All I hide

Chapter 5

"Sam why is Mum so sad? Is it because Dad doesn't live with us anymore?" Alex plonks himself next to me on my bed and rests his head on my shoulder.

"I guess so but there's more to it than that."

"Like what?"

"Hmm I guess because he lied to her and didn't treat her nicely." I sigh, wondering how to explain it when I'm not fully certain myself. "Still, she must be missing him. She loves him after all."

"But why would she love someone who wasn't nice to her?"

"The bad doesn't mean the good never happened. There was a time they were happy together and I'm sure Dad still cares about her deep down. Someone hurting you doesn't instantly make you stop loving them."

"But why did they fight so much if they love each other?"

"I don't know, Alex. Sometimes we end up hurting the people we love even if we didn't mean to."

He doesn't respond for a while, simply contemplating my words. "If we ever fight, you're not allowed to leave me. Even if I make you really sad, you can't leave me alone."

"Silly boy, why would I leave you?"

"Just promise me. Even if you grow to hate me, you have to stay with me, okay?"

"Of course. I promise."

Alex, you were only ten years old then. That shouldn't have been something you asked of me. You shouldn't have needed my reassurance that I'll stay. You shouldn't have to keep making the same request on my birthday or whenever you feel down and I shouldn't have to keep proving that I won't go against my word. Things that other siblings teasingly joke about are a serious matter to us. I have to be careful of my words in case you misunderstand and think I'm breaking my promise. What would you say if you knew I gave Mum those pills? Would you resent me knowing I could've saved her had I just been more careful of my actions? Would you still want me by your side?

Stretching, I sit up on my bed and look out of the window. It's already dark outside, the November sun having set while I was asleep. My foot taps against something as I leave my bed so I pick it up. The parcel. Right, he delivered it while I was out. The wrapping paper is red with small golden leaves and folded so carefully that I feel my battered heart break a little more.

Why? Why does he still care? Why is he still trying? Can't he just give up on me? I don't want to open it but something tells me I should. Hesitantly, I undo the wrapping with shaky hands, trying not to damage it since he put so much care into it. Inside is a notebook with a plain blue hardback cover and spiral spine. What is this? Is my heart supposed to be racing?

I take a deep breath then open it, gasping when I recognise my messy scribble on the front. Underneath what I've written are our names in his neat handwriting. I don't need to look any further to know what this is. When we were eight years old, we decided to write a storybook about the small adventures of two best friends. It was about us, of course, and the silly things we got up to but we gave the characters different names and appearance so no one would know. Some of the pages were written by me and some by him. While I drew the pictures, he coloured them all in.

Argh. Crap. Why would he give this to me? Tears brim in my eyes, blurring my vision, and I quickly put the book away so it doesn't get wet. I wish he would hate me. I wouldn't feel so bad if he hated me. Maybe it would've been easier if we weren't friends, if we first met each other after our father's secret came out and were awkwardly getting to know each other instead of this. But then what would we have bonded over? The fact that our father's a lying cheat who played two lovely women? Anything would be better than this though, right?

How am I supposed to accept that my best friend is actually my half-brother? How am I supposed to accept that not only was my family betrayed but his too? To feel hurt and angry at the injustice that not only I faced but he did too. It's one thing to hurt alone or feel angry towards something bad that happened to your best friend but to have to deal with both emotions simultaneously, knowing that they were caused by the same thing, is so much harder. Everything is heightened.

My phone starts ringing but I don't answer. Only one person would be calling me now but I don't want to talk to him. He'll ask if I received his gift and that will lead us to talk about us and then everything else that happened that day. Maybe it's because I'm selfish, and also a coward, but not today. I'm not ready to talk to him today. I don't think I ever will be.

****

Another day. Another day of acting like I'm fine. Another day of going to college. Another day of avoiding him. Another day of smiling and showing interest in whatever Alex and Jacob want to share with me. Another day of brushing through Catherine's concern and pretending I don't notice the way Aunt Kathleen and Uncle Michael look at me worriedly.

Two weeks pass this way and it's nearing Christmas break. The weather is a lot colder now and I feel the chill even when I wear multiple layers. I don't have classes today so decide to visit the library. Putting my notebook and pencil case in my bag, I make sure everything else I need is in there before grabbing my coat and heading out.

The library is warm and toasty as I find a quiet corner to settle in. There's not many people here, save for some students or others who wanted a change of atmosphere to work in. I didn't come here to study though; I want to try and make sense of the mess in my mind. Writing helps me do that. I open my notebook to the next blank page, fully determined to let my thoughts out onto the page...but nothing comes. All I can do is stare, my hand holding my pen but not moving.

Why can't I get anything out? It's not like I have nothing to say. There's plenty to write about. I thought since I'm not ready to talk to anyone, I could at least put in on paper. Then it's no longer something I'm bottling up. That's what Mum used to tell me. "When you're struggling with something but don't know how to talk about it, try writing about it instead. That way you can read it and it might become easier to understand what the real issue is."

Mum, what am I supposed to write though? How can I write about it when there's still so much I've yet to acknowledge? Did you have days like this too? I guess in the end writing didn't help you though considering the last thing you wrote was that letter. I kept it by the way. I don't know why. I could've kept anything but I chose the letter. Maybe because they were your last words to me. Maybe because it reminds me that your death isn't my fault, even if I don't believe that. It's all the unsaid words between the lines. Even if Dad didn't betray us, you were already on that downward spiral. You would've done this anyway, just maybe not so soon. And even though this happened, you were still thinking of me and Alex. You still loved and cared about us and tried to keep going for our sake. You didn't abandon us and simply said goodbye early.

I can hate you for it all I want but that will get me nowhere. It's better that I try to accept and understand your reasons and cherish the brief time we did have together. I'll do my best to uphold my promise to you and Alex.

Honestly at this point, it's the only thing stopping me from running away. The only thing keeping me afloat. The only reason I stopped myself from succumbing to the darkness like you did.