Just Bent

Chapter Ten

Thunk-thunk-thunk.

"Cole?"

I was barely conscious, blurry around the edges. I blinked against the sleep as the warmth of my blanket was moved, cold night air rushing at my chest, scattering goosebumps down my arms. Cold toes pressed into my shin, bony shoulders nudging my ribs sharply. I retreated towards the other side of the bed, disoriented until the scent of lavender invaded my senses.

"Molly? What's wrong?"

Her head was tucked into the corner of my shoulder, arm wrapped around my torso. As she shifted, her face fell against my chest, wet and slippery. Suddenly more awake, my arm came around my sister's side.

"What's going on?"

"It's a bad night." was all she said. Then we laid in the quiet. Because there in the night we could hear the sound. The sound of a phantom appearing: the sound of Mom's crying. My head slumped back into my pillow.

Nights like this were rarer then even my nightmares, but like my nightmares they came all the same. A few months after he died, my aunt and grandmother had plead with Mom to move from this house. They had cried, basically begging, but Mom had been determined to stay. We weren't supposed to be listening. I was fourteen and Molly was twelve, sitting at the top of the stairwell, peering over the landing to see Mom's defiant eyes, her stone cold face. Leaving had never been an option. I had never understood why. 

At first, in the few months after his death, nights like these had become normal. Molly had been much smaller, and when she had crawled in next to me, this bed had felt worlds bigger.  Now we were pressed together much the same way we had been three and a half years ago,  except now limbs were awkwardly longer, bigger, the bed cramped... the warmth of safety still blooming between us like a heavy blanket, cocooning us together.

"She started an hour ago." Molly's voice was a muted whisper; the distant sound was a wail.

The first night I had tried to go into the bedroom to comfort Mom, I realized she was asleep when she did this. Molly had been so scared, crying in my door frame, inconsolable, that I had quickly figured out the better option was to comfort her instead. I had laid awake for hours after Molly had fallen asleep, cheeks wet, eyes puffy, and longed to move to New Hampshire to be with my grandparents and aunts. A pipe dream that had been swallowed whole by passing time.

"I didn't think this would happen again." My thumb slid over the cool skin of her shoulder.

"It's like you said. Just a bad night."

"When will there stop being bad nights?"

I sat up, pulled the sheets up over us, and then settled back beside her.

"I wish I knew."

The silence that settled was dark, heavy, oppressive. The ache we both felt as we listened to our Mother cry was tangible between us, my fingers gripping her despite myself. Molly began to hum then. It was a nameless lullaby, a familiar tune, sung over our cradles from a life time ago; one I'd hummed to her on nights like this.

"Go to sleep."

''

Hours later I woke to Molly's snoring. She was no longer snuggled into my side, but sprawled out on her stomach, mouth open, drooling on my pillow. I smiled into a yawn, running my hands over my face, scrubbing the lingering sleep from the corner of my eyes. This Friday ended a long ass week. Work had seemed to drag on and on after Haley's visit on Tuesday. I was so looking forward to sleeping in tomorrow. I grabbed my khaki shorts and oversized "man-tank", as Molly loved to call them, from my dresser drawers before turning to leave the room.