Broken // Bellarke

2- Missed you

I entered the apartment, looking around. Empty bottles and packs of food lay on the countertop, as well as empty packs of cigarettes and clothes scattered everywhere. It was like someone had put all my brother's dirty clothes in a confetti canon to spread them all over the place. Dishes and cutlery were pilled in the sink, unwashed and stinking, probably a few days old. I had no idea how he could live in these conditions and how Mom had let him live alone...

"Murph? Murphy? John?" I found him asleep on the floor of his room, shirtless. "Oh, John-Murphy Griffin," I sighed, "what have you done?"

I nudged him with my foot, trying to wake him. He barely shifted. I rolled my eyes and kicked him in the gut. His eyes flew open, and he groaned, clutching his stomach. He looked up, confused, before instantly glaring when he recognised me.

"Oh, hey, sis, it's great to see you too." He said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. I rolled my eyes at him and stepped back, giving him space to stand and sober up. "What?" He continued. "No 'how's my favourite big bro doing?' No, 'Oh my god, it's so nice to see you, Murphy, how are you?'" I found a shirt lying across the room and tossed it to him.

"Just shut up and at least get dressed."

I made his bed and sat cross-legged on top. He finished pulling on the T-shirt and joined me. I exhaled and closed my eyes. Slowly, I prepared myself for the conversation and focused on separating the emotional part of my soul from my body, a technique I had mastered to keep my calm during difficult discussions, a wall built to prevent me from breaking any further.

"Okay," I sighed, "on a scale from one to ten, how drunk are you?" He grimaced at me and held out a shaking hand I knew meant 'like, four.'

"Nah, I'm joking," he assured me in a not-very-convincing way, "just hungover." I inhaled deeply.

"John, I haven't seen you in 2 months." I stated calmly. He shrugged.

"Really? That's it? You're just going to shrug?" I scoffed.

"Don't try to pretend you missed me." His tone was casual, dismissive. I scoffed again, disbelieving.

"Of course I missed you." My voice softened. You're my brother; how could I not? Why would you ever think that?" He looked back at me, his eyes glassy.

"I thought I would never see you again." His voice cracked, and I frowned.

"Murph, you aren't making any sense." He sighed.

"Look, Clarke, why are you even here?"

"I came to check on you."

"Well, I don't need you to. Just give me some space, will you?"

"Space? Have you not had enough space in the past 2 months?" His flippancy was annoying me. "I'm not leaving until I hear that you are okay!"

"I'm fine. Can't you see that?" We were both standing now.

"Murphy, I just found you passed out on the floor, drunk. So no, I do not think you're fine. And how could you be when our mother died 3 months ago and when you were at the wheel of that same car crash? You have every right not to be-"

"I said give me some damn space, Clarke!" He grabbed my shoulders and shoved me into the wall behind me, knocking down a lamp on the way. A sharp stab of pain shot up my back, but I made no show of it, gritting my teeth. His hands immediately fell from my shoulders, instant remorse filling his eyes.

"Did-did I hurt you?" He asked carefully. I didn't answer but pushed him aside, walking over to the window and passing a hand through my hair.

"Shit, shit, shit..." I heard him mutter behind me. I turned to see him sitting on the bed again, head between his hands like he was about to rip his hair out. I went to stand beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He looked at me through frightened eyes and moved backwards frantically, stopping when he was as far from me on the bed as he could.