Where the Story Ends

I Don't Trust Myself

Ryder Green

The problem with Addison Diamond was that she was addicting. Intoxicating. From the moment I saw her I was hooked – not love, but fascination. I'd been the first to see her. We'd gotten the call that Oliver had been found, that he was safe and alive and on his way home, and at first, all I could do was cry. Cry for my brother, for the tears that hadn't come since the day that we'd gathered around the TV and watched, numbingly, as the news reporter solemnly told the story of the plane that had gone down, taking all of its passengers.

My brother. My only older brother, the only one I trusted for advice or even a good laugh when I was in a bad mood. Passionate, quirky, annoying-as-hell Oliver, my best friend. Dead; gone in an instant and never coming back.

I hadn't cried. I'd gone up to my room, gotten into bed, and stayed there for the next three weeks, but I hadn't cried. I'd simply laid there, wondering how in the hell I was supposed to take care of my family without him. The girls needed him, Caleb needed him, and God knew that Brent needed him more than anyone. And now, that would have to be me. The responsible one. The father that replaced the man that was responsible for all of us being alive. Our brother.

It would have had to been me.

And so I got them all up for school on Monday, forced them to eat, forced them into their classes (I had to walk each of them personally, they were like zombies, staring straight ahead with eyes glassy, the tears never quite leaving them.). Kasey I'd had to half-wrestle into her chair, and at one point, sit in her class with her, just holding her hand because she wouldn't let go. All day, just sitting in her classes with her tiny hand in mine, all of her sparked drowned with Oliver.

Three weeks of that. Three weeks of Kasey screaming in her sleep, of Cassie trashing her room in the evenings, picking it up in the mornings, and starting the process all over again, scarring her poor little hands with glass shards from picture frames. Caleb, staring blankly at nothing, nothing quite adding up in his head, that even though Oliver was gone now we'd have to live, and Brent, even quieter than usual. Once, he'd come to me when he thought I was sleeping, and sat in the corner of my room for almost three hours. I'd pretended to be asleep, but I'd almost broken down when my little brother pressed his hand against my shoulder and leaned to my ear. "You are stronger than us," he'd whispered. "Stronger than me. I'll never have to see a world without him."

That had killed me. Brent, my blind little brother, had walked out, leaving me shaking in my bed, face stuffed in the pillow to muffle the screams, not sleeping at all. But the next morning, I'd gotten up to face the day, and I'd brought them with me. To school. To dance, and to cheerleading, and to football practice. The girls hadn't danced or practiced, only stared hopelessly at the floor like if Oliver wasn't there, there was no point for anything.

I'd felt like that, too. But I knew my brother well enough to know that if it were me, lying there in the bottom of the sea somewhere, he wouldn't give up. He would channel me into his music, and I wouldn't be forgotten. He'd use me to make himself better, to heal himself.

And so that was what I did. My every thought turned to football. I became obsessive – I had to be the best. Oliver was the best in the music industry, and I couldn't disappoint him and his memory. I wouldn't just be Ryder, Oliver Green's little brother. I would be Ryder Green, the football star, brother of Oliver Green, the teenage heartthrob that was taken much too soon. I would not disappoint him.

I'd ran every morning for twice the length I usually did, and even when I felt like I was dying, I kept going, faster and longer every day. I lifted weights until I collapsed, falling asleep or passing out in the gym – whichever came first. My Coach shouted at me every day – "This wasn't healthy, he wouldn't want this". I'd ignored him. I was the best in the league, but I couldn't float on it. Oliver didn't float. Oliver pushed his limits until they broke, and then kept going into the place that could break him.