Motorcycle Girl

Chapter 21: Placing Blame

Chapter 21: Placing Blame

"What did the doctor say?" Mason asks after nearly an hour of silence.

"He said that..." Mom trails off, looking at Dad as tears fill her eyes.

"He said he's better today. His body is healing, but his mind is...he's getting worse. He told us to talk to him, but we don't know what to say."

My eyes narrow.

Why don't know what to say? So they're going to just sit there and let him get worse?

I feel like screaming.

"Get out." I whisper. Everyone looks at me.

"What?" Mom asks.

"Out." I say. "Everyone. Everyone get out."

"But-" Peyton starts.

"Get. Out."

They all walk out, and Odeletta pauses, being the last one in the room.

"Nathan." She whispers. I look at her. "I spent years of my life thinking my parents were dead. Though they were not, I thought that they were. When I realized that they were alive, I realized seconds after that they were going to die." She gives me a soft look. "Just know that I know how you feel and I am here to talk if that is what you need." She gets halfway out the door and turns back around. "Or if you don't want to talk, we do not have to talk. We can sit in silence."

Even though she knows I don't want to be touched, she leans in and kisses my cheek, squeezing my hand gently in her own.

She walks out then, shutting the door behind her.

I stare at my brother, hesitating for ten minutes before I slowly cross the room, sitting down roughly in the seat beside his bed.

I stare at him for a long time, and then I speak up.

"Julian, I don't know if you can hear me or not, but I just wanted you to know you're a fucking ass." I let out a rough breath. "I remember when Mom told me and Peyton you were pregnant. I was four. She was so happy, but I was pissed. Peyton was always pissing me off with her friends. She was nine at the time. I didn't want another brother. I was five when you were born and I resented you for the first two years because Dad played sports with me before you were born and then after you were born Peyton would have her friends over and when I got grumpy, Dad wouldn't take just me out to play sports, he would take both of us. I had to sit there and toss the ball lightly so you didn't get hurt, and pretend to be happy when you almost caught it." I scowl at the memory, glaring at my brother. "And I resented you for years. Six, to be exact. When I was eleven and Harper was sixteen, you were potty trained and you walked into Harper's room and peed in Elizabeth's bag. I hated Elizabeth because she treated me like a kid. You knew exactly what you were doing, and when Harper and our parents were screaming at you, I was laughing. I was laughing because Elizabeth was annoying. That was the day I realized you weren't so bad. We got close after that, and soon enough I didn't mind playing sports with you. You got better, and I was proud. I was a nice guy, remember? Opening doors and shit, and I was showing you how to, also, and you were great. When I turned eighteen, after Peyton has moved out, when you were thirteen, I left for college and I cried in the car on the way to the airport. I told you I had something in my eye but I was actually crying because I was leaving my little brother. You and I fought a lot after that, mostly because I didn't call as much as you wanted, but when I came home for the holidays, you'd kick my ass at football. I remember when I tackled you when you were fifteen and you broke your finger and Mom almost beat me to death. When you make quarterback in school, I was so fucking proud, I was running around the apartment and Mason and Brenda kept telling me to shut up. When you first met Brenda and heard her voice, you refused to shake her hand because she was annoying. You loved Odeletta from the moment you laid eyes on her. You're a magnet for the girls and I never understood how you did it. I, at twenty three years old, look up to my younger brother." I laugh. "You never fail to piss me off when you steal the last cookie, eat the cool whip from the freezer and blame me, or tackle me in football." I cough. "But I miss you a lot. All the time, and now I'm fucking pissed. You're a dick, Julian, because you're in a coma and the doctor said you might die. When Odette tried to comfort me, I pushed her hand away. You better fucking wake up, you dick. You're going to ruin my life. That's not fair. You ruined my life when you were born, you ruined my life when I realized I liked you, and now you're ruining my life by leaving."

I find hot tears streaming down my cheeks.

"And now I'm fucking crying, you fucking dick. If you weren't so fucking broken, I'd punch your arm."

_____

I talked to him for five hours straight, but stopped when the doctor came in, and then I locked myself in the family bathroom in the waiting area and cried for an hour, and went back into the room.

Nobody commented on my red eyes.

The doctor is talking to my parents and I look up when my Mom starts crying.

"So he's going to wake up?" Dad demands.

"I am very optimistic." He nods.

_____

He woke up a few hours after that, and another week passed before he was released from the hospital, and I find my body constantly tense, and all I can think about is running off.

My parents house is crowded. Everyone is on top of each other and I haven't had a moment alone to just let out my frustrations, but I don't know how. I find myself distancing from everyone, including Odeletta.

Even Mason can't talk to me. Peyton can't, nobody can.

I just feel fucked up in the head and want nothing more than to get out of this house and be alone, really alone.

I hate myself. I was a bad influence on Julian. With my lack of cares, my bag attitude, and my resistance to listen to what everyone was saying when they were telling me what I was doing was wrong, I rubbed off on Julian.

I rubbed off on him so much that he stole my parents car and went to go have sex with some girl.

My Mom always said I was his influence, and Julian even told me when I was leaving for college that he looked up to me more than anyone.

He looked up to me and I blew it.

I'm angry. I'm angry with myself for my actions. I'm angry with Julian for acting on them, and I don't know what to do.