Hiraeth: Bonding (III)

Chapter Fourteen

We were expected to go back to our lives like normal. It had become a cruel routine.

After the second return, when we had just come back from Obsidian Island, my friends and I were able to integrate back into reality with relative ease. At the time it had seemed impossible, but now after the curse and the journey and the spells... Even another Upset would have been easier to come back from.

Maybe I didn't mean that. Maybe it just felt... more. Maybe because we had been so many places this time. Seen so many things. Felt so much.

And I couldn't decide which was worse; Mike's situation or Vincent's.

The Day we arrived, everyone simply went home. We prepared for the week; for school and for work.

It was during that first Day at home that my brother began to mourn.

He didn't rise from bed early as he had always done. Instead, Mum and I didn't see him until nearly one o'clock. He remained in pyjamas and socks.

"Would you like something to eat, Navy Blue?" our mother asked with a worried grin.

He shook his head, saying nothing as he stood behind the couch that faced our television.

"What's onto-Day?" Mum tried from the kitchen table. "Anything interesting?"

I rose from the seat across from her and walked over to Vincent. He was squinting angrily at the program. Just the news as always.

After he stared silently for a minute, I asked, "What are you doing?"

He was short. "Glasses."

I raised an eyebrow. "Hm?"

Sodalite eyes, filled with tears, turned away. "I need glasses."

As he stormed back into his bedroom, Mum went after him and called, "Glasses? Whatever for?!"

He slammed his door in her face and I heard a faint, shaky, "Can't see anymore."

The next Day at school, my dear sweet brother tripped over chairs and failed to read off the board in math class. He was sent home early with a word from Principal Python to scold our mother for never having his eyes checked. The thing was, he'd never shown any signs of poor eyesight before.

Sure enough, though, when I came home he had a shiny new pair of black-framed glasses resting upon his scarred nose.

Over the following weeks, he would smash them onto the ground every few Days and have to purchase replacements.

In fact, Vincent began smashing a lot of things. He smashed the pots that held his Magical plants. He smashed his various jars and bottles of potions. He smashed his crystals, his bug jars, his framed diagrams and maps and spells.

One evening, he tore his bookshelf off of the wall and went at it with an axe. (I have no idea where he acquired said axe.)

Our mother hardly knew how to handle the smaller fits of destruction. This time she lost it, screaming at him about how expensive shelving was and that he was being reckless and in case he was wondering he was most certainly going to be grounded.

I watched from the doorway, crying, as my little brother took each of his wands and lit them on fire.

Mother left the house.

Vincent screamed at the stars.

I did my homework.

So one being of darkness was being consumed by loss. The other was lost.

Mike no longer spoke besides a scarce word or a blunt gesture.

He was frozen. Constantly in thought, the boy had no interest in his role in reality's Day-to-Day. Sure, he played his music and attended his classes and ate his meals. But whenever there was nothing to do, he and Vincent were indistinguishable from one another; both were simply and plainly stuck.