I flip on the living room switch, bathing the room in a golden glow from the side table lamp. Come to think of it, my brother didn’t respond to my text. He should be home right now though; his therapy appointment was earlier today. “You here?” Maybe he’s asleep already.
I knock on his door. “Hey, you awake?” I say in a soft whisper.
The door whips open, startling me. My brother’s hair is a dirty mess, and he’s wearing a white undershirt with sweat pants. His eyes are bloodshot and hazy, roaming my face. “Oh, look who decided to show up.”
My lungs tighten as I take in a whiff of liquor pouring off his breath. Shit. He’s loaded. I can’t remember the last time he’s been drunk. What happened in therapy today? “Robert,” I say gently. “I already told you I had to study, and I sent you a text when I was heading home. Did you eat?”
“I’m not fucking hungry.” He rolls his eyes and shoves past me to plop down on the couch.
A swell of anger fills my chest. I try hard to push it back, but these mood swings, the erratic drinking spells, they’re starting to wear on me. “What is going on? Why are you in such a bad mood? And why are you drinking? You know you’re not supposed to mix liquor with your anti-depressants.”
“Lay the fuck off me.” The words are slightly slurred. “I already got a case of the ass from the shrink today.”
“Why?”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.” He groans and stretches out, rubbing his stump. The flash of pain on his face is vivid, and I feel guilty.
“I’m just trying to help.” I know the hurt and frustration are in my voice, and I can’t stop them from leaking in.
He definitely hears it, and the barbed tone in his next words make me reel. “Well, you’re not. You’re a shitty substitute for our mom, so stop fucking trying to be.”
“You’re an asshole, Robert,” I bite out, then spin on my heels and slam my bedroom door closed behind me. My whole body is shaking with the pent-up emotion I’m feeling. All the deep-down hurt I always shove away at his selfishness comes roaring to the surface. I’m tired, and I’m tired of him always needing something from me.
I’m not trying to be Mom. I’m just trying to get by. But the pressure of taking care of someone who resents me for it is wearing so, so thin, and I don’t know how much longer I can do this. Like I don’t miss her too? Like I’m not trying to cope the only way I know how?
I fall on the bed and let the hot tears pour out. I don’t censor my feelings, just let them all batter through my head, a big, tangled mess. I’m so damn tired of feeling guilty that he can’t cope with her death, can’t cope with his injury. I can’t keep doing this. I’m exhausted to my bones. And the worst thing is, I know he won’t remember saying these things to me in the morning. He’s done this before, and it always is a blackout situation where he feels like shit and apologizes.
He forgets, but I don’t have that luxury. I have to live with it and decide what I’m going to do. Because it’s clear my brother needs more help than I can give him.
I fall asleep on top of my covers, my face covered in tracks of tears.
* * *
F riday morning , I barely make it to class on time. Robert doesn’t emerge from his bedroom, so I make my own breakfast, of which I only manage to choke down half, and leave the apartment without saying a word to him. I don’t know what to say anyway, and I’m afraid I’d tell him something I couldn’t take back because of still being so angry with him.
I know I look like shit, that my eyes are bleary and bloodshot and my face is puffy from crying. Thankfully, Sidney doesn’t push. She just gives me a hug, presses a kiss to my temple, and tells me she’s here to listen if I need anything.
At least the quiz goes well, though. All that studying has paid off. I feel much more confident in today’s results, sure I got a least a B, if not an A. Finally I
I knock on his door. “Hey, you awake?” I say in a soft whisper.
The door whips open, startling me. My brother’s hair is a dirty mess, and he’s wearing a white undershirt with sweat pants. His eyes are bloodshot and hazy, roaming my face. “Oh, look who decided to show up.”
My lungs tighten as I take in a whiff of liquor pouring off his breath. Shit. He’s loaded. I can’t remember the last time he’s been drunk. What happened in therapy today? “Robert,” I say gently. “I already told you I had to study, and I sent you a text when I was heading home. Did you eat?”
“I’m not fucking hungry.” He rolls his eyes and shoves past me to plop down on the couch.
A swell of anger fills my chest. I try hard to push it back, but these mood swings, the erratic drinking spells, they’re starting to wear on me. “What is going on? Why are you in such a bad mood? And why are you drinking? You know you’re not supposed to mix liquor with your anti-depressants.”
“Lay the fuck off me.” The words are slightly slurred. “I already got a case of the ass from the shrink today.”
“Why?”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.” He groans and stretches out, rubbing his stump. The flash of pain on his face is vivid, and I feel guilty.
“I’m just trying to help.” I know the hurt and frustration are in my voice, and I can’t stop them from leaking in.
He definitely hears it, and the barbed tone in his next words make me reel. “Well, you’re not. You’re a shitty substitute for our mom, so stop fucking trying to be.”
“You’re an asshole, Robert,” I bite out, then spin on my heels and slam my bedroom door closed behind me. My whole body is shaking with the pent-up emotion I’m feeling. All the deep-down hurt I always shove away at his selfishness comes roaring to the surface. I’m tired, and I’m tired of him always needing something from me.
I’m not trying to be Mom. I’m just trying to get by. But the pressure of taking care of someone who resents me for it is wearing so, so thin, and I don’t know how much longer I can do this. Like I don’t miss her too? Like I’m not trying to cope the only way I know how?
I fall on the bed and let the hot tears pour out. I don’t censor my feelings, just let them all batter through my head, a big, tangled mess. I’m so damn tired of feeling guilty that he can’t cope with her death, can’t cope with his injury. I can’t keep doing this. I’m exhausted to my bones. And the worst thing is, I know he won’t remember saying these things to me in the morning. He’s done this before, and it always is a blackout situation where he feels like shit and apologizes.
He forgets, but I don’t have that luxury. I have to live with it and decide what I’m going to do. Because it’s clear my brother needs more help than I can give him.
I fall asleep on top of my covers, my face covered in tracks of tears.
* * *
F riday morning , I barely make it to class on time. Robert doesn’t emerge from his bedroom, so I make my own breakfast, of which I only manage to choke down half, and leave the apartment without saying a word to him. I don’t know what to say anyway, and I’m afraid I’d tell him something I couldn’t take back because of still being so angry with him.
I know I look like shit, that my eyes are bleary and bloodshot and my face is puffy from crying. Thankfully, Sidney doesn’t push. She just gives me a hug, presses a kiss to my temple, and tells me she’s here to listen if I need anything.
At least the quiz goes well, though. All that studying has paid off. I feel much more confident in today’s results, sure I got a least a B, if not an A. Finally I
Similar Books
