Sister, Sister.

XXI: Break

FOUR MONTHS AFTER

Karlie

I wake up at six AM. Groggy and damp with sweat. I had another nightmare featuring Kat. We were arguing on a shore, foamy waves lapping at our ankles. Strong winds hoisted us up in the air, somehow when we were flung at the middle of the ocean Kat could swim perfectly, floating weightlessly on the dark, angry waters. But I was sinking fast like a heavy boulder. My mouth like an open cave, calling out for Kat, water infiltrated my lungs and the wiry hands of the ocean pulled me into its belly.

A cock crowed at a distance, making me sit up with a start. The mattress in Dad's house is much firmer than the one at home. It is almost uncomfortable to sleep on.

I reach for Kat's flask in my backpack and take a dainty, tentative sip. It tastes sharp like a combustion in my mouth, sliding down my throat igniting as it goes. It is clear why Kat is addicted to this stuff, I see stars behind my eyes, forming into bright constellations. A meteor speeds past in the void of my mind.

Unfortunately, I am a lightweight so it doesn't take long before the euphoria sets in, releasing the tension in my bones and in my joints making my limbs slack and relax. I wonder how Kat used to go on and on with the drinks. How she built a resistance to it.

Three quick raps sound from the other side of the door and before I can move a muscle Dad barges in. He takes in my sprawled form on the bed, flask in hand. Disappointment glooms his face making him look ten years older in a millisecond.

I open my mouth to say something. Maybe an apology but a nasty hiccup tumbles out instead. My hand shots to my mouth, my skin is crawling with the slither of shame.

He snatches the flask out of my hand in one fluid motion, some liquid sloshes onto his hand and drips to the floor. The move is so unDad-like.

My body goes warm, I can't meet his eyes. Suddenly the odour becomes pungent to me as I inhale it in thick wafts. It reminds me of Kat's ragged when she was really drunk.

"Is this what you have been doing?" His voice is low, hurt. The skin between his eyebrows is rumpled. My eyes hover at his shoulder, not meeting his.

I mumble an apology. I tug at my hair mentally chiding myself.

"Please don't do the mistake Kat did, she would have come to us rather than drown in her sorrows," he says softly, "it is true that your mother wanted to get rid of the pregnancy. She was young then, you shouldn't hold it against her." Dad took a seat next to me on the bed, he smelt of soap and aftershave. Why has he taken his bath and shaved so early in the morning? "Your mum and I love you guys so much—" he continues.

"But you obviously don't love yourselves because you are not married and not living together anymore," l blurt, somewhat satisfied.

Dad hesitates, my question has taken him unaware. "Well," he says in a huff of breath, "your Mum and I need so time apart to sort ourselves out."

"You wish I died instead of Kat." The words were liberating. I felt a huge amount of weight is lifted off my chest giving me a chance to breath.

Dad winces like I have stabbed him. "Of course not."

"Yes, you do," I say, reminding how Kat was always his beloved Kate even when she began rebelling, he had a soft spot for her, "look how her death is ruining you and Mum! Look how we are drifting apart as a family because of her." I sucked in a deep breath, preparing myself to release the accusation I always wanted to, "you loved Kat more than me. Even in her death, you still love her more than me."

Even after Katie became Kat, Dad used to give her special attention. He would make sure she sipped from his morning coffee and take a big bite of his toast before he ate. After school, he would pick her up and take her to a diner where he had most of his lunches. He even took her to a wedding once, where she stood in as Mum. Most of her childhood pictures featured her and Dad; sitting on Dad's laps, riding Dad's shoulders, smiling from Dad's arms. He even once said she was the love of his life after Mum. I remember that day vividly, I was sitting in the kitchen eating her ninth birthday cake with my fingers and Dad was singing to her as she unwrapped her presents. Then he heard her close and kissed her cheek as Mum took a picture of her then he said it, a proud declaration. Family friends applauded from the living room, I watched, an outcast.