THE MESS IT LEFT || In Progress

C h a p t e r II

Sawyer pushed the heels of their palms into their eyes until they were sore, stars flashing behind their eyelids. Tears were smeared down their cheeks, the sticky residue left behind clinging to their skin like a fungus. They swallowed the mucus dripping down their throat and gagged to themself. They hated this. They hated the cold sweats and the teeth chattering. They knew they should get up and do something. They should have been making food for their fathers or doing laundry, especially the loads that still had Aiden's clothes in them. They needed to keep busy.
They slowly sat up, the action beyond exhausting. The heating in the house had been busted for a few weeks and Sawyer could still remember the sound of Aiden's voice when he said he would fix it the next time he was over. They remembered the nauseating feeling when the police officer showed up at their door the next day and the way the weight of the world seemed to crush them the very second they were alone after they closed the door in the officer's face. The feeling they had when they called Aiden and heard his voicemail six times before they realized it wasn't a joke would always stick with them.
Downstairs was even colder than their bedroom. The wood flooring is almost painful to walk on, the rain outside reverberating off the walls of the old cabin. Sawyer could still imagine Aiden and them sitting in front of the fireplace when they were first placed with Sam and Atticus, huddled under blankets with hot coco in hand. They could smell it; the milk chocolate and melting marshmallows mixed with the ambers from the fire. They could hear the crackling of the dancing flames and feel the warmth radiating from the brick hearth. For a moment, they could have been there again, sitting next to Aiden.
Then as soon as the memory came, it was gone and left behind a debilitating ache in their chest that never seemed to go away. Sawyer felt like they were drowning, surrounded by reminders of Aiden every corner they turned. They ran their fingers along the imperfections indented on the mahogany table they'd grown up eating at. There were still splashes of color scattered along the different shades of brown from coloring sheets and late night illustrations. They took a deep breath and tasted the wet air, shivering in the open space that had become the dining room.
Sawyer hadn't stayed longer than a few hours in that rickety old house since they'd moved out, and now that they were back, surrounded by the empty spaces where dust outlined their childhood memories, they were overwhelmed by the barrenness. The pictures were still hanging despite everything, but they noticed the night prior that their fathers couldn't even look at the family portraits without their faces draining of color.
Sawyer could have studied them and felt absolutely nothing but a deep, angry void that screamed into oblivion. There was no hurt, or ache. It was just that angry, angry void. It made them feel like a walking corpse. They stood in the living room, looking at one of the only photos from Aiden's wedding that their fathers had. Sawyer's hand was hooked around the crook of Aiden's arm, his own clasped over theirs. They're both smiling in the photo, expressions gentle and soft, Sawyer's eyes holding a bright pride that burned like the sun. There were so many emotions that day and Sawyer could still remember Aiden rushing to her, his face flushed and breathing erratic.
He was so scared to walk down that aisle. He told Sawyer that he was terrified that Marcus wouldn't want him anymore or that maybe he would decide last minute that he didn't want to be married. He had so many thoughts that spilled all at once that day and Sawyer laughed at him, grabbed his hand, and assured him everything would be the way he'd been talking about for years now.
Sometimes, Sawyer could feel that pit of terror and wondered if that's how Aiden felt that day or if it was in an electric way instead of paralyzing. They could still recall how beautiful the ceremony was and how happy both Marcus and Aiden looked. It wasn't anything huge, something that Aiden had agreed with Marcus on as far as Sawyer was aware, but the way that the entire event was full of love was almost overwhelming.
"Sawyer?" They turned towards their father who was holding a few cardboard boxes. They pretended not to notice his eye bags and sunken features and glanced towards the open attic. Their stomach churned. "What are you doing, kiddo?"
Sawyer grimaced at the name but recovered to the best of their ability. "Do you know where the toolbox is?"
"In the garage," Atticus said, trudging towards the dining room table. When Atticus sat the box down, Sawyer couldn't help but notice the clinking of metals and plastics, and for a moment, they wondered if Aiden would want the attic to be clean or to be kept the way it always had been. They quickly abandoned that thought and listened as their father continued. "What do you need it for?"
