Delirious

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Pain is a mind game. You only feel as much pain, as your mind allows you to.

At least, that's what I tell myself.

It is the mental pain that I cannot seem to bare. The dull, yet pounding ache that comes when I think too hard about the past. Once it creeps into my mind, it never seems to leave. A sting, that is simply too unpleasant to shake. It normally comes right after my blackouts, but not this time. When I woke up, there was nothing. Nothing, except for the blank, white ceiling above me.

"Ahh, Blair. How nice how of you to return to the land of the conscious. You've been gone for quite awhile." Someone cooed from beside me, sarcasm dripping off their every syllable. The deep voice belonged to none other than Gunner Peterson, my brother. I propped myself up on my elbows, as I turned to face him. He was leaning against the entrance to the living room, hands shoved into his jean pockets, and a filthy smirk plastered on his face.

"Are you feeling ok? Can I get you anything? A glass of water? A pillow? How about a plane ticket to LA?" He seethed, his eyes full of judgement.

"Just leave me alone." I pleaded, before sitting up. I was awake now.

"Why should I? Is it because you are having your poor little visions again?" Gunner was next to me now, his body fixed comfortably on the coffee table, his knees touching mine.

"Fine, stay if you want. I don't care. You're only a distraction, you always have been." I knew I was only pushing his temper by snapping back at him.

"Aren't you supposed to nice to me? I thought you wanted me to sell my house. At least that is what Dylan said. So if I were you I would act a little kinder, sis." He was right, I shouldn't be enraging him if I wanted to get something out of him, but I just couldn't stop.

"I don't care what Dylan said. I'm going to go LA, whether you sell this dump or not." I motioned to the space around us.

"That's cute." He laughed, abandoning his spot on the coffee table.

"What?" I asked, my voice sounding much more innocent that I expected.

"Oh, nothing." I stood up abruptly, making sure to get his attention. I was done with this conversation, so I did the first reasonable thing that came to mind. I left.

"Where are you going?" I heard Gunner call after me. I responded by grabbing my car keys, and storming out of the front door.

"Blair!" Gunner's voice was deep and raspy, like it always was when he was angry. His footsteps seemed to get louder with each passing second. Before I knew it his hand was placed firmly on my wrist, preventing me from walking any farther.

"Where are you going?" He repeated.

"I'm leaving. I'm taking the first bus to Los Angeles, and I will be out of here by morning. It will be like I never even existed." I confessed, my voice cracking at the end.

"Why? Why are you so determined to leave here? What is so great about LA?"

"There is nothing here for me anymore." I started, "You and Dylan are both going back to college in the fall, and nobody here even likes me. I'm just that girl whose parents died last December. I just want to go to a place where freaks like me, can be considered normal."

"You think you're a freak?" He asked, while furrowing his eyebrows together. Neither of us seemed to mind that we were standing in the front yard.

"All of my 'friends' haven't talked to me since the night of the Accident. I live with my two older brothers, in my dead Grandmother's house. And I see visions of my dead parents, who both died in a mysterious fire. I'd consider that pretty freakish, wouldn't you, Gunner?" He flinched at the mention of his name.

But before I had the chance to continue, he pulled me in close to him, his arms wrapping around me securely. Our height difference becoming very obvious, as his chin rested on my head. Despite my original hesitation, I eventually grew comfortable to his grip.

"I'll sell my house." Gunner whispered into my hair.

"What?" I said, pulling back just the slightest bit. His removed his hands quickly, and they found their place in his pockets.

"I said, I'll sell my house." He spoke, making eye contact with me. "I haven't been exactly the best brother lately, but I want to be. So I'll sell my house."

I studied his face to make sure he was serious. His usual grey eyes were clouded over, and his face held an unreadable expression. He looked so much like dad, it hurt. We both did really, with our slate-colored eyes, and unruly brown hair we easily passed as his children. Dylan took more after mom, receiving her golden locks, and matching eyes. We had never really been a picture perfect family.

"What are you thinking?" Gunner inquired. I had been thinking for too long, I was always thinking for too long. Off in my own world and never really focused on the present.

"I was thinking that you're not a bad brother, and that you don't have to sell the house. Not if you don't want to." It was the truth, he was a good brother, at times better than Dylan. But I never liked to admit it to myself, because Dylan tried so hard. Either way I love them both.

"Thank you." He smiled, "But I want to sell the house. I need to, especially if I want to move past mom and dad."

"Okay, I understand." And I did. "But does this mean I get to move to LA?" I bit my lip, as I waited for the answer.

"I suppose." Gunner commented, a small smile playing at the edge of his lips. He wrapped one arm around me as we turned to walk back to the house. "And if anyone tries to give you trouble in LA, don't think I won't be there in under two minutes flat."

I laughed at his threat, remembering the last fight he got into. He looked like a fighter, tall and lanky, but also very coordinated and fast. Although, standing in the front yard of our Grandmother's old house in a purple sweater, jeans, and brown leather boots, he looked more like a school boy than someone who could throw a punch.

"What? You don't think I still have it in me?" He asked, giving me a sideways glance.

"I don't know, Gunner. You haven't fought in a good month or two. I hate to say it but you might be losing your touch." I countered, raising my eyebrows, along with the pitch of my voice.

"Me? No way." He said laughing in between breaths. Before I had time to comprehend what was going on, I was lifted off the ground and over Gunner's shoulder.

"Put me down!" I demanded, smacking his arm in the process.

"Nope. I'm going to prove to you that I can take you right here." He replied.

"In the middle of the front yard?" I spoke, somehow managing to contain my laughter.

"Why I cannot think of a better place to do it, Elizabeth Blair." He announced, setting me down. I recognized the small wooded area as the spot where we used to wrestle every Wednesday afternoon. Our parents would work at the Soup Kitchen every week at the same time, so we, Dylan, Gunner and I, would all pass the time here, at Peterson Fort. We would always fight, and wrestle until the sun went down, each sibling taking a turn on being the fighter or the referee.

"Peterson Fort," Gunner explained, as if I didn't already know. "Named after, well us, the Peterson's! And home to the meanest and baddest fighters around." I was trying my hardest not to crack up at the memories this spot had. I remember carving our names into the North tree, and getting a splinter from pressing too hard.

"So what do you say? Wanna fight?" Gunner implored, I couldn't deny that feverishly familiar smile, it was the one he used to wear as a kid.

"You're on." I announced.

And suddenly, the pain was gone.