If I Should Be Quite Honest

21

All I hear is the steady beep beep of the monitors and all I see is white, as if I'm in heaven, and if you just seen what I saw, you'd wish that was all you could see too. You would wish there really was one too. I could hardly sleep last night, after a week of pretending, and hiding anything from my friends and boyfriend. No wait, scrap that, I didn't sleep. I jumped at the chance to come get him today. I was restless. Even now. My leg bounced rapidly, and my heart raced. And raced. And paced. And raced. And paced. Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.
I try to clear my head. I don't want to-. I don't want-.
I never want to revisit it. Never. I don't have to. Stop it. He's good. He's good. He's good. No. I-. No. Just-.
I can't-. He's fine. He's good. Stop. So much red. Fuck. I'm so stupid. Stop it! I just want him to-. My heart hurts. My chest-. I can't-. I have to restrain myself from freaking the fuck out. It won't do to freak out. Don't worry bitch. They've stitched him up real nice like now. And he'll be good to go. That's Jae. He's always good.
Except for when he's bad.

"He's going to therapy," Jacob tells me, "They've evaluated him."
"He won't like that," I say, and I notice how small my voice is.
"It's not your fault," he tells me, putting an arm around me.
I stay quiet. It isn't about faults. I wouldn't even care if Jacob did decide to blame me. My little brother slit his wrists.
Ok. Just because it's you, I'll say it: he did it rather stupidly, mind you.
He didn't even cut in the right place. He bled a lot, but not as much as he would have if he did it in the right place. I was grateful for that. That's why I thought he wasn't trying to die. Maybe he just wanted to go a little. Then come back when he had had enough. Who knew? He never told me.

I was thinking about how dumb he was, when he came shuffling out with Ren, who looked exhausted. I mean, I would be too if I cried like she did.

He was silent. The ride home was silent. And the house was silent, and those at home, stood aside like they were watching a funeral car pass by. Ren made him sit in the family room, and he stared into his lap, as Amara held up a "welcome home" card up to his face, but he hardly regarded it. Not as if he was ashamed. If I were him, I wouldn't want to look at anyone either.

And no one could be normal. Ren sits there, next to Jae, staring intently at the screen, with her arms folded, as if she can't quite believe that the television would dare work. Jacob goes to make dinner, and Haven helps, even though she's pretty useless in the kitchen. Like I sadie, she can cook. She is probably the best cook in this flat, but she didnt like to do it. Because I see her just sitting st the table, looking stricken, deduct that she just doesnt want to be alone, but not in the same room as Jae. Me neither. I dont really want to have to look at him right now. Or I'll kill him for real. Because he wont tell me what's going on. But I dont kill him.
I sit in the family room, knees tucked under my chin as best as I can, while Ollie squeezed in next to me on the armchair. He gazed at Jae with wide and wary eyes, as if Jae might just jump up and slice himself up again. I stare at him too. I see the bandages. He's missed days off school. The whole week, we've all been apprehensive, watching each other as if we're all hiding something. Ren has been in full psychology mode, asking us hostile questions, as if she worked for the Spanish Inquisition or the FBI or something. I was this close to smacking her. For the love of something I don't know, I didn't.
Evie didn't talk. But that wasn't unusual. What was unusual, was the fact that she didn't say a thing, not even to insult us. I thought I knew why. Amara didn't play with her dolls. Instead, she cuddled up to Jacob when she could. She tried to hang onto his leg once this week, and he shouted at her. Then she cried. Then she wet the bed.
Pasha stayed with mum. We didn't tell him what had happened. Not only would he not probably have understood, he would have just been confused. We hadn't even told him that people die yet. But when he realised we weren't talking, or laughing, or smiling, or fighting, I guess he sensed something was off and clung to Isis like a little monkey, and would hardly even let her go to the toilet.
I wanted her to be gone at this time. I wanted her to leave. This was a family moment. A time for family to be together. She wasn't family. She was a poster girl for everything but.
But she stayed, and when Amara cried, she had scooped her up and wept too. I bet she thought she looked like the Virgin Mary or something, with her shiny tears. Her tears of cigarette smoke and coffee granules.