She'd tried to ignore what she had found in her brothers drawer a few days ago, making up every possible excuse for how it was all simply a mistake. How it wasn't his. That it wasn't drugs. She stared at herself in the mirror and let out a sigh; first she would get through the party her parents had forced her to attend with them, and then she would talk to him. She put on her jewelry and stared at her reflection. She was going to talk to him, and he would have a explanation.
*
They arrived as one of the last guests, and after a few halfhearted welcomes, the party began. From across the room she could see her brother, looking just as borded as her. Instead of spending her precious evening her she would rather be at home reading a good book, but the longer she stared at him, the less she knew what he would rather want to do. They used to be close when they were younger and both still lived at home. Although that had been over a year ago, she would never be able to picture him as an addict. He wasn't like that. However, no one has ever known a perpetrator, abductor, or murderer, so her disbelief might not be entirely accurate. Only the thought of him putting her in this situation frustrated her. Why would he do this to them? Did he even care how it affected her? She crossed the room when she noticed her parents talking with some friends. How did they fail to realize what was happening with their own son?
- "We need to talk". She muttered to her brother as she walked past him towards the back of the house.
Without uttering so much as a word, he followed her. When they reached some he corridor, she turned around, facing him. Right away she noticed it. His body was standing in front of her, but his mind wasn't fullt there. The excuses she had made up for herself burst, and so did all of the pain and frustration that had piled up inside of her. She shouted at him, moved closer, but all he did was backed off. He didn't defend himself, didn't shout back. All she could think of was why. It was the hands on her shoulder, pulling her backwards, that stopped her. Why was he doing this?
YOU ARE READING
Burned Pieces
Teen Fiction[Her heart was broken, not like when it drops to the ground and shatters; it was being torn out. She crossed the motel room, avoiding the sound coming from her bussing phone, and headed towards the bathroom. She sank to the floor, tears streaming do...
