You Are the Key

Chapter Ten:

My legs were numb, carrying me up the wooden steps. They creaked under my weight, as they had before. It was a much more devastating sound now. How sad a sound… so hollow and desperate for relief. My feet scuffed the plank floor; my fingertips trailed the blandly painted wall.

When I opened the bedroom door, I felt the disorder before I saw it.

Clothes were strewn around, white powder in the air. He was throwing it up in the air. His precious cocaine... jaw defined, set angrily. “Here! This what you’ve always wanted!” He yelled, fists clenched. I saw him sort through his back pack, looking for more bags of powdered happiness. “I’m quitting.” He announced with a clipped laugh. “Then I’ll stop being such a child, such a fucking disappointment.”

“Brandon, stop.” I said firmly. I’d never seen him so out of control, ever. He was ruining the perfection of the room. “Brandon, you need to stop.” I told him, but he turned, grabbing his can of Axe. It flew my way and bounced off the wall by my head. The empty, sad clang of metal against the floor echoed the room.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” He growled, prowling closer. “You’ve protected me long enough.”

“What else could I have done? Huh? Sit back and do nothing?” I asked, shocked at his low blow. Why was he attacking me? 

“You should’ve stayed out of my business.”

“Oh, okay. Sure.” I smile venomously. This is exactly what went down years ago. “Bye.” I gave him a mock wave and started to leave the room.

“You’re really going?” He asked, now sounding hurt.

“See? Bran, you’re just looking for a fight.” I explained to him. His face was guarded, arms wrapped around himself in attempts to comfort the ache deep within.

“You would’ve really gone…”

“I was giving you a taste of your own medicine, Bran.” I assured him, starting to panic. “Come on, you’re tired, let’s go to bed.” I said, stripping down to my underwear. His eyes shut tightly, and he rocked back and forth in his own embrace. I crawled across the bed, and pulled him into my arms. He shook, arms shifting around my waist.

Not once this whole trip had he cried. I only can recall a few times that I’d ever seen him cry... once when he scraped his knee, the other in Biology. Weeks before that incident we were learning about emotional responses, and animal communication. Did you know crying is a sort of body language? Cats mewl when they’re hurt, dogs whimper. Humans cry – horses will moan. It’s all the same expression. It’s a feeling of hopeless foreboding and immense pain.

For Brandon it was a desperate plea for help.

And I saw that, I understood it completely. Bran had never had a mother, no sisters, only a few brothers that he never saw… He only had himself until I was around.