The dull thumping sound of walking down the carpeted stairs is louder than usual, I notice, probably because the TV isn't on. Peeking into the den, I see my brother sitting on the floor with his friend from college, Jonathan, playing a board game together because our parents had gone out for the night. I go to the kitchen, retrieve a glass from the cupboard, and fill it with water.

I take note that my hands are shaking, as they usually do after one of my not-boyfriend's manic breakdowns. It's the same monotonous routine every few weeks: everything is fine, then some horrendous (and potentially hyperbolic) event happens that finally "tips" him over the edge, and I have to scramble to put the pieces of his shambled existence back together. "I have more than earned that girlfriend title." I think to myself as I finish off the glass of water and set it beside the sink. Taking a deep breath, I head back up to my room to check my phone. I've already spent three hours talking him off the ledge tonight but one can never be too sure.

"Mal, wanna play scrabble?" my brother Mitchel asks as I reach the stairs.

"No thanks. Maybe next time." I reply, smiling politely, "Hey, Jonathan."

"Everything good?" Mitch pries. He knows about Nick's episodes and has questioned me about them on more than one occasion.

"Yeah. Nick's having a hard night." I reassure him, "Just had to come down and take a breather."

"What, did his fucking goldfish die?" Jonathan scoffs. Mitch snaps his head to look at him and, despite the insensitivity of the comment, I stifle a laugh. No doubt Mitchel has complained about the toxicity of mine and Nick's complicated relationship to his friends, since I'm always bitching about it to our mother and Nick's late-night suicide calls have awakened him more than once. I just didn't know he and Jonathan were that close. "My apologies." He says in a partially sarcastic tone.

"Gerbil, actually. "I reply jokingly. Jonathan puts his head in his hands as a show of faux grief and I thump my way back up the stairs.

The first thing I do upon entering my room is check my phone. No calls, no texts, no dm's. I check Nick's story on Instagram, then Snapchat, and once I determine that a picture of his Call of Duty K/D is not a cry for help, I put my phone down and flop on my bed.

I often surprise myself with how much I'll put up with for this boy. I know the feelings are one-sided but somehow that won't stop me from considering him my best friend. Nick is my comfort person, not so much because I can confide in him, but because he's familiar to me. I suppose knowing someone for so many years makes it much simpler to rely on them for solace. Besides, my ability to emotionally support him assures me that he relies upon me as well, even if it isn't exactly the same. Having power over him has also influenced me to stay in his life too. Something about influence is it gifts so much confidence to the wielder.

The sound of Mitch shouting about the correct pronunciation of the word "caramel" echos from downstairs and I wonder why I put myself in this predicament anyway. There are many honorable choices I could make for a partner. Clay, my friend from highschool. Mark from PAX. My brother's friend Toby. Hell, even Jonathan. Mitch only met him a month or so ago but I'm sure anyone would be a more desirable boyfriend than Nick, with his bipolar mood swings and "one night stands" that turned into bi-weekly booty calls at some point.

I roll onto my side and subconsciously contemplate my bedside drawer. I always need to relieve stress after these little excursions with Nick, whether the excursion is tangled bedsheets or a difficult phone call.
"Yeah," I sigh, opening the drawer and pulling out my vibrator, "I deserve this."

On my way to close and lock my bedroom door I faintly hear Jonathan downstairs, mid-conversation with Mitch about some video game. In my mind's eye I can see him sitting cross-legged on the opposite side of the coffee table, gesturing quite seriously about whatever the hell he's talking about.

As I lay down on my back and start the gentle humming, I try to picture Nick above me, with his short brown hair and scruffy beard. As I arch my back, however, my imagination takes a mind of its own and the person with their hands on my thighs and lips against my neck has longer, darker hair. Curly brown with dark brown eyes, a less stocky build, but muscular nonetheless.

Immediately I'm aware of a stronger, more surging feeling as this stranger grabs my waist and pushes closer to me as he looks me in the eyes. As my consciousness looks back my body convulses at the surreal glare of arousal in Jonathan's eyes and in a fury of blacks and purples, the knot in my stomach releases its tension.

I open my eyes and adjust to the fuzzy and relaxed feeling as I put the machine back in its place of dwelling and clean up the mess it left behind. I hear the garage door opening downstairs, announcing the return of my parents, and as I head down to greet them I try my best to ignore the fact that I just got off to the thought of my brother's friend. Granted, I should feel weirder about this than I do, but my brother barely knows the man anyway. They became acquainted in Mitch's biology class at the local community college after Christmas. From what I gathered by snooping into my brother's personal life, they only hung out with their fellow college buddies and once went bowling together. A close relationship would be irrational because Mitch was going to Ohio State University for a Veterinary degree after this summer, and he would see very little of his New York friends. No point in developing friendships for eleven weeks.

Knowing I won't be seeing much of this tall, slender stranger after the allotted summer vacation does little to ease my nerves as I pass by him and my brother in the kitchen. I open the door leading to the garage and wave to my parents from the doorway and feel a presence behind me as Jonathan waves as well. The fact my brain acknowledged the distant body heat of another person proves I have not been decently laid in a long time.

"How was dinner?" I ask my mother as they step out of the car.

"Lovely. We went to Lombardi's for the buffet!" She replies enthusiastically as her and my father step into the kitchen.

"If I knew you were having pizza I would have gone too." Mitch comments from the den as he scoops scrabble pieces into the box. The family and Jonathan continue to bicker over pizza for a few minutes as I slide into the den to pick up after Mitch, correcting his negligence by putting the lettered blocks from the box into the appropriate bag, and then the bag into the box.

My ears selectively tune in at Jonathan's voice, "Well, its time for me to head out. Thanks for having me over, Mitchel." My family graciously wish him safe travels.

"See you, Mal."

"Bye, Jonathan." I reply, entering the kitchen and waving tentatively at his personal salutation. Cumming to the thought of a man one time has the serious side-effect of a shallow crush, I've learned from past experiences. It was understandable how my brain would choose him, though. The man is walking sex, if your type is tall skinny guys.

The events of the household unfold as usual. Dad settles down in the recliner with my brother on the couch, watching ESPN as Mom performs some mind-numbing activity on her phone. Our family works as a well oiled machine and there is nothing but love between us. Admittedly, my brother and I are closer with Mom than we are Dad, but that only because of his regular absence, what with work and living his own life. All fathers are absent fathers, if we're being honest with ourselves.

The bond between Mitch and I, however, is unmatched. We're two years apart in age, him being the eldest, but there has never been a better sibling duo. After a rough patch in early high school, Mitch decided to start investing in his and my relationship and has been dragging me along to school events and friendly gatherings ever since. He truly cares about me, and I would do anything for him.

"Your father is heading out of town for a business conference tomorrow and I'm working graveyard this week. Did you have anyone you wanted to spend the night?" Mom asks my brother as I walk back up the stairs to my bedroom.

As I reach my bedroom door I hear his reply, "Yeah. Jonathan said he needs to get out of his apartment this week, anyway."