when you will send Dirk off on an assignment to fight zombies at the Old Plaza Mall, and probably after that. Dirk Strider is the little kid falling asleep on your arm. He isn’t you anymore.
* * *
Thank you to everyone who has stuck around to this point! ESPECIALLY to those of you who have left comments and reviews! This chapter was written so quickly because I was really motivated by all of them last time! I know everyone says that, but seriously it’s true!
Congrats to those of you who guessed the big plot twist!!! If you go back to chapter 1, you’ll notice I’ve been hinting that Dirk is Bro this whole time. I’m so excited and happy that so many of you figured it out! My readers are the best readers. All the love! =)