09/24/2001

Cass,​​

It's been a year since we lost him. 09/24/2001. I should have handled it differently. All of it. Hindsight 2020 and all that. But I had to act in this way to protect myself even if that did mean losing Mikey.

He's still our brother, Cass. Whether he's dead or alive. Heaven knows that I've learned that in the hardest way possible. My foolish mistake. If I could swap places with Mikey, I would. You know I would.

You have to know that I would. I loved that kid. You loved him. I can't live with myself for what happened: losing him was enough. I can't afford to lose you too. Seeing you in that hospital bed breaks my heart.  You know I love you, sis? I know you can't comprehend any of this, and I'm rambling, but please Cass. Hang on for me. You will get better. You have to get better.

Yours forever,

L.

I sign my letter off with just my initial because she knows it's me. Who else would be talking to her? Even Mom and Dad don't bother these days: they're still reeling from 9/11. I mean, why would they? They think it's useless to hang out with someone in a coma. I guess you could say I feel like I have some sort of obligation to see her – it's my fault that she's this way. If I could turn back the clock, I would have done everything again. I wouldn't have kissed Aaron. I wouldn't have given Cass my keys. I would still have my baby brother. My parents would still believe I was worthy of their love. But no. It's impossible. I stand up. The letter goes under my pillow. My beaten-up Converse are off my feet. Nothing matters. I wish I wouldn't have to keep writing to her. I wish she was a paper-thin wall away from me.

Remember how we hated those walls? It felt like living in a house of cards sometimes: taking one shaky breath would cause us to collapse.

Aaron Matthews. The reason I don't have a brother or sister anymore. I thought he Mr Wonderful. But he was far from it. If I would have taken a second to think things through none of this would have happened. None of it. Mum always told me he was bad news. Stupidly I thought I knew best. Everyone thinks that they know best at sixteen. Blame my lack of formed prefrontal cortex. Mixed with alcohol and hormones, nothing good could have come of that night. Paper thin walls. My first love. Throwing Cass the car keys. Police and ambulance crews turning up on my front doorstep. Mom's screams of agony, that only the loss of a child can make a mother feel. Dad's pure rage. Mikey's funeral. Nan and Grandad weeping, wishing they weren't at their five-year-old grandson's wake; wishing they could take his place. It plays in my head like some haunting slideshow, each one lingering like a bad taste. I can't do this. I can't. I can't. I can't cope with it. It's too much. Everything is too much.

Fresh air. That's what I need. To breathe. I almost consider calling Aaron again. Not that I've spoken to him since that night exactly one year ago. I can't bring myself to do it. But I know he wants to speak to me. The one hundred and twenty-four missed calls show that. Against my better judgement, I creep out of my room to use the phone. It's like my fingers have a mind of their own: his number flows free. I press call. He picks up on the second ring.

"L? What's going on? It's eleven thirty." He says, sleep a thick fog in his voice.

"Bad night. Can you come get me? I need a break." I say, my voice barely more than a whisper. All anger seemed to leave his voice, almost as sudden as him leaving my side that night. To cover his own back. It was a mistake asking him to pick me up. It's not worth it. I hang up, and flop down on my bed hopelessly. But still, making him panic was a dick move.

Or was it? His actions cost me the lives of my siblings. I have every right to be upset, but I still feel like I'm at fault. Until I hear a stone hit my window. I sigh. I don't want to give him the benefit of the doubt, but still after all we've gone through together, I know he's always got my best interests at heart. That being said...

Of course he doesn't. If he really cared, I'd still be a big brother. Stupid Aaron Matthews and his punchable, kissable face. But I wouldn't have called him for no reason. I'm over that now. Over being a co-dependent, whiny child. I sigh, getting to my feet and shrugging on my flannel. Somehow, it's cold for September in Boston: I can see my breath.

"Okay, I'm coming. Whatever makes you happy." I mutter rolling my eyes. He knew I'd fold. Stupid Aaron and his stupid charm. I open the front door, and he's there, our beaten copy of Perks of Being a Wallflower in his hands. I grin and walk over to him, every muscle in my body trembling from that simple act of excursion. I have to be brave for them. I'm the only one of us left.