Château Éboule (English)

six

August 05, 2016

Dear Larry,

I never did tell you why that day was the Day That Sucked, did I? I know you must be thinking that it can hardly be because I kissed an attractive boy and he was okay with it. Well believe it or not, it's exactly that, but it's also this:

When I got back to cottage 6 that night, the dark sky now only pink around the horizon, I went in through the front porch because I didn't really like our back porch anymore. It was quiet, at long last, in the cottage, so I walked upstairs, through the flowery, narrow hallway, and somebody grabbed my arm.

"Where's mum and dad?" I asked quickly when I saw my sister standing in the threshold to her room.

"Most of the parents are having a get-together in the town," she said.

"Okay," I said uneasily, shifting away from her, but her skinny fingers wrenched around my wrist and I winced. She took a step forward.

"You can wipe that bloody frown off your goddamn face, Nathan, because I know exactly what the fuck you've been up to, and I know how much you just love it, don't you? You just love it."

"Angela?"

She slapped me, and I felt little dots of blood pooling where her grown fingernails dug into my cheek. The fingers around my wrist slackened and fell away, and the next thing I knew, my sister was crying and screaming and accusing all at the same time.

"WHY DON'T YOU LOVE ME!" She screamed, her face stricken by horror, by sadness, by anger, as she clawed at my sweater, falling to her knees in front of me. "WHY DON'T YOU EVER LOVE ME, NATHAN!"

"I don't know," I said quietly, terrified of her, but it went unheard in all the noise.

She suddenly scrambled to her feet and her nose was just inches from mine, leaning in, eyes red and puffy, frown lengthening, and the flame of anger ignited my sister as it always had, lighting the dark hallway up with kindling hatred.

"I HATE YOU!" She screamed, and even seconds after she said it the words echoed like ghosts in my mind, the words seemed to fall upon the dusty hardwood floor and plaster themselves to the flowery walls.

"I do too." I said quietly.

"WHY!" She yelled, "BECAUSE YOU'RE GAY? YOU DON'T HATE YOURSELF BECAUSE OF THAT! YOU LOVE IT! YOU LOVE BEING DIFFERENT! YOU LOVE MAKING ME FEEL LIKE SHIT!"

"Angela."

"I LOVE HIM, NATHAN! I LOVE HIM! I LOVE MATHIEU AND THEN YOU GO BEHIND. MY. FUCKING. BACK - " she hit me with every word, and though my sister has the upper body strength of a weasel and can't punch a man to save her life, it hurt. It hurt a lot.

"Angela."

"YOU THINK YOU'RE CUTE BY BEING QUIET, DON'T YOU? YOU THINK THAT MAKES YOU DIFFERENT. WELL GUESS WHAT, YOU BASTARD, IT DOESN'T! YOU'RE JUST THE SAME AS EVERYBODY ELSE, EXCEPT FOR YOUR GAYNESS, BECAUSE THAT'S JUST WEIRD, AND YOU'RE JUST DOING IT TO SHOW ME ONE MORE TIME THAT YOU DON'T LOVE ME, RIGHT? RIGHT?"

"Angela."

"FIGHT BACK, YOU... FAGGOT! I HATE YOU!"

She chased me down the hallway, but when I made it halfway down the stairs she seemed to cave in on herself at the top, sobbing on the hardwood, her arms clutching her stomach, and I knew that I wasn't the only very, very sad person in cottage 6.

She looked up, tears in her eyes like fat diamonds, her entire face a dark shade of red, and her voice was scary and low and trembling as she said something I don't think I'll ever forget: