As the days passed, things started to return to normal again. They even got better than before. Her brother seemed to be out less frequently, which satisfied her parents and, for some reason, concerned her. His improvement had gone too fast. And the nights he was out almost calmed her, as if those were the nights he was getting better or maybe proof that he didn't lie. Those nights, he was himself. At first, she had thought that he had everything under control; that he was in charge of the drugs; that he was the one ruling over them. But the more she discovered, the more she realized that he was the one becoming a slave under the drugs. He lived by their demands. They decided what happened to him, not the other way around. Drugs had always been so far away from their lives; she despised them. It was a problem that was never supposed to happen to them or anyone they knew. Telling somebody could get him in trouble, so they protected him by not asking and not caring. But by believing they protected him, they actually let him slip away. He was good at keeping a facade outwards. Sometimes at dinners, when his usual funny side slipped out and he made them laugh, she would look at him, seeing the brother she knew, thinking; "Now he sees himself in a better life; now he is happy and will be able to stop." But he never did. And maybe he never could. He wouldn't stop being controlled just because he wanted to. Either he would need to fight it or be released from its control, and the drugs had seemingly no interest in releasing him from their all-growing power.
It was only a few nights after she had meet the mysterious guy that she realized how bad things had really become for him. It wasn't a secret that drugs were bad, but she had never seen what they really did to people, how bad they were. It was one of those nights when her brother was out with his friends, and after lying awake late into the night, she sat up and looked at the clock. It had passed midnight, and she let out a sigh after yet another sleepless night. Too many things were happening, and her relaxing trip home had turned into one more stressful than she ever could have imagined. Slowly, she moved her legs out of bed and stood up. Without waking her parents, she walked towards the kitchen. The light shined through the windows, guiding her to the sink, where she filled a glass and took a sip. Then the thought caught up with her and she poured out the water, more out of anger than anything else. She hated him for doing this to her and her parents for not doing anything at all. She squeezed the glass. She wasn't sure who she hated the most: him or her parents. Her firm grip tightened even further. What should she do? The glass couldn't take it anymore and shattered in her hand before all the pieces exploded across the counter top. She let go of it but was hypnotized when she saw her own hand hanging in the sink as blood was running down, dripping onto the broken pieces of glas. It should have scared or disgusted her, but it didn't. She just couldn't care less. She returned to reality only when she heard a sound coming from upstairs. She rushed to clean up the shards and wipe away the blood stain on the countertop. There was more movement from the room above her as she quickly went into the bathroom to clean her hand and put on a bandage. After making sure everything was back to normal, she walked, as calmly as possible, up the stairs towards her room and closed the door and leaned herself against it. She had no energy to stand and sank to the floor. The thing with her brother had gotten her out of balance, and she needed to come back to her normal self and stop obsessing over him. A tear streamed down her cheek. She didn't want to lose him, but she couldn't afford to lose herself either.
The next morning, while her family was having breakfast, she planned to sneak out without being noticed. She pulled the arms of her hoodie further down to cover up the bandage wrapped around her wrist and hand. She was only a few steps away from the door. For a second, she thought she would make it without being noticed. But they must have heard her. Her mother slept in the hall.
- "Val, will you join us for breakfast?".
She stood in the doorway. As quickly as she could she turned around towards her mother and put her arms behind her back.
- "No, I am meeting some friends for breakfast".
Which was obviously a lie. She could see the suspicious look on her mother's face as she tried to understand why she had put her arms behind herself, standing in such an unusual way. At last, she gave up and nodded before returning to the others to finish breakfast. It was like her parents had given up on them completely. They had always given them a lot of freedom, but maybe that was because they didn't know how to restrict them. Before anyone else emerged from the breakfast table, she hurried out and started walking down the street to the city. It was a longer walk, but she wasn't in a hurry. The sun was out, which made it near impossible to continue for a long time wearing such a warm hoodie. She yanked it off, glad she had decided to wear a crop underneath. She used the hoodie to wrap it around her wrist, the one that had been hurt the most, to make it look like she was just carrying it. It was still calm on the streets, but a few more cars were out than they had been the past few days. She could tell there were more tourists walking around than anyone who actually lived there. It was funny how some people could be so fascinated with where they lived that they spent entire days wandering up and down the streets looking at their homes. She continued through to the city, where she went into a coffee shop and bought breakfast. After getting the drink and the packed sandwich, she continued to a less crowded area in case anyone who knew her also had decided to go out that morning. She sat in the corner, having her breakfast while watching the endless crowds of tourists passing by. They took photos of themselves in front of buildings, stores, and decorations, which she assumed would be send back to their families and friends. Late that night, she came back home when she knew her parents were asleep and snuck into her room, quietly closed the door behind her. It hit her how much she was acting like her brother now that she also had something to hide.
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...
