Last Year of Seventeen

Chapter 19 - Little Brother

The day of our fourth fake date has come and I am both excited and terrified. I tell myself that after the fake dates we still have the falling-in-love phase and the break-up. We'll still have more time. I'll still have August for a short while.

I picked her up in front of her mother's clinic who waved us goodbye and reminded me of the dinner she still owed. I told Dr. Carline that I am definitely available anytime she wants to invite me over to which August only grunted while pulling me away as quickly as possible.

August still smelled of vanilla and it enveloped the inside of my car. It was a scent I have come to be familiar with but still can't get enough of. I had to consciously wrestle with myself not to get too attached. But I believe it might be too late. When all of this is over, I know I will always crave the scent of vanilla and I won't be able to breathe it in without thinking of August.

"Here, let's drive to this address." August said as she handed me a piece of neatly folded paper. It dawned on me that she hadn't told me where we were going up until that moment. I can feel her eyes on me as I take in the location. I didn't tell her that I got too distracted with her really good handwriting and it took a few seconds before I could register that the address was outside the Metro and it's a good two-hour drive away. I wasn't even familiar with the place.

I turned to her, my curiosity piqued, "This is a long drive. Where is this? What is in here?"

"You'll know when we get there."

I started the car, the Peter Pan keychain dangling on my key. I saw August take notice and then tried to hide a smile. "Are you going to have me kidnapped?" I asked.

"Ugh, as if someone would want to take you." She replied, rolling her eyes.

"Well..." I started.

"Oh my God–" August gushed as she slowly understood what I was insinuating. "–were you... Have you been kidnapped before?"

I chuckled, "There is actually quite a funny story about that. It wasn't funny at that time but it is weirdly funny to me now."

As we cruised towards the highway, I told August how when I was around five, my nanny at that time tried to take me away and that it was my brother who found that I was missing in my room. We got as far as the train station before the nanny was apprehended by the law enforcements. The nanny was actually planning on asking for ransom. I just slept through the whole ordeal though and had no first-hand memory of what had happened. Everything was only filled in to me as I got older and started questioning why we had so many bodyguards.

"Do you still have bodyguards now?" August asked. She fidgeted on her seat, looking out and around for any car that may be following us.

I laughed, my eyes still focused on the road. "Not anymore. I did have one during our Freshman year. I had to beg for him to be removed. Ben was a nice guy but it was embarrassing to still have bodyguards."

"You took a job from someone just because you were embarrassed?" August teased.

Scoffing, I rolled my eyes on her. "No. Ben's still with us for your information. We still have bodyguards at home and sometimes on very special occasions."

"Oh, you are so very rich." August mumbled too soft, almost just to herself. I figured she probably didn't really want me to hear. So I didn't say anything. Also, how do I even respond to that? I don't want her to think that I am any more privileged than she already does.

. . . . .

After two stopovers, three albums of Nirvana and countless wrong turns (it was very wrong of me to ask August to navigate for us since she apparently does not have a sense of direction– and we were already using Waze) we finally arrived at our destination. It was a house– not too big but not too shabby either. It didn't look new but it felt very homey. Toddler toys were scattered on the patio and the small garden within. I wondered how the person who lives here is related to August and why she seemed so restless.

During the long drive, it didn't pass me that the closer we got, the more anxious August was becoming. And now that we are here, I can hear how deep she has been breathing. But before I could ask her why, she took my hand and gripped it tightly. Her hands were ice cold.

"Please don't be mad at me." There was a shiver in her voice and I feared that she might faint.

I almost touched her face out of worry. I settled by gripping her hands as well. "Why would I be?"
"No–" she breathes, holding me tighter. "You have to swear you won't be mad."

"Fine. I swear," I could never be mad at you– I wanted to add. "I swear."

Tears started to form in her eyes but she was quick to blink it away. She looked into me– searching. And when she was sure that I meant it, that I won't be mad, she let go and pressed the doorbell. She grabbed my hand again, gentler this time– brushing her thumb on mine. To comfort her or to comfort me– I don't know.

August didn't let go as we waited to be answered. She didn't let go as the door opened to reveal who lives in the house. She didn't let go as my brother got to the gate. She didn't let go when I so obviously flinched, my body attempting to run away and yet my feet were stuck on the ground. She didn't let go when the gates creaked as it opened. She didn't let go as my brother took a good look at us, smiled and finally said:

"It's been so long, little brother."