Iris

33 | guilt

     MY HEART POUNDED. Not out of fear but rather hesitation. A faint voice at the back of my mind ordered me to go to my room and seek the blissful darkness of sleep, yet I found myself disregarding its whispers. That same darkness had been vicious merely minutes ago, for I had woken up in tears, barely breathing as I sensed fear's claws digging into my heart.

Swallowing harshly, I took a step toward the door to Marcus' room, only to take two back. Although silence was the only noise reverberating throughout the entirety of the hallway, my ears rang with the words I had overheard Atlas mutter to Roman hours ago. My chest seemed to tighten once again, emotions I failed to break apart swirling within its cavity.

The sobs I had swallowed throughout the day seemingly accumulated and folded into a lump, sitting within the pit of my throat, neither letting me breathe nor cry. I had suspected that Marcus relied on self-harm to dull his pain the night we had gone for dinner. I had almost been certain of my assumption when I glanced at the tattoos that covered his healing scars and noticed the rubber band that constantly circled his wrist. The thought had wandered through the corners of my mind for hours, yet I had somehow managed to lose sight of it in the days that followed.

Hearing Atlas tell Roman that our brother had relapsed sufficed to confirm my assumption, and my heartache had intensified since. It had merely been a pinch in the beginning—a slight discomfort that seemed to hold my heart captive. But with every passing minute, the grip on my heart tightened. It seemed as though a fist had clenched around its pounding chambers, crushing them within its grip. It wasn't pity that I felt, I was well aware of that. It was rather a blend of sadness and fear. It was an overwhelming urge to cry for all the pain my brother had bottled.

I'd barely spoken to my brothers since Christopher had left merely because I had been too exhausted to do so, yet I found myself craving Marcus' presence. I found myself wanting to tell him that I didn't blame him for anything because none of it was his fault.

Twice. I had come to his room twice ever since he had returned. The first time, I had heard him yell at Roman, telling him that our parents had gone out the night they'd died because of him. I still didn't know why, but I had backed away, not wanting to hear the story Marcus was clearly not ready to tell me yet, although a part of me was aware of how it unfolded. The second time, merely minutes after Roman had left his side, I had heard him sob. This was the third time, and all I heard was silence. Pin-drop silence. Although nothing indicated that Marcus was awake, a part of me was almost certain he was. I didn't know if he wanted to talk to anyone, but I figured a try wouldn't hurt.

It took me a minute or two to muster up the courage I was seeking and knock on the door. I held my breath as I awaited my brother's response, listening to my pounding heart. I counted to ten and started to back away when no response echoed, assuming that my brother was asleep. It merely took a moment for my assumption to be disproved as a click echoed, Marcus' disheveled figure coming into sight.