When I Was Whole (And When I Fell Apart)

13 - Treize

The morning sun seeped in from the blinds, casting the golden glow of early morning onto their waking forms. Arthur threw on his sunglasses, grabbing his walking stick from the corner of the room as Laurence threw hastily-made sandwiches into both of their bags.

        "You never came to dinner."

        Arthur's words were matter-of-fact, but Laurence knew enough about him to know that there was more to his sentence than a mere statement. His younger brother held a world in his eyes, in the words he wrote down onto paper, in the way he spoke of stories and novels with the careful drawl of worn-down tones and hushed whispers. In every way Laurence was a mathematician, Arthur was a poet, an author of his own making with the ability to read and make and breathe in metaphors.

        His words were careful, as though daring to breach the tentative silence they had built. And Laurence, knowing his brother, played that dance with him.

        "I was sleeping," he said, and they both knew it was a lie. "I had a long day yesterday, but I'm fine now, right? Nothing a good eight hours can't fix." 

        "Mhm." Arthur jangled the keys in his palm, playing with the jagged edges as he waited for Laurence to finish closing the zipper. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

        Laurence rolled his eyes. "I'll make it to dinner tonight, I promise. I cook breakfast anyway, it's not like we don't eat together. Besides," he snatched the keys out of Arthur's hands, hitting him on the shoulder playfully as he let out a brief chuckle, "you love my eggs."

        Arthur groaned, pushing open the door and walking in front of Laurence. He was every bit the sarcastic kid he'd grown used to, no matter how old he was now.

        "Just," and he pressed his lips in a thin line, looking straight at Laurence. "Just promise me you'll be here, okay? You keep saying that, but the next time I see you, you're high, and you smell like smoke, and the next day you just up and disappear again–"

        And didn't that hurt? To hear Arthur practically blink back tears from his eyes, wiping at them with the palm of his hand, soft sobs just barely stifled. Laurence felt shame course through his veins, hurt piercing through his heart at the thought of ever failing his younger brother. He remembered being twelve, and the feeling of helplessness as Elisabeth grew further and further, off into work and studies and varsities. It was the last thing he wanted for Arthur, and here it was, happening right underneath his nose.

        "Hey, hey," Laurence said, gently closing the door behind him. He put two hands on Arthur's shoulders, taking even breaths as his brother's shaky voice grew to a slow murmur. "Hey, I'll be there this time, okay? As soon as school ends I'll walk you home like old times, and we'll just spend the day together, yeah?"

        Arthur sniffled, wiping the snot from his nose. "That's embarrassing, I'm not eight anymore." A pause. "You sure about that?"

        "I promise," Laurence said, voice certain. He wasn't going to fail him now, not when he still had the chance. "I promise you."

        And he did. They walked home together, Laurence reading Arthur's poems and helping him with his math homework. He watched Arthur scribble into his lined notebook, slow and delicate strokes of neat script lining the pages. Writing, even as his vision grew dotted with blind spots, seemed to come easily, and Laurence could almost imagine what life would be like had his brother been never diagnosed with glaucoma.

        But all things were short-lived, and Laurence went back to his vices, learning that it was easier to pretend than to change entirely.

        He had a feeling Arthur knew. Arthur always knew, and yet even that didn't stop him from smoking another blunt.

        And this time, Arthur didn't ask him to stop.