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Eighteen: A Brother From Another Mother

"My biological brother?" My voice became louder than I had anticipated. I had a brother, not Joe but another one who was of my own flesh and blood, how can I only just be finding out about this now?

Jim came back in and seemed pleased with himself until I turned to him, his expression soon changed from pleased to concerned. "What's happened?" I walked towards him and gripped his hand, he knew exactly how I felt, scared.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I tried to calm down but it wasn't working, my voice only becoming louder but weaker, I felt as if my brain wasn't able to intake this new information, all the lies and facts about my family, the parents who died; was that a lie too?

My mum got up and tried to walk towards me but I backed away sharply, Jim still held onto me but attempted to nudge me closer into the room, rather than lurking in the doorway. "We didn't tell you because when we found out you were ill. Things seemed serious and we didn't want to risk making you worse." She remained in a hushed tone but I scoffed, never before have I addressed her in this way, but that was a low call.

"You can't blame this on me being ill, I'm fine now! See, not loopy like you thought when I was little. Why didn't you tell me sooner? I could've handled it." My mum looked concerned once I finished, I had convinced myself a while ago that I was no longer to act like a victim, that only I could fix me and no doctor or my parents could say otherwise. If she told me it wouldn't have sent me into a spiral of denial, but what if I never met him or if I met Peter earlier, would I have gone my whole life not knowing I had a brother that wasn't Joe?

Jim let go of me and walked out of the room, he knew about my past and when I was younger, although part of me still doesn't understand what is wrong with me, I like to think I can act like I'm fine, and everyone else seems to think so, par Jim.

I turn to my mum who looks very upset and sits back down in a chair, part of me feels sorry for her to tell me this but the other part wants to badger her with questions about my life, what and who I really am. We both sit in silence as the questions circle my mind, are my parents alive? Did my brother know who I was and why not mention it to me.

Then it clicked, I pulled out a business card from within my pocket, I folded it up and opened it again, trying to preoccupy my mind with clouds preventing the thunder storm. My mum looked to me and the to what I held inbetween my finger, could now be a good time to tell her about the Alfie thing, the actual reason for why I am here tonight?

Seeing the name 'Peter Mitchell' just seemed so alien to me, that this name and number could provide tie up any loose ends I've been left with all my life. He looked like me, his face seemed familiar like I should've known who he was and my brain was screaming at me and he seemed to know, yet I was too abrupt and defensive to even give him a chance. Would I be stood here with Jim if I let Peter speak, or would he be stood by my side?

Deciding that trying to figure all this out isn't worth it for one night I decide to go back to my bedroom upstairs. Without saying a single word I fiddle with the business card in my fingers and head up the stairs, my mum doesn't try to stop me or even make an attempt to move or speak, Jim is already up the stairs but I feel drained. Drained to even tell him how I feel as I don't know myself, I feel so unsure on everything lately, my life, feelings, mentality everything.

Walking through my door all my old belongings greet me, old photos and fairy lights I stuck to my baby pink walls, the bad art work I tried to produce when I was 10, my bed with fresh bedding and the sweet smell of flowers greets me with open arms. Placing myself onto my bed I bring my legs to cross them, still twirling the number inbetween my fingers contemplating whether or not to do something about this, give Peter a ring or if I should leave all of this mystery alone.