Winter

Sibling Bonds

I was so angry that I really didn't think through leaving in a pair of flannel pajama pants and a wrinkled t-shirt with a monkey on it. I ignore the stares, knowing that London has to have something weirder than a pissed off girl in pajamas to look at.  I don't even know where I'm going, but after my more than dramatic exit, it's a bit too late to turn back.

After ten more minutes of walking, I spot a cafè and feel around around the pocket of my coat, sighing in relief when I feel some form of money.  I walk in and quickly purchase a hot chocolate, choosing the table in the furthest corner to sit in.  I put my head in my hands and sigh; as the cold melts away, so does my anger and I'm suddenly left with a giant mixture of guilt and regret.

I just told my brother that I wished he had died and blamed him for our mother leaving, though I know that he isn't.  But I still knew that it was a very sore spot for him, something he blames himself for no matter how many times that dad and I try to tell him otherwise.  She just picked around the time he was getting caught up in some bad things to finally call it quits.  She never wanted any children, nor did she particularly like them, but she stayed with my father to try and do the right thing.  She thought that she could make it through with Zayn, but when she found out she was pregnant with me, she cried for a whole two months.  She loves us, despite both of us not being intended, but she isn't mother material.  Zayn, however, believes that if he just did well in school and didn't start his little gang that mom would've stayed.  He mostly feels guilty because he thinks that he made her leave me, that it's his fault I grew up with a mother who would only call on birthdays and holidays, visiting maybe once every two or three years.

So it was probably the most asshole thing for me to do, but I've been told many times that I don't think when I'm angry and that I'm very impulsive in general, to really be surprised.  I think Zayn and I have that in common.

"Zaya?"

I look up and see a pair of familiar blue eyes, looking at me with a slightly concerned grin.  The chair across from me is pulled out and I finally take my head out of my hands.

"Hi, Louis, how are you?"

"I'm fine, love, but I don't know if you can say the same."

"I just got in a fight with Zayn is all," I try to shrug nonchalantly.  "I'm sure you're familiar with the situation."

"Yes, but I must say that Kennedy never ends up at a cafè in her pajamas at just past seven in the morning."

I look at him with a mock glare that turns a bit teary when I realize that probably she has never said anything half as bad as what angrily spewed from my mouth.  

"Hey, hey, love, I'm sure that it'll be fine.  He knows that you were angry and didn't mean whatever it was you said, okay?  I know that Kenny has said some things she didn't totally mean and so have I.  You two just need to talk it out," he reassured me calmly, taking my hand.

"B-but I blamed him for our mom leaving and I said that I," I sniffle, trying to wipe away my tears with my sleeve but more only come out when I think about the last thing I yelled to Zayn.  "I told him that I wished that bullet had killed him, Lou.  I said that we would be better off with him dead," I let out a quiet sob and he pulls his hand out of mine.  I look up, prepared for the look of horror and disgust that must be on his face, so I'm caught off guard when he wraps me in a hug.

"Don't cry, darling, he knows that you love him, alright?  Do you know how many times that Kenny had told me that she wishes she were born into another family?  Or that our parents would still be alive without me?  I know that her emotions have just gotten the better of her.  You're his sister, so he knows you, Zaya, and how much you care for him."