Who We Leave Behind

The rest of the spring shows carried the momentum of the first—we were tight from start to finish, with minimal drama in the band. Scott, Kenny, and I finally managed not to implode offstage.

Adding Maggie and Skye to the guest list had something to do with that. Last year’s local run felt like a pressure cooker: raw, unfiltered emotion bleeding into every performance, with Courtney’s own spiral accelerating our unraveling. This year, Skye’s chaos and Maggie’s blunt honesty kept us sharper—less self-destructive, more self-aware.

It made sense their parents waited until they were sixteen, going on seventeen, to let them be part of this world. Still, there was one consequence I hadn’t anticipated: the renewed tension between Courtney and Skye. It pulled Courtney back into our bedroom more than I was ready for.

She still hadn’t participated since October. Meanwhile, Skye and I were slowly pushing the boundaries of our bloodplay. She was aroused by the idea, but afraid to fully step into it. We hadn’t taken it as far as I dreamed, but Skye was starting to reach new, lucid places.

Before the tour kicked off, Courtney asked me to come by—to catch up. It made sense. We'd been through too much not to remain in each other’s lives. Still, the distance between us had grown fast in two years, and I wasn’t sure what kind of conversation she had in mind.

I showed up at the Parris house with a pit in my stomach. She was the only one home, which didn’t help.

I knocked, unsure why I felt like I needed permission just to stand on the porch.

She opened the door and gave me a look.

“Did you see a ghost? You look awful.”

“No… I just let my imagination run wild, I guess.”

I stepped inside. It smelled the same. Looked the same. I felt completely out of place.

We sat at the kitchen table.

“So,” I said, trying to steady my voice. “What did you want to talk about?”

She didn’t answer right away.

“Probably everything,” she said finally, her tone unreadable.

I exhaled. “Where do we start?”

“Are you okay if I’m blunt?”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.” I offered a dry smile. If I wanted to avoid this, I wouldn’t have come.

She didn’t soften.

“Wes, what happened to you? We used to trust each other with everything. Now I feel like I don’t know you. Like you’re always lying. I swear, it’s like you left for Tulsa two years ago and never really came back.”

Her voice wasn’t angry—it was steady. Controlled.

“It feels like this version of you took everything from me. My brother fell apart. My best friend drifted off to Kenny. And you… you ran off with Skye.”

She said her name like it tasted bitter.

“How do you think it felt, watching my entire world come apart? And knowing I couldn’t stop any of it?”

She didn’t cry. She didn’t even flinch. But the pain in her words hit harder because of it.

I looked down at the table.

“Maybe you’re right,” I said quietly. “I changed. I just don’t remember who I used to be. It’s funny how that works.”

I paused, unsure what I was trying to say.

“You’ve changed too. We all have. But I made the choices that might lead to the future we used to dream about.” I looked up at her. “I’m sorry if this version of me isn’t the one you pictured standing beside you.”

Her jaw clenched. “Why do you do that?” Her voice was tight. “This is the worst part of you. You used to be blunt, but now you're just mean. You twist the knife every time someone tries to reach you.”

I didn’t answer right away. Maybe she was right.

My voice was quiet when I spoke. “I don’t know, Courtney. Have you ever thought about letting go?”

I leaned back, trying not to sound bitter—but it leaked through anyway.

“Every time we have these talks, it ends the same way: you open up, you get hurt, you watch me fuck Skye, and somewhere in the middle of it all, you're pretending to be her.”

She flinched. I kept going.

“Then you sulk. You blame me. But have you ever once tried being happy?”

Finally, her expression tightened into something closer to anger.

“Wes, I just want to be a part of your life. That’s always been what made me happy. No one’s loved you longer than I have… I’ve always wanted the best for you. Why can’t you see that?”

I didn’t know how to answer. She was right. When we were kids, Courtney was my anchor. Caleb and I had each other, but we were trapped in the same storm. She was the home I needed.

“I’ve always known that,” I said. “We’ve been through everything together. I wanted the future to work for all of us.”

“Then why can’t you just say the right things for once?”

“Because I know that part of the dream is dead.” My voice was quiet, heavy with regret. “There’s no version of the future where we’re all happy—not anymore.”

“It’s simple, Wes. You’re already on your way… EoT has it figured out now… and maybe we’re figuring this out too.”

“You’re so good at reading me,” I said. “But you’re blind to everyone else.”

I let the pause stretch.

“EoT is fine—for now. But it’s all for show. The joy, the trust—it’s gone. We’re playing pretend.”

And then I said the quiet part out loud.

“The only reason I’m still in the band is because I’m Scott and Kenny’s last chance to make the dream work. They’re tired of me too, Courtney. You’re not alone in that.”

I looked away.

“After Kenny tried to kill me, they finally had the shot to do it without me—and they blew it. And now they’ve come back. Because they need me.”

My demeanor changed. I was intense.

“Do you think that any of us want this? None of us are having fun—we’re just doing the next right thing in hopes we’ll never have to come back to this fucking empty life.”

I finally made her cry. I was despicable.

“Is that what you see all of our memories as? Empty?”

I went too far.

“I’m sorry—that’s not what I meant,” I said, trying to undo the damage.

Life doesn’t work like that.

“Wes…” her voice was weak. “Why?”

She wasn’t looking for an answer.

“Courtney, you were always supposed to be a part of my future—I don’t want to end on this note… we’ll talk again—in September,” I said, trying to cling to whatever was left.

“That’s a promise… I just hope you’re not lying again.”

The line landed harder than anything she’d said all night.

I left. I knew I shouldn’t go straight to Skye.

I went straight to Skye.