"I'll fix the heater so you and Pa don't have to."
"No, honey, that's okay--"
"Dad."
There was a beat of silence. They both came to a silent agreement and did not ask why or chose to mention why Sawyer was offering to fix the heating pump. They both agreed that neither Sam nor Atticus could handle the job. "Okay."
Sawyer found the tool box behind an old dresser tucked away in the garage. They grabbed a coat off the rack next to the empty peg where Aiden's should've been. They didn't notice the coat they wrap around themself was Aiden's. It smelt like him; pine and cinnamon. They pretended it was just the smell of the house and that it didn't sting their eyes.
The wind howled and whistled, whipping Sawyer's attention out to the line of trees where they used to play tag with Aiden. The trees began to bend with the wind and Sawyer half expected them to snap in half and the logs to go rolling down the hill and crush them. They hoped it would happen, and they convinced themself that they would embrace it with no doubt in their mind. Then they remembered their parents' anguish that seemed palpable every time they walked into a room where they sat and they felt selfish for the millionth time that day.
Sawyer seemed to analyze the trees. They fantasized about what would happen if they fell and broke their neck during the short trek to the heat pump connected to the side of the cabin, or if they were to be impaled by a sharp stick and left to bleed out on the front lawn. Maybe then they wouldn't be so angry and could relax, sitting in the rotting branches of the trees they'd climbed all throughout their childhood, forever engraved into the soil at the treeline. Maybe they'd see Aiden again and they'd be able to play tag like they always had.
Sawyer kneeled on the damp grass, setting the metal box beside them. There was a dark overcast, the clouds bunched in heavy clusters that seemed like it would bring them crashing down into a world altering earthquake and Sawyer thinks that if it were possible to split the earth down to its very core, the clouds would do it. They opened the box and chose to ignore the memories that began slowly bubbling to the surface. It was a silent reminder of all the times when Aiden would always try to fix things or make them right. A silent reminder of all the things that could have been if Aiden would have just...listened.
Sawyer could hear a faint clicking and for a brief moment, with the memory of something that Aiden had once told them the sound was an indication of a broken starter capacitor, they smiled. It quickly fizzled out when they realized that Aiden wasn't there to ruffle their hair or tell them he was proud of them. Sawyer sighed and pulled their phone from their pocket. With a quick google search, they pulled up an instruction manual that gives a step by step on how to fix the problem at hand.
Scrolling through, the words began to twist and jumble, dancing on the screen in an intricate and confusing pattern. It was nauseating and caused Sawyer's vision to warp and tilt, disfiguring the dark clouds and deadly trees. Their breath trembled and they slumped forward, their head resting against the heating unit attached to the side of the house. They shivered, teeth chattering and they swore their bones rattled from the force of the tremors. They felt physically weak and fatigued, their eyes drooping over bloodshot scleras and their nose reddened from the biting cold. Sawyer couldn't remember the last time they'd had an autumn gotten that cold, even if it was early November.
They had to use their teeth to pull off their gloves to be able to type. They opened their pinned contact and wince at the pain that shoots through their fingertips when the numb skin makes contact with the warm device.
"Think you could stop by dad's' house and...."
Sawyer paused, looking at the contact. They felt a pit form in their stomach, and caught themself wondering if maybe that's how their brother had felt when he texted them, begging them to come to the front of the wedding venue because he just couldn't do it himself. Because he needed his twin sister to hold his hand. The thought made Sawyer bilious.
They felt hot tears on their cheeks and similarly to the night previously, furiously wiped at their face. They needed to be strong for Aiden, to be the glue that held everything and everyone together. They needed to do that because without Aiden, nobody else would step up and do it. It was Sawyer's job to finally step up for their family and take care of them.
Their hands were chapped and bloodied from the cold by the time they got back into the house and collapsed into a heap on the couch. But they were able to relax knowing that the hardest task of the day was over.
Replacing Aiden.