Same Time

nine.

j a i m e e

+

Since the day my parents were ripped so cruelly from the world, I had grown painfully used to crying. The sharp sound of secret sobbing wasn't unfamiliar for me to hear in the years following. When I lived with Remi at Shayden's, I used to hear my older brother crying downstairs at ungodly hours, probably having woken up from another continuous nightmare. And then when we got an apartment, he used to sit in my room when he thought I was sleeping just to check I was still there, and eventually his crying would fade.

I'd only seen him cry once in my life before Mom and Dad died, and that was after an event in 8th Grade that landed me in the ICU. But from the moment we watched our Mom's heart stop, our pain was never ending.

I never cried at the beginning. The therapist I saw after the rape spoke through it with me, told me it was just the shock and unfamiliarity of the situation that made me almost dissociate from myself, not allowing myself to feel anything in order to protect myself. It took Remi breaking down at their graveside on their first anniversary for things to hit me properly. Since then, we've gone together to the Cemetery on every birthday and anniversary.

The anniversary was today. 8 years since the day that Remi and I lost our entire foundation of love and support. I'd stayed over at his home last night but having been unable to sleep, I'd eventually left the guest room at 6am and made a drink, sitting in the dining room.

Just as I go to take a sip of my third Hot Cocoa, I hear shuffling in the other room as Remi walks in. Judging by his red-rimmed, hooded eyes, I assume automatically that he'd been in the same position as I when it came to the insomnia.

"Buenos días, hermana. ¿Estás bien?" He asks quietly, ruffling my hair before planting a quick kiss onto my forehead.

(translation: good morning, sister. are you okay?)

"Yes, Rem." I rolled my eyes at the fact he still spoke in Spanish. It sounds awful but since Mom and Dad died, I barely remember how to speak it fluently and that would never have happened if they were still here. My Mom was Jamaican and my Dad Mexican. He taught her how to speak it before Remi was born and he always insisted on us speaking Spanish and only Spanish when we were in our home. The only exception was when any of our friends were over, aside from Shayden as my Dad firmly believed that any of his children's partners needed to know Spanish so our potential future children would too.

Remi respected my father's wishes when it came to his five year old daughter, Starr. She could speak both English and Spanish, and Rem never failed to remind her of how proud her Abuelo would be.

(translation: grandad)

"It's a weird day." I remark quietly, eyes fixated almost instinctively on the warm liquid in my cup. Nostalgia and this general feeling of awkwardness was normally bestowed upon me today. It'd been so long but it still felt so fresh to think about the fact the people who made me were no longer here.

Before Remi has the chance to reply, Starr comes bundling into the room. Her curls bounce off her shoulders as she ignores her father and comes straight over to me, arms open expectantly.

"Morning, bubba." I send her a soft smile as she curls her arms around my neck, resting on my lap. "Do you want some breakfast?"

She nod her head, eyes lighting up. "Pancakes?"

We both look at Remi hopefully, I was well aware of his strict healthy eating policy when it came to him and his daughter but today, as far as Starr was concerned, was her Abuelo's and Abuela's special day.