Confessions of a Rich Girl

Chapter 6: The Song

When I walked in the house to find Brian half conscious on the couch, it wasn't a surprised. He had bottles surrounding him and the putrid stench of Ciroc filled the room. His body was sprawled across the couch with his arm hanging off, and a half empty bottle in his hand. His mouth was wide open and drool was climbing down the side of his face. The sound of me closing the door was what woke him up from his sleep like state. He got up groggy, and looked towards the door. He stared at me before a moment of drunken recognition hit him. He sent me a half smile then wobbled his way over to me. He wrapped his arms around me, and I let him. I waited for our routine to begin. Confession: My life has been boiled down to a series of routines.

"I-I'm sorry London. I didn't mean to do it." His words slurred out his mouth and danced around me. He held me back a little so I could see his face. I could see the battles he was fighting within himself. He looked like a tortured man. His skin had lost its luster, and his red, bloodshot eyes plead for me to save him. They begged me for forgiveness, and if I was a little more naive, I would have given it to him. This had become our little play. After a while his apologies meant nothing.

"It's okay Brian, I know." My voice came out cold, and though I could tell his mind was hazy he still picked up on it.

"It's not okay. You're my baby sister. I should protect you not hurt you. You know I love you right? God I hope you know I love you. I promise I'll get help. This will be the last time it will ever happen." Confession : You said that already. Remember?

"It's okay Brian, I know."

Then we stood there. In the middle of the living room in each other's arms. Both of us not saying a word. I felt him shake, and wetness down my back, but still we said nothing. The only sound that surrounded us was the grandfather clock behind us ticking. The heavy vibrations sound beautiful to me. Each strike of the hands were unwritten symphonies. I started to count every tick of the clock in my head. I got up to forty.

With a croaked voice he asked me,"Could you sing for me? Could you sing the song she used to sing us." And there it was. I was waiting for this, it's part of our sick game. I hated this part the most.

"Hush my child and lay your head. For in the morning I'll be there. And if you cry a single tear, don't you fret for I'll be there. When you ache for someone's love, don't you worry for I'll be there. So, close your eyes you gentle dove, for in the morning, I'll be there..."

Confession : You weren't there.

Somewhere between the lyrics we ended up on the couch. Brian's head on my lap while I sang him her song. I slid my fingers through his hair. I looked at him and sang that song. Even when I knew he was asleep. I sang as my throat became dry. I sang as I choked on my own tears. I couldn't look down anymore. I couldn't run my hands through his hair. My sobs became too powerful, so I closed my eyes. I closed my eyes to see everything I ever loved on fire. I closed my eyes to see memories that haunt me. I closed my eyes to go to my own personal nightmare. As I sang my pain, I closed my eyes to my twisted escape. For the first time in a long time, I closed my eyes and went to sleep praying for a dream. Confession: I miss you.

. . .

"Miss London, Mr Brian, I am afraid it is time for you to wake up. Wouldn't want you to miss school."

Hearing Steven's grouchy voice at seven in the morning isn't pleasant and opening our eyes to see Steven staring at us with a fake smile is unsettling. I think it scared us both into full consciousness. Miraculously, we are in the same position as we were last night. Brian got off me holding his head. He mumbled and groaned multiple curse words. I am never short of amazed on how he still gets hangovers. He does this so often that his blood is probably a margarita. Steven eventually left and it was just Brian and I sitting on the couch. We stared at each other, and the eyes that were pleading last night, are just filled with anger and disgust. Ah, there's the Brian I have come to know. Confession: I miss my big brother. I didn't wait for him to send me a nasty comment, I just got up, went to my bathroom to start my routine. By the time I was done painting my face, getting dressed, and making sure my red lipstick was supreme, I was running late. I can't afford to be late to chemistry and have Mr Jackson hate me even further.