Forgetting Roman

{thirty-seven}

{thirty-seven}

                After a long and a bit tense dinner, my mother retired to her room while my father slipped out of the main house and walked towards the guest house in the back. Things between the two of them hadn’t completely been fixed. Which was why I was surprised when she said he was going to be staying the entire Thanksgiving break.

                Parker was still eating. He was on his third plate, each time he served himself another plate it seemed he grabbed more and more. It was safe to say he missed our mothers home cooked meals.

                “Could you slow down?” I asked.

                My brother looked up at me through his dark lashed and grinned, “Hell no.”

                He shoved another fork full into his mouth, making a disturbing groan at the back of his throat. I wrinkled my nose in distaste and shook my head as I picked up my glass of water and took a sip.

                “So,” Parker said after a few minutes of silence, “How’s school?”

                “Fine,” I replied almost too quickly.

                I grimaced when my brother looked up from his plate and gave me his unconvinced look, “Really, Aspen? I’m not your therapist and I’m not mom and dad. You can be real with me.”

                Closing my eyes for a few seconds, I exhaled and leaned back in my chair. “School is alright. I’m having trouble with my biology lecture but I’m scraping by.”

                Parker gave me a small smile before pushing his half eaten plate away, “How are you doing?” he then questioned me.

                “I’ve been better,” I admitted.

                “Have you…?” Parker asked lowering his voice a tad just in case our mother was roaming the halls.

                The look in my brother’s eyes told me he was afraid of the answer, and if I had it in me, I would have lied to him just like I had lied to Dr. James and our mother. There had never been any secrets between Parker and I. No matter how awkward or horrid the secrets were, we never kept anything from each other.

                So with a deep breath, I glanced in the direction of the stairs and made sure the coast was clear before I pulled up my cardigan sleeves up and revealed the white bandages. I avoided my brothers gaze and began to pull back the white gauze, revealing the scabbed cuts and unhealed ones.

                “Things got worse,” I said, eyes trained on my left arm.

                Parker sighed before his hand slipped into mine. Intertwining his fighter through mine, my brother squeezed a small sign of affection. “Things always get worse before they get better, Aspen.” He told me.

                “Things always get better before they get worse, and things always get worse before they get better. It’s a never ending cycle.” I replied.

                “Maybe so,” Parker said, “But it’s a cycle you don’t have to go through alone.”