Breaking The Ice [bxb]

Chapter Twenty-Four [Eli]

Today is a strange day. 

For one, I sleep through my alarm. Elliott has to come into my room, knocking on my door to wake me up. That's the easy part. Getting up is the tougher task.

I have better mornings and worse mornings. Today, I feel a stagnant kind of heaviness I haven't felt since the earlier days, nearly two years ago, right after my parents died. Even making myself a bowl of dry cereal for breakfast feels like a challenge.

I can feel Elliott's eyes on me as I get my food. He waits for me to sit in front of him before speaking.

"Hey," he starts uneasily. "I know I let it go by without saying anything, but... Mom and Dad's birthdays were last month." He clears his throat. "I didn't say anything because—"

"Its fine."

"Is it?"

I stare at my breakfast, which feels less and less appetizing the more I look at it. I don't answer his hesitant question. Somehow I don't really trust myself to speak.

"Are you fine?" Elliott asks after a few moments of silence, sounding like he's forcing himself to come off more assertive.

"Mhm."

"You sure?"

"Yes. I'm cool, Elliott." I still can't quite look at him.

"Okay." He doesn't sound convinced. "How's school?"

"We don't have to do this," I murmur.

"It's your senior year," my brother says. But his tone is just as uncomfortable as mine. "I feel like Mom and Dad would have tried to have this conversation with you if they were here."

"They're not, though."

I finally meet his gaze. How can he look so much like Dad? The grey in his eyes is that exact same shade — same color, same shape, same expression, same everything. The same eyes that used to gaze at me as we played hockey on the weekends. Without the smiling lines.

I can see the bobbing motion of his Adam's apple before he speaks, "I was supposed to be your guardian." Is that a statement? An accusation? An admission of defeat? "If you want to talk... about school, or hockey—"

"I'm fine. School's great. Hockey's awesome. Gotta go."

I don't finish my breakfast, but I don't think I could have eaten it. Even before Elliott tried to have this conversation, it felt like my stomach was collapsing into itself. 

Owen and Olivia leave the Holmes residence together, and the three of us walk in mildly uncomfortable silence. When Dean joