Symptomatic

2

The rest of the week felt like hell. Nothing had really changed. Harry's lifestyle hadn't changed. The only roll his mother had played in his life for the past couple of years was the phone calls and 'goody baskets' and moral support. He hadn't seen her in months. He was still wondering if his father had been telling the truth.

As he was walking, trying to fall asleep at night, as he was recording and editing his videos, he had the same thought in his mind.

She's dead.

He couldn't prove it, but she was dead. He hadn't seen the body- unlike his family- but she was dead.

He hadn't said goodbye, but she was dead.

It almost didn't seem real. There was no proof, so it couldn't be real. But it was. That was the issue. It couldn't have happened, but it somehow, out of some strange, terrible twist of fate, did.

"I'm not trying to push you, Bogger, especially since you haven't even been to the funeral yet, but it's not healthy to keep everything you're feeling inside."

They were in the front room. Harry was flopped on the couch, staring at the ceiling and feeling his heart pound in his chest. Josh was sitting upright, turned towards him, trying to look him in the eyes. He looked back at one point and saw those same eyes- Josh's eyes. Dark, firm, yet gentle. Caring, yet strong. The eyes that had been through good and bad, that had toughened up and learned how to take it.

The eyes that Harry looked up to and depended on.

"I'm not in the mood." Harry grunted in response, closing his eyes. His heart wouldn't stop. It grew louder and louder until it was all he could hear, and it made him want to claw into his chest and rip it out. Force his heart to start working normally again. It made him feel nervous and dizzy and strange. It made him feel numb, as though he were floating.

"Stop it..." He whispered to his heart that night as he lay awake. His hands started to shake.

"Stop it..."

But it wouldn't stop. None of it would stop. It would keep going until he fell into a fitful sleep, and start up again when he opened his eyes the next morning.

***

He almost couldn't believe it, a week later, when the taxi driver dropped him off at his parents house in Guernsey and he walked up the driveway. When he knocked on the door, he almost expected his mother to answer, the smell of food wafting through the air from behind her and an enormous smile on her face. She would have hugged him and fed him more than he would probably be able to stomach.

But when the door opened, she wasn't there. No food. No yellow light seeping from the lamps that decorated the living room. No warmth. It was was cold and dark. And the person standing before him was his brother.

"Josh..." Harry said, awkwardly. It had been almost two years since he'd last seen his brother in person. Josh was taller than him now, and he was more muscular.

"Come in, Harry." Was all Josh said in response, a dark tone to his voice, stepping out of the way as the older boy slipped his shoes off and entered the dismal looking hallway. There were boxes everywhere, and Harry couldn't see a trace of his mother's possessions.

"What happened here?" He hated to admit that he felt shy around around his brother. They had never been the closest, especially since Harry was so much older.

"Dad's been trying to forget about her. I don't think it's working, but he's trying."

"We haven't even had the funeral yet. Why would he want to forget about her?"