Partners In Crime [On Hold]

Chapter Twenty Two

I didn't think the nervousness could get possibly worse, but it did. It did get worse. Tenfolds of butterflies and other flying creatures had a little monster party in my stomach and I felt nauseous and irritated all at once.

Was my mother home?

Was my father?

Was anyone?

At this time, no one usually hung at home except for Alex who probably had no money and figured home cooked food was as good as any take-away could be. But I as I approached the door I heard no sounds, no chatting, no cooking and no TV-sounds either. It was as dead as a grave and I figured it was safe. I unlocked the door, kicked my shoes off, closed the door, hung my jacket, went to my room and undressed. Then I came out.

And I saw emptiness.

I saw ghosts running through my vision. Ghosts of the past. Memories flittering by the second, haunting my already dysfunctional mind. First day we came, three years and a few months ago. This apartment was the symbol of our return. Though we had lived in England before and moved to Cairo for two years, the return was nostalgic.

Penelope was born and raised her first year here. She took her first steps here.

My father taught me how to play chess here. My mother told me about Gran on that very couch. Alex told us about his scholarship here.

Ghosts of the pasts. Good feelings, nostalgia, happiness and joy had been experienced in this room. And where I stood now, it made me feel so small and so old and so ancient. Had I really experienced all these things? Was it that long ago? And now, now that I was back, how did I feel?

Empty.

Because though there was joy, there was miserableness as well.

My mother threw a vase at Baba. He had a scar on his chest.

Penelope told my mother not to be angry because she was scared at night. She said that with tears streaming, right there, in the kitchen, while my mother was holding a knife.

Alex and I got shunned for thinking too broad, for not following in my mother's steps of thought. We disagreed with her culture and ways of discipline.

And long ago, as a child, my mother put me to sleep and as I drifted away to Nothingness my mother whispered words that she thought I wouldn't hear. And she had a bad day, I told myself the morning after, she had a bad day and her mind wasn't cool and collected. She had a bad day. But even though, even though she had a bad day, I had doubts. She said it with sincerity. She was sane when uttering them. She was calm when voicing them. She was collected when choosing to say it right where I slept.

"You must be my biggest mistake..."

And she was certain I was sleeping.

And I was certain she must be sleeping. Otherwise, why would she say it unless intoxicated by sleep?

But I peeked an eye open.

And she wasn't sleeping. She was sitting straight, her brown hair at the back, her teeth biting her thumb and her eyes watery, tears streaming down her face. And I saw regret. So much regret.

The house was empty with ghosts.

The house was empty.

And I was empty as well.

"Hey, wake up."

I felt a slight shaking and my head lifted from whatever I had managed to sleep on. I looked at my brother's mellow eyes. Their hazel color had a calming effect and I smiled gratefully at him.

"Hey," my voice husky. "What's up?"

He sat down and I felt myself get lowered. I must've managed to sleep on the couch. I sat up and cuddled in the blanket I must've gotten with me.

Everything was blurry.

Alex coughed, and his foot tapped and I looked at him curiously, knowing these signs of neurotic habits. I felt the pleasure that sleep brought slowly fade away when the redness of Alex's cheek spread.

He was not nervous.

He was furious.

"What's wrong?" I dared to ask. "Why do you looked so-"

"She's left."

"What do you mean she's left?" I knew who he was taking about. It was all in his tone. "How could she leave? Baba has cancer. He's ill. Yes, he did something wrong by theft, but he's sick!"

"Yet, do you see anything that belongs to her here?"

I looked around. I looked around carefully. And I noticed my mother's previous vase was gone. And the pictures of Gran and Grandpa, and her little glass doves. There was so many things of absence, I lost count.

My cheeks reddened. "How?"

"Because she's a bitch, that's how."

"She's our mother."

"Not a good one."

"She can't leave," my voice was hollow. "He's sick. We're her kids. Alex, where is our mother?"

"Last time I saw her was when she packed up. I came for lunch and she had two bags ready to go. She didn't look surprised to see me. She didn't even say anything. Only when she was finally ready and rolled the bags up to the door where I stood shocked did she acknowledge me."

"And?"

"And she told me she loves me. And that this was only temporary. She told me to let Penny know she loved her and she'll be back. Then she left."

I had this empty, hollow, echoing feeling. As if I was only a bystander, not really in the moment, but not really out of it either. And I was so calm it was frightening. Though my face was red and my knuckles white from clenching, my voice was silk sweet.

"And she didn't mention me or baba?"

Alex shook his head furiously. "She abounded us."

"She did."

"What a bitch."

"She is."

"I can't believe it."

"Not me either." I smiled softly, turned to look at him. I slowly out my hand on his fist. I took it up for me to kiss.

"But we'll be okay, we'll figure everything out."

"On our own? I'm not here most of the time."

"But when you are, we'll figure things out."

"You sound so sure." Alex slumped his shoulders. As in defeat. As in hope given up.

"Because I am."

"What about Penny?"

I scoffed. "Don't you know our own little sister? She's a fighter, Alex. She'll be okay. She'll understand."

"She's five."

"Almost six."

We laughed. Not because I said something funny. But the hopelessness got to the point of ridiculous.

"We'll be okay." He said.

"We'll be okay," I repeated.

And the lies we told sunk to the ground beneath us.