"I, William James Archibald, being of sound mind and body, do hereby declare this my last will and testament. To my beloved grandchildren, Alastair, Aurelia, Julian, Carver and Ophelia, I leave the entirety of my estate, to be divided equally amongs...
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xi. CARVER ARCHIBALD
Rage is a river.
That's what they say, isn't it? Or maybe it's fire. Or poison. It doesn't matter. Whatever it is, it's inside me now, flowing through my veins, scorching every thought, every breath, every muscle.
My footsteps echo down the hallway. My heart is racing against my ribs, so loud I'm sure the walls can hear it.
What do you do when the world pushes you too far?
You do what I'm doing to do now.
I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms, but the pain is dull compared to what's in my head. Their faces, my so called siblings— they abandoned me. They left me. Every single one of them. When I needed them most, they weren't there.
They never came looking for me even when I've been gone for days now.
A vase sits on a table to my left in this hallway. I hate it. I hate its stillness. My arm moves before I even realize it, and the crash echoes around me like thunder. Pieces scatter across the floor. It doesn't feel better though. If anything, it burns hotter.
I think of my grandfather, of the years I've spent trying to prove myself, bending until I nearly broke and for what? To be cast aside like a failed experiment? To watch him split everything I bled for as if it didn't mean anything? My nails dig deeper into my skin. I think I might be bleeding, but I don't look.
"Fucking split the wealth," I mutter, the words bitter on my tongue. It was mine. It was fucking mine and he took it away from me to give it to all of them.
I stop in the middle of the hallway, staring at my reflection in the glass of a door. My face looks wrong. My eyes are wild, my jaw clenched so tightly it aches. I don't recognize myself.
I shake my head but it doesn't help.
I rubbed my eyes and my feet start moving again and before I realize it, I'm standing in front of the door to his hospital room.
I stare at the glass door. What does my family see when they look at me? Do they see a son? A brother? Or just... this?
What the fuck has happened to me?
I couldn't think. I couldn't think straight. Fuck. I couldn't think anything.
I pull my hand back and slam my fist into the wall instead. The pain shoots through my knuckles. I don't stop. I hit the wall again, harder this time. My skin splits, and the blood trails down my fingers, but it's the dull ache in my bones that catches me.
My chest tightens as I close my eyes but instead of darkness, I'm there again.
