Cold eggrolls

[moonshadows]

Cold eggrolls – score! Illidan pulled the waxed paper bag out of the fridge, then hesitated. He still had hot dogs; he could eat those for dinner and bring the eggrolls for lunch. He could actually have a lunch without mooching off of Tessa. But then her mom would be insulted if he didn’t eat her food. If she made extra in the first place. Gnawed at by doubt, he found his lunchbag and tucked the eggrolls into it, along with a can of whatever six-pack of soda was in the door, then stuffed it onto the bottom shelf. He would have hot dogs again tonight, and deal with lunch tomorrow. As he fumbled the blisteringly hot things into rolls he hoped weren’t moldy, Illidan wished he had some of that Dijon mustard to spice them up. A swig of Gatorade straight from the bottle washed them down; Malfurion refused to touch the stuff, so he was the only one who drank it.

Normally, this would be when Illidan made a token effort at doing his homework, but tonight he had something else on his mind. A new cassette tape in the radio, fast-forward a few seconds, and a call to the radio station, and then all he had to do was wait with his finger on the ‘record’ button until his request played.

Walkin’ on, walkin’ on, broken gla-ass…

“How did I miss this?” he muttered to himself as the song played. No wonder Tessa liked it; half the lyrics sounded like the artist had plucked thoughts and feelings straight from his mind.

Play, stop, rewind, play. Illidan was too caught up in wallowing in the music to pay attention to footsteps on the stairs until Malfurion demanded to know what crap he was listening to.

“What do you care?” Illidan snapped, hitting ‘stop’ and sitting up from where he’d been sprawled on his bed.

“Because it’s my room, too,” the other boy snapped back.

“Fine.” The tape was rewound, ejected, and fumbled into a Walkman. “I’m going downstairs to use the treadmill. You won’t have to listen to my crappy music.”

“I went for a hike in the woods.”

“Well, isn’t that good for you?” Illidan glared, hoping his brother was looking. “Some of us can’t do that anymore, and thank you so much for rubbing that in my face, jerk!”

He stomped out of the room and slammed the door before Malfurion could say anything, taking the stairs in a familiar rush and swinging around to do the same for the basement stairs. Walkman wedged into the cup holder, he started up the treadmill and set it for a brisk pace. The parallel between lyrics and conflict with his twin was not lost on him, and helpless rage made him nudge the speed up more. He’d run until he was tired, take a shower, and hopefully fall asleep before either of them could start a fight.

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Malfurion punched his pillow, wishing Illidan hadn’t gone down to the basement. Now he couldn’t go use the punching bag without looking like an even bigger jerk; even over the treadmill and the music, Illidan was sure to hear him. Maybe he could sneak down while Illidan took a shower; his brother would be asleep by the time he was done. The usual surge of rage, grief, and denial broke over him. Seeing his twin broken and bleeding made him want to rage at the company who’d made that stupid chemical, and everyone who had ever been involved in developing, making, transporting, or using it. The doctors had been very clear: nothing would ever bring back his eyesight, and without that, it was unlikely that his brother would ever return to the confident youth he had been. He didn’t want to say things that hurt Illidan, but he just couldn’t seem to keep his big mouth shut. That, almost more than anything, is what drove Malfurion into the woods for hours at a time.

He thought longingly about the bottle of apple juice fermenting under his bed. It wasn’t ready, not really, and wouldn’t be for another week. Drinking was the coward’s solution and he knew it, but it was hard to resist the pleasant haze being drunk brought.. Equally longingly, he thought about calling Tyrande and pouring his heart out to her – but fear stopped him. She gave Illidan rides home from school; what if he was secretly badmouthing him and she believed it? What if they were making out in the car somewhere every day?

Screw it. The alcohol was done enough to do its job, and he’d neatly worked himself into a familiar unhappy place between anger and pain. He fumbled the airlock off the glass bottle and chugged the fizzy liquid, stopping several times to burp, before re-corking what was left and shoving it back out of sight. Things got pleasantly dizzy soon enough, and he lay down to better enjoy the swaying. Thoughts of his brother making out with their childhood friend didn’t seem so bad now; in fact, it was almost like watching himself…if he imagined Illidan as he used to be. The thought that his brother could walk in at any moment didn’t bother him; nothing did, really, but as long as he made no sound, Illidan would never know what his brother was doing.

With a soft giggle, Malfurion reached for a Kleenex.

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Two flights of stairs practically floated by after the nice, hard run. Illidan paused by the door to their bedroom, listening. Rubbing sounds and the occasional giggle. Great. Well, at least Malfurion wasn’t likely to say anything. Boldly, Illidan marched into the room and stashed his Walkman in his backpack before shedding his shoes and marching back out. A towel pulled at random from the linen closet was all he needed before locking the bathroom door behind him. After a moment’s consideration, he unlocked it again. If that stupid under-the-bed booze decided to make a second appearance, he’d rather Malfurion not be locked out again. Once was more than enough. Clothes went into the hamper; the cloth he used for a blindfold went onto the top shelf of the rack above the toilet, where his brush and comb were. A quick brush-through while the water heated, and then it was the land of hot massages and suds for him.

As he always did, Illidan gently faced the showerhead and let the water wash the damaged skin around his eyes. It turned his stomach, feeling the pits and ridges, much less the mess that was left of his eyelids. That was the main reason he wore the blindfold; he’d rather be the weird emo kid with a blindfold than the ungodly ugly freak. It was also a good chunk of why he drove away any girl who’d known him before the accident; better to get it out of the way before he got his hopes up and then had them dashed the instant he took the damn thing off.

He wondered what Tessa’s reaction would be.

When the water started getting chilly he turned it off, rubbing himself dry and wrapping the towel around his waist before attacking his hair with the comb. Once it was relatively tangle-free he wrapped the cloth around his head and tied it before cracking the door open. Illidan took a breath to brace himself, then strode into their bedroom as if nothing had been going on. No sound from Malfurion’s bed except light snoring; good. The towel got draped on the back of his chair and he grabbed a pair of pajama bottoms out of the drawer. A quick check to make sure his alarm was set, and he rolled over and tried to ignore the scents of booze and sweat coming from the other side of the room.

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“Hey, you!” Tessa nudged his shoulder as soon as he sat down. “I hope you’re hungry; tuna salad again today.”

Silently, Illidan cursed. Tuna salad sounded much better than two cold eggrolls. He struggled to find something to say, but hesitated too long and a small hand crept over his where it was clutching the top of the insulated bag containing his dubious prize.

“You actually have a lunch?” The Thai girl sounded surprised and a little hurt.

“If you can call it that,” he replied bitterly, angry at himself. “Snitched a couple of eggrolls left over from the chinese take-out dad brought home.”

The hand scrabbled, trying to get into the lunchbag. “Trade?”

Illidan was startled by how hopeful the girl sounded. “Really?”

“Please?”

This, he could deal with. There was no shame in the ancient and noble tradition of lunch trading. “Okay.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes, each relishing the other’s lunch.

“That was good, thank you,” Tessa said, nudging his shoulder with her head.

“This was good, too,” he replied, sliding the now-empty sandwich container back to her. “Hey, why do you keep hitting my arm like that?”

Shouldernudge. “Like this?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m smiling when I do it, but you can’t see that, so I guess it’s a kind of physical smile. Just for you.”

Illidan’s stomach fluttered. She dimples when she smiles. “But it only works because you’re so tiny. Compared to me,” he added hastily. “How am I supposed to smile back?”

“You could kiss me,” she suggested impishly, then giggled and nudged his shoulder again. “But you don’t have to smile. I know emo kids aren’t supposed to be happy.”

But what if I want to be? At a loss for words, he felt around for her hand and squeezed it gently.