The sun was setting as Taylor and I strolled along the warf; he'd been dying to see the old sailing ships all day, but it wasn't until now that we'd made it to this part of town. As we looked out over the water, I couldn't forget what the lady had said to me. My fingers traced the outline of the small bottle, safely tucked away in my jeans pocket. I looked at Taylor; he seemed so genuinely happy, talking about how he would love to bring Nat here. I felt a twinge of jealousy; my brother was still happily married, and here I was, a 26-year-old divorcee. But I was happy for him. He deserved to be happy.

I sighed heavily, and withdrew the potion. I held it up to the light, squinting at the way its color seemed to shift and swirl. Everything seemed so quiet suddenly, as if the world was holding its breath, waiting to see what I would do. This felt like one of those life-altering moments, the ones you either thank the heavens for, or long with everything you have to undo. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tay watching me carefully. I smirked at him, before pulling out the cork and downing the bottle.

There was about a shot's worth of liquid, and I swallowed it easily; it felt warm going down my throat, tasting sweet and spicy at the same time. I licked my lips and stared at the empty bottle, strangely wishing for another taste. I waited for something, anything, but with a crashing realization, I recognized that it'd just been a tourist gift. Who was I to think my life could change so easily? I looked up at Tay sheepishly, who smiled, knowing sympathy in his eyes. He'd almost expected something to happen, too, it seemed.

I looked at my brother for a moment, squinting my eyes slightly. I couldn't help notice the way the setting sun made his eyes sparkle like gemstones, or set the golden highlights in his hair ablaze. It was no wonder all the girls wanted him; he was perfect. He licked his lips slowly; those beautiful lips, that seemed to always be pouting just slightly, even when smiling. I couldn't look away from them, even after I realized I was staring. I watched those lips as the smile fell, and was slowly replaced by an uneasy frown.

"You okay buddy? I hope that stuff didn't make you sick; god knows how long it was sitting on that shelf." I shook my head, finally breaking the hold his mouth had on me. But when I looked into his eyes again, so full of concern, I was stuck yet again. Tay took a step closer, placing a hand on my shoulder; it was warm and soothing, and I felt myself lean into his touch. Realization began to creep in, and it was enough to jar me from my thoughts.

"I need to go." Without any explanation I turned around and walked away, shoving my hands in my pockets. I heard my brother calling after me, but I ignored it. It wasn't until I heard his voice break with worry that I stopped.

"Zac, talk to me! What is it?" His hand was on my shoulder again, spinning me around to face him. This was bad. I opened my mouth to speak, but when he bit his lower lip, I had to stifle a whimper. This was beyond bad. I felt tears welling in my eyes, and Tay wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a tight embrace. He rubbed my back gently, whispering soothing words in my ear. This was torture.

Hesitantly, I folded my arms around my brother's waist. I wept into his shoulder, waves of emotion crashing violently against my tired heart. As the tears subsided, I leaned my head against his, unable to stop myself from burying my face in his neck. I felt his muscles tense, his hands stopping for a moment. Slowly, he pulled back to look at me, his eyes filled with confusion. I tried to hide my shame, but my body gave me away as he held me close. My eyes stung as Tay took a sudden step back, releasing me completely.

"Zac," he said softly, but there was a warning edge to his tone. I rubbed my eyes roughly, trying to man up, but I couldn't seem to stop the flowing streams coating my burning cheeks.

"Tell me... you don't... it's just... you're upset. You're upset over Kate, and... and maybe you're upset that I've been spending so much time with Nat... and... Zac... tell me you're not..." I hung my head, not bothering to deny it. What point was there? He'd seen how my body reacted to his, seen the emotion in my eyes. What point was there to speak at all, when I knew there were no words to make this right? I could hear the shuddering gasp, and it cut through me like a razor-sharp blade.

The lady's words echoed in my head, suddenly making sense. I'd known all along, deep down, that my affection for my brother went beyond friendship, beyond admiration, beyond the idolatry not uncommon between siblings. No younger brother watched his older brother the way I watched Tay, observing his every move. No one analyzed every word, every gesture, every subtle mannerism, the way I did. No one cared so completely, so hopelessly, so desperately. I'd always known, but I'd also known how unspeakably wrong such feelings were, and so I'd buried them deep in the recesses of my subconscious. Until today.

And now that they'd been violently wrenched to the surface, I knew there would be no suppressing them again. Now that I had acknowledged them, I would have to live with them, and all the consequences they carried. I would have to bear this burden for the rest of my miserable life. And miserable it would surely be. For not only had I been forced to face these inner demons; no, I had set them on display to the one person who would be tortured by them the most, other than myself. The shame of having my soul laid to bear, combined with the guilt of tainting his perfection; I surely deserved to suffer for such ungodly crimes.

And as predicted, I would have to bear this burden alone. I refused to face my brother; how could I, knowing what I knew, and knowing he knew as well? For a single moment, his silence gave me hope, hope I should never have allowed myself. Foolishly, I let myself think, for just a second, that he would somehow understand, possibly even feel the same. I lifted my gaze slowly, taking in his feet, nervously inching backwards; his hands, balled up in white-knuckled fists at his sides; his chest, rapidly heaving with labored breaths.

And then his eyes. His perfect eyes, that had been my only solace in my darkest days. Those eyes, that would continue to haunt me until my death. Those eyes, which held power over me like nothing else. I looked into his eyes, and felt myself fill to the brim with a single emotion. Not joy. Not love. Not relief. Total, complete, utter despair.

His eyes spoke of unimaginable horror, shame, disgust. It was like he was seeing a different person, seeing the true face of the brother he thought he'd known. And that face was a mangled, distorted wreck, physically painful to look upon. A single tear fell from those perfect blue eyes, and as it rolled over his rosy cheek, down to his pouting lips, and fell to the ground, I felt as if my entire being was falling with it, before flying apart into a million irretrievable pieces.

That was the last I ever saw of those eyes. I turned around and walked away. I walked away from everything; my band, my family, my life. For with that single tear, I knew that nothing could ever repair the damage that had been done. I carried this curse, which I had brought on myself, and I had to carry it alone. I ceased to be the person I had been; Zachary Walker Hanson died that day, surrounded by beauty, but destroyed by his own ugliness.

To this day, I return to the Derry Warf in Salem, every year. It's been so long, and yet, it feels like not a day has gone by, since I was just a boy, spending a care-free day with the one person who made life worthwhile. And even though I know it's foolish beyond all reason, I always hold my breath as I search the crowd, searching for those blue eyes. But they never appear; and they never will. At these times, the last warning of a wise woman drifts through my mind, like smoke on an autumn breeze; the final word, the answer that I should have known all along.

Love can heal all wounds, save for one. Itself.