Be There | A Dwayne Robertson Fanfic ✔️

A Knock on the Door

Have you ever had a feeling of complete and utter peace? Quiet with no movement around, it's only you and no one else. It takes you to an invisible world that can't be seen by anyone else, and it's tailor-made just for you. I truly hope you've felt it before, because it's absolutely stunning. Maybe you get it from reading, or painting, or drawing.

I get it in the oddest place to find quiet. Hockey. Nothing makes me happier than skating down the ice, adrenaline pumping through my veins, while trying to score a goal for my team, which I play on with my brother, Dean. He, however, is a bit more intense than I am, and a bit, maybe more than a bit, more physical.

I wish every day we lived in a more rural area with a pond behind our house. Or at least a non-crowded ice skating rink that I only get to practice at when I'm with my team. But, no, I'm stuck in a little, stuffy apartment with nothing but a wall between me and my brother's room. God, I hate his heavy metal music. Why hasn't Dad told him to turn it down or off?

I stand up from my twin bed, tossing the book, which I was trying to enjoy, onto it. I walk over to the sunshine yellow wall and pound on it. "Will you turn that down!?" I yell, hoping that he'll hear over his racket. I remain still for a minute before I come to the conclusion that I will physically have to go into his room and tell him.

I pull open the white door and grumble over to my brother's room next door. I turn the knob to see him jamming to his ear-piercing music, and I tap my foot impatiently. Despite the physical resemblance of my brother and I with our soot-colored hair and woodland brown eyes, we were polar opposites, besides our love for hockey.

"Dean," I say, attempting to catch his attention. "Dean. Dean!" Finally, he turns around and grins at me. "Can you turn it down? I'm trying to do something productive. Maybe you should try it sometime." I tell him. When you talk to me, it's either sassy and sarcastic or serious, no in between.

"No-can-do, Nutmeg," he responds using his nickname for me, "Dad left, so I can have it on loud until he comes back." I roll my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. "Oh, and he left me in charge," he adds, sending me a wink.

I throw my hands in the air in defeat. "You know Dad'll be majorly pissed if he gets another complaint about your music from the neighbors." He shrugs at my warning, not caring in the slightest. "Dean, you know how stressed he is," I sit on his bed, praying he'll shut the music off and listen to me for two seconds.

Thankfully, luck is on my side when Dean ends his crazed dance session and flops down next to me. "I know, I know," he sighs, hands running through his hair, knocking his bandana off his forehead. "Work has him exhausted, and he has us to take care of and blah, blah, blah." He falls down onto the mattress, his back against it as he stares up at the ceiling, though his feet still touch the floor.

I look down at his face while sitting crisscross, frowning slightly at his expression. It looks so down, just like mine. I know how he feels, because I feel the same way.

Our mom left us when I was seven for a younger man. They got married two years after she ran off, and they're expecting a second child soon. Once she left, my dad buried himself in his work, leaving me and Dean by ourselves a lot. Dean's raised me in a way, and he's really overprotective but he's the only person I have to rely and trust. It's hard sometimes, knowing that the only person who cares is your brother, but I'm okay with it, because Dean is my best friend, and I care about him too.

"Maybe if he didn't work so much, he'd have time for us. It's not like he's working because we are in desperate need of the money. Sure, it's good to have the extra, but we're stable," Dean mutters, his way of dealing with annoyance. He had to stop punching things because Dad got sick of paying for repairs.