Blood Ink

Chapter Five

Months had passed, since the funeral and new year began. My parents dealt with everyday life on their own, having constructed new routines for themselves. The little communication we had with Cole still alive, worsened after his death. No spoke to each other now, and for the most part the place we called home was mainly always deserted. One of my parents, was always absent when the other was around; they had both also picked up 'unhealthy' habits.

I stared groggily at my laptop screen, a small digitally written paragraph in front of me. My brain was fried, Netflix was catching my attention more than this pointless essay that I kept hoping would write itself. Grades were terrible, I had failed english class twice already. It was a struggle really getting myself back into the vibe of studying. I was always tempted to curl up in my covers and just binge watch Netflix shows.

   I found it to be a slight pain to be taking English for the third time in row. Having to take it again, it was a hassle. Repeating the same academic criteria more than once was such a bore. I hated the lectures on how my professor would mention certain things indirectly, and was usually singling me out. He didn't bother to make it subtle, he made it as obvious as possible. Usually other classmates would turn and look at me, a slight giggle would be exchanged before turning their undivided attention back to the professor. Nothing, in my life seemed to matter. My parents didn't even notice my failing grades. (Like they'd care anyway, I wasn't some high-schooler anymore.)

On this particular day, the short story assigned about something 'unusually impactful' had to be hand written. I was staring at my laptop with the tab pulled open to my previous story, the one I started some time the semester before. I swiveled in my partly broken chair, thinking about all the different ways to procrastinate on this story.

The world had become a place, that almost didn't acknowledge Cole's existence anymore. My parents never spoke about him, no one ever said his name anymore. My mom had long since packed everything in his room up. All his collectables, his comics, his clothes and even began taking apart furniture.

We now had a spare room, and the house felt bigger and emptier.

   I remembered yelling at her:

   "What are you doing!" I shrieked.

   She turned to look at me with glassy eyes shifting through his stuff. Scotch tape and cardboard boxes littered the floor as she tossed aside hangers. Posters were torn down, and she just quietly stuffed items into the boxes with slight signs of struggle.

   "Don't start Mellissa, he isn't coming home all this stuff isn't needed." She snapped.

   "You're getting rid of his stuff!" I demanded. "this is Cole's room, how could you just trash his stuff so easily!" I felt betrayed, she was erasing every trace I had left. All the evidence I might have had to prove he even existed, to feel the comfort of his presence when the house was too empty.

   "This room has been empty for months! He is not coming home and there is no use for this room to be like it is!" She yelled. "Your brother is dead, and I am making good use of everything he left behind, for people who could have use of it."

   "This was Cole's room of course there is use for it!" I screamed. "It's meant to always be his room, didn't you say you'd always have a room for us here at home when we moved out and ever came back?!" I snapped at her and she glared at me.

   "Like what, Mellisa? For it serve as a painful reminder that your brother is dead." Her voice was cold and I felt like I had been slapped across the face. "Your brother is never going to come back home." she hissed. I felt sick, I wanted to run. I didn't want to be in this family not after this, what she was doing to the memory of my little brother.