Fragile

Fragile II

"I loved her, you know," my father slurred, his voice thick with emotion as I hurriedly gathered the beer bottles he had carelessly tossed onto the floor. "She was my everything. Still is my everything."

I paused mid-step, avoiding his bloodshot gaze but listening intently. This wasn't the first time he had spoken like this, but each time felt like a new wound opening up.

"I know," I muttered softly.

"You're not gonna tell Sam about this, are you?" he asked suddenly, his tone shifting to something more desperate. "It'd break his heart if he ever saw his old man like this."

"I know," I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper. I didn't want to engage further, didn't want to encourage these drunken confessions that seemed to be happening more as of late.

"Good," he sighed heavily, a sad smile tugging at his lips. His eyes, rimmed with red and clouded by alcohol, searched mine for reassurance. "It'll be our little secret then. What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

I nodded silently, not trusting myself to speak. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, suffocating me with the burden of keeping yet another secret. 

As I continued to clean up the mess, I couldn't help but feel the weight of my father's pain, and the helplessness of loving someone who was drowning in their own sorrow. It was a familiar feeling, one that I had learned to carry silently, hidden beneath layers of responsibility and duty. But behind the facade of strength and stoicism I presented to the world, there was a deep ache—a yearning for the family we once were, for the father who had taught me to ride a bike and cheered me on at my little league games. Now, he was a shadow of that man, lost in a sea of regrets and self-destructive tendencies.

As I finished cleaning and retreated to the safety of my room, I couldn't shake the image of his weary smile, the plea in his eyes to protect Sam from the harsh realities of our fractured family. It was a promise I had made many times before, a silent pact to shield my younger brother from the pain that plagued our lives. But with each passing day, the weight of that promise grew heavier, threatening to crush me under the weight of my failures.

Chapter Two

I twirled the razor between my fingers, elbows planted heavily on my knees as I leaned forward on the couch. The weight of the day pressed down on me, mirroring the burden my father must have carried before his first drink. Did he sit here, contemplating his bottle of temptation, battling against the urge to drown himself in it? How many times did he fight, only to succumb? How many failures did it take before he accepted surrender?

...and how many failures will it take for me to do the same?

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," I muttered bitterly, the razor's edge glinting under the unforgiving lights, promising a fleeting respite from the turmoil within.

But Sam did know. He was the one who caught me, entering just as I pressed the blade against my skin. He snatched the razor from my grip and hurled it aside. His hands gripped my shoulders, demanding my gaze as he struggled to mask the tears welling in his eyes. I had betrayed him and exposed him to a darkness he should never have seen. Now, even my moments of solitary escape were tarnished by the knowledge of his shattered trust.

I clenched my jaw and flung the blade onto the coffee table, raking my hands through my disheveled hair. Stress radiated through me, not just from reining in my impulses, but from the deafening silence that threatened to engulf me.

The silence - the same silence that hung heavy in the air after Mom died. Dad's sullen brooding, broken only by the clink of bottles and bitter words hurled at me. The silence of nights spent locked in my room, waiting for a yell or curse to break it. The silence of the hospital room, where I waited for news that I wished I never heard.