Dynasty | h.s

Twenty Six

Is this a dream?

Should I pinch myself?

Am I breathing?

There's no way this is real.

It's my turn to sit in silence, leaving the stranger who is anything but a stranger waiting for me to speak up. Their voice had been enough to send my heart hammering in my chest and it was enough to leave tears stinging in my eyes as emotions overwhelm me.

It's been far too long since the last time I heard this voice and deep within me, I refuse to believe that this is really happening right now. This has to be a fever dream. It's the only explanation I can come to accept.

Neither of us says anything else for far too long. My fingers are curled around my phone tightly and my other hand squeezes the flesh of my thigh for any sense of comfort. Natalia looks at me with furrowed brows, head tilted in confusion.

"Who is it?" She whispers, barely audible. She didn't want her voice to be picked up by the phone.

I tear my hand away from my thigh so I can give her a "one-second" finger. I then push myself off of the chair and I walk away from Natalia, wanting a sense of privacy.

"Lucas?" I croak out with a shaky voice. Even if it has been years since I last spoke to him, I could never forget that voice. He and I are blood. We are family. We were once each other's person. You don't just forget the small details about someone that important to you overnight.

"Ezra," he repeats after a much shorter silence. "Hi."

Like me, he appears to be at a loss for words. What on earth do you say to the person you haven't spoken to in years? Eight years to be more specific.

It has been eight years without a single word exchange in person, over the phone, or hell, even through text. Lucas had left home at seventeen to never be heard from again. Sure, I could understand why he would want to distance himself from our father. But I can't comprehend completely cutting ties with your family. Especially with your sibling who had always been there, who had been the only good left.

It had hurt a lot to know how disposable I was to my own brother. He was someone that I always looked up to growing up. I can recall being only four years old with wide, curious eyes, watching my six year old brother ride his bicycle with no training wheels for the first time and hoping to be as cool as he was one day. That admiration only continued to flourish. He was my best friend.

Our bond was one that was unbreakable, or so I thought. All my friends would complain about how their older brothers were the biggest pains, but I never understood. Sure, he and I would argue here and there, but it was always about petty things. We never went out of our way to make the other person's life a living hell. We were already living the same life together with two strict parents who pushed so much on us and we never wanted to do that to each other.

But Lucas had gone and proved to me just how easy it can be to shut the door on someone you cared about. He left without even a goodbye. Without an explanation. He left me with so many unwelcomed thoughts. He left me wondering if I hadn't been a good enough sister. I was left to take the blame for his disappearance because I wasn't strong enough for the both of us anymore.

Hearing his voice for the first time in nearly a decade leaves me with so many unresolved feelings. I feel sad. I feel angry. I feel confused. I feel relieved.  I feel everything but happiness, however. There is nothing joyous about this.

"Well nice to know you're still alive," I say quite harshly as my feet carry me towards the garden. "What the fuck, Lucas?"

"I know, I know," he rushes out apologetically.