Present Drifter

Chapter 3

My body jerks up into a sitting position on my bed and I take in a large intake of air like it's my first breath. I'm alive. There's a layer of sweat covering my forehead, my breathing is coming out short and fast, and there's a sharp pain in my chest, but I'm alive.

I place my hand over the pain and press done slightly. It's bruised, but I don't care. I'm still here, I get to live another day. I never thought I would be one of those people who were grateful for just another day but now that I've been face to face with death, I get it.

When my breathing starts to return to normal, I let everything sink in. The bruise on my chest is either an unlikely coincidence or proof that I did, in fact, travel back in time. It feels like a memory, something that actually happened, not a dream, but if it wasn't a dream that just leaves me with dozens of questions.

Why did Victoria kill me? What did she want from Elijah and how did I, or Briar, get caught up in the middle of that? Why did Elijah risk Briar's life to protect whatever it was that Victoria wanted? Was that really my past life and if so, did Elijah and Briar really love each other? How am I still alive?

I shake my head at nothing but that fact that those questions probably won't get answered. This is probably something I should try to forget so the questions don't drive me insane, but I traveled back in time, can I really forget that.

The door to my bedroom slides open and my younger brother, Oliver, slips his head through the opening and stares up at me. He blinks a few times but doesn't say anything.

"Um, hi?" I question as he continues to look at me. He shakes his head a little.

"Ms. Marshall just wanted me to make sure you were awake," Oliver responds. I laugh a little at the fact that he still calls our mom Ms. Marshall. He quickly slips back out my door and walks away.

My mom adopted Oliver about a year ago when he was five. She has always felt the need to take care of someone, even as a single mother. When I got older and she didn't have to take care of me as much, she started fostering kids.

Ashley came, and she was adorable, but after two months, her parents were able to care for her again. Then Oliver came. When he first came here he barely said anything, he struggled to make eye contact, and he would start uncontrollably shaking whenever he was in a room with more than three people. It was a perfect fit for my mom because Oliver needed a lot of attention, love, and care.

After about three months we found out that Oliver's mother, and only family, had died in a car accident after she had spent the night at a bar. Since he had no blood relatives, it meant my mom could adopt him and she did. It took a lot of work but another two months later and he was officially my brother.

We don't know much about Oliver's past, but we suspect that he was abused and didn't have much interaction with other people. We've never asked him about his old home, we just want him to have a better one here, with us.

Even though it's been a year, he still struggles with a few things, but he's come a long way. He still struggles with making eye contact with strangers but does just fine with us. He can have full conversations with people and has even started going to school. He also still calls our mom Ms. Marshall, but we're working on it. Oliver just needs time to accept that we're his family.

Today is Wednesday, I remember. That means I need to get ready for school. Ah, school, every teenager's nightmare.

After I've gotten dressed and ready for the day I head downstairs to the kitchen. Oliver is sitting alone at the dining room table with an empty bowl and a spoon in front of him. I struggle to hold in a giggle.

"Need some help getting cereal?" I ask. Oliver jerks a little like I scared him, but he turns around and gives me a quick nod anyway. Then he turns back around and stares at the bowl he's set in front of himself.

I smile at him before I walk into the kitchen. There I grab the box of cereal, from the cabinet, and the carton of milk. When I set them both down on the table in front of Oliver, he looks up at me and gives a slight smile. Then I grab a bowl and a spoon from off the counter and slip into the chair across from him.

Oliver starts to pour everything into his bowl. When he's done, I do the same.

We sit there in silence for a few moments, alone in our own thoughts. Oliver seems calm, but there's not a hint of emotion on his face. I can never quite figure out what's going on inside his head.

"How's school?" I ask trying to start up a conversation. Oliver doesn't look up from his food.

"It's alright," he answers. I feel my body twitch. I used to tell someone I was alright every time they asked how I was. Alright is a word you use when you don't want to lie with the word good.

"Have you made any friends?" I questioned.

"A few," he said. Sometimes it's impossible to start a conversation, but I get it from his side. Sometimes you just don't want to do the work of keeping a conversation going.

"That's good," my mom adds as she walks past us and into the kitchen. Oliver finally looks up from his bowl. "How are you guys?"

"I'm good," I say ignoring the visions of last night that flash through my head. My mom pulls out a mug and starts to prepare her cup of coffee for the day.

"What about you Oliver," she asks. This is how she nudges him into talking a little bit more.

"I'm good," he answers. She nods in agreement and he looks back down at his food. I let a small sigh escape. Then the room falls silent except for the sound of my mom stirring sugar into her coffee. This is how most of our mornings are, but that's ok. Oliver and I aren't talkative people and that's how it's always been.

My mom walks over to the table we're sitting at with her coffee in hand. "I've got to go to work now." She says. "Can you take Oliver to school?"

"Yes," I answer. My mom smiles down at me and then walks away. A few moments later I hear the door open and close. Oliver looks up at me.

"Does that mean we can listen to the good music?" He asks and I laugh.

"Yes, that means we can listen to the good music," I answer and for the first time all day, I see an actual smile on Oliver's face.