This was a therapeutic chain of events.

TWENTY

No matter how hard I try, she just doesn't want to hear that I actually care about her. So much has happened in her life and I know that one sit down dinner is not going to change the way she feels about me, and I'm an idiot for thinking that I could even try. I just can't accept the fact that my baby sister hates me. I won't accept it. 

I got up from the table, not feeling hungry any more, and poured both the waisted dinners in the trash. I shoved them in the dishwasher, then pulled a beer out from the fridge and slumped down on the couch. I racked my brain trying to think of ways I could help her. I know she won't accept any help I give her, so I'm just going to have to force ably make her want my help, but how I do that is still a mystery.  As I continued to think, pulling on fists of my hair. The piano in the corner of the lounge caught my eye. Whenever I'm stressed or pissed off or any other emotion really I just play my piano, it seems to help more than anything else. I placed my beer bottle on the coaster of the wooden table and walked over, opening the cover that revealed the ivory keys which I'm surprised haven't worn based on how much I play this thing. 

I just started messing around, but then I just found myself playing My Way by Frank Sinatra. A smile immediately plastered all over my face. I remember when Ronnie and I would stay up passed midnight and I would play for her, and almost every time I would play Frank Sinatra. When our Mom stopped singing to her when she was about two, that's when I started. We would sit on the two person piano stool, her legs couldn't reach the pedals, I would play whatever she asked for, her eyes would go droopy, and her head would always slowly fall on to the side of my arm, and every time I would have to scoop her up into my arms and carry her up stairs tucking her into bed., not that I minded.

I started humming the tune, then when the vocal came in, I softly started singing them to myself, reminding myself of all the times when Ronnie and I were invincible together. We always said we could do anything, go anywhere, be anyone, and every time, we would do it together. It reminded me that I haven't always been such a shit brother, and it gave me the slightest ounce of hope that she hasn't completely given up on me yet, that maybe there's a tiny piece inside of her that's willing to forgive me, God knows I need it.

Ronnie's P.O.V 

Once again, a conversation with Brendon turned into an argument which I walked away from. I don't see why he continues to have to try so hard, why he needs to be forgiven, I can never forgive him for what he did, and I don't even think I can give myself the reason why. I'm lying on my bed right now, and every single pain and hurt I've ever felt comes pouring back into brain like an uninvited flood hell bent on ruining my life. I'm sick of this repeated notion that happens night after night on a constant loop. Every mistake I've made, every time I've been let down, every moment when I've literally felt like my heart is being ripped out of my chest, returns to me daily, never allowing myself to even consider forgiving Brendon or even myself. 

I rub my temple ferociously, fighting back the urge to tear out my hair, wonder why I'm not crying? I always imagined crying to be for the weak, the lonely ones who never look out for themselves, I cried myself to sleep for months after Brendon left, I almost feel like I've used all the tears one person should get in a lifetime. The irony of this moment is what came next. 

After my mini meltdown stage I've become so fond of started to pass, my surrounding senses began to kick in again. First my sight, which allowed my to see the white ceilings and light shade that was hanging in my room, then followed by touch, smell, taste and then finally sound. I couldn't make it out at first, I knew it was some kind of instrument. I sat up on my bed trying to hear it more clearly. A Piano, I walked away from my bed and over to the door which was blocking the sound from entering my room, only allowing me to hear it faintly through the crack under the door. My arms felt glued to their sides and I had to use all my strength to lift my hand and turn the door handle which led out into the hall way. 

It was as if by magic I was transported back to when I was 4 years old, Brendon and I would sit at the two person piano stool and he would play whatever I asked him to play that day, most of the time one of us would recommend Frank Sinatra or at least he would just begin to play it. It became my lullaby for four years of my life, right up until the day he left when I was six years old. My memory should be hazy, but it was as clear as anything, if I thought about it long enough I could still feel the vibrations from the Piano, or his arms scooping me up to tuck me into bed. As much as I didn't want to feel this right now, a warm comforting smile, although slight, crept on my face. As much as I didn't like it I knew it was there. 

I walked over to the stairs almost automatically not really aware of what I was doing. I sat down on the top step of the cool mahogany floor boards and brought my knees up to my chest. 

"Regrets, I've had a few, But then again, too few to mention, I did what I had to do and saw it through without exemption, I planned each charted course, each careful step along the byway..."

I listened to the voice I knew so well. It brought so much comfort to me, I just sat there and rested my head on my knees, not even thinking about the smile plastered on my face. I allowed myself to sit there and listen to him sing. I didn't flinch, I didn't budge, I just sat there and listened to him. 

"Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew, When I bit off more than I could chew, But through it all, when there was doubt, I ate it up and spit it out..." For a moment, just one moment, I believed that I could forgive him, forgive him for everything that he's done.

Then something happened that was alien to me, purely because it hasn't happened for such a long time. I brought my hand up to my cheek and rested my fingertips on the cold lifeless skin, and felt tears. My eyebrows knotted together and I was wiping my cheeks ferociously, If you'd have seen me in the street you'd have thought I thought I was leaking or something.

But this didn't make me sad, in some cryptic way, it reminded me I had a soul, maybe even a soul worth saving. I stopped frantically rubbing my face because in all honesty I thought I was gonna tear it off, and just resumed my position and continued listening to my brother. My brother, that's a word I haven't thought about in a while.

But then of course, the ivory keys of the piano had to stop at some point, and once again I was immediately re acquainted with my stubborn bitchy altar ego, who felt nothing, nor cared about the repercussions of her actions or words, the only thing safe for her were her thoughts, but no one needs to know about those.