Degraded

Chapter 17: part 2/2-Sam

Striding in the cemetery, I hold a watering can in one hand and hum the tune of a song. When I look up, I drop my water can in surprise.

Derek is standing right there holding my brother's journal. I stare at him in a loss for words. My blood boils in rage and I fight to keep composed.

"What are you doing with that?" I say, pointing to the journal with a shaky hand.

"I just-," he starts, but I have already lost control, cutting him off.

"What do you thing you're doing?! That is the one thing my brother left for me and you take it? I can't even look at you right now." I bark. I snatch the journal from his hand and sprint out of there.

Tears fall freely from my eyes as I realize why he got so close to me this whole time. All for a journal.

I wipe the tears furiously from my eyes. How could he do this? The one thing, the one thing my brother left for me and he thinks he can take it from me? Who does he think he is?

Calm down, Beatrice says and I realize she is right. Once I am out of there, I slow to a walk, panting like a dog.

I furiously shove the front door open, surprising my parents, and sprint upstairs to my brothers bedroom. I don't want to talk about any of this to them. I slam the door closed and slowly walk to his bed.

This place has been a safe house for me. I slowly sit on the bed, laying my head on his pillow, and inhale his scent. I don't know if I am imagining his smell or if it is really there.

Slowly, I start to calm down until I hear a ring come from the doorbell. If it is him, I hope he knows he is not making it any better. Just a lot worse.

I hear some shuffling downstairs, then footsteps. If my parents are letting him up here I am not going to be happy. They already saw that I was upset so I hope they got the point. I hear a knock on the door and cringe.

"Who is it?" I answer.

"It's us. Can we come in? We have to ask you something." I mentally sigh, only my parents. I am so glad it's not Derek.

"Yes."

"Just to give you a heads up, Derek is waiting downstairs. We wanted to make sure it was okay with you, and he did too, before (and if) he comes to talk to you."

Oh no. I don't want to talk to him but...I do. I slide my hand down my face in frustration.

"What should I do?" I say, desperate for an answer.

"I think you should talk to him and sort out whatever problems you guys have." My mom says, taking a step forward and opening her arms, offering an embrace.

"Ok." I hug her and slowly waddle down the stairs. It's better not to avoid problems, but take them head on, just like my brother said in his journal. I repeat that in my head to try and stay calm while I approach him.