Her Words, Not Mine

March 15, 2015

After a few more days of pouting, I decided finally that it was time. Time to confront him. Time to confront the one who I believe is partially to blame for the best friend. It's time to confront her older brother. Trace.

Trixie's parents died four days before she turned 16 in a car accident on their way home from getting her present. Half of her family was in jail, the other half was either in dead or in hiding. This included her three other older brothers. So she was left with Trace. Trace used to be cool. I had the biggest crush on him when we were kids. Then he turned 21 and started drinking. He stopped paying attention to Trixie completely. He left her feeling alone even when he was sitting right next to her. 

Trace was rarely ever around in the end. Everytime I tried to talk to him, he would just leave or ignore me. The one time I got him to stay was the last time. I understand that it was hard for him, but I didn't leave her side. I couldn't eat or sleep. I wouldn't change my clothes for days. And I'm four months younger than her.

I pulled into the two story house I spent a lot of my life in and began for the front door. The garage door is open, so he's home. The real question is, is he sober?

Like the idiot I am, I knocked on the front door twice and stood patiently waiting for an answer. A few minutes later, Trace answered, in a white t-shirt and his underwear. His hair was all over his face. He hadn't shaved in a few days. But the fact that I was standing near him and couldn't smell alcohol obviously meant that he was sober.

We just stood there for a few minutes, unsure of what to do or say. The he spoke up. 

"What do you want Birdie?" 

Without speaking, I pushed past him and walked inside.

 "Please come in."

 The house was much messier than before, but nothing had been moved. All the pictures were the same, all of their antiques. It's kind of nice to see it again. 

"I guess I have to ask again. What do you want Birdie?" 

I turned around and faced him.

 "I'm here to tell you that your sister....my sister...is dead...she's not coming back...and you don't even care." 

I was starting to get a little emotional. I can't though. I can't let him see me upset. 

"Trace, I am your family. I'm your sister too. But you haven't been there for me....and you weren't there for her...don't think she didn't tell me about your drunken rages. She told me about every single one. It's your fault Trace. You broke her, you stepped on her until she was in the ground...You made her feel like she wasn't good enough and that no one wanted her. She stopped smiling. Beckett and I always tried to cheer her up after those phone calls and dinners but nothing ever worked. Not even in the end. I lost her before I really lost her...because of you." 

Here come the tears. 

"And I get it Trace. You're gonna drink and enjoy yourself and live in this back house and live like crazy. But what about me? I don't wanna be concieted but what am I gonna do Trace? Where am I gonna go? Who's gonna love me now?" 

He stared at me with glassy eyes, his mouth shut. I had numerous tears sliding down my cheeks. 

"Fine. Don't mourn the one you broke or it'll break you right?" 

I walked through the front door and ran back out to my car. I wiped some tears and looked back at the house, as Trace closed the front door glancing at me, one last time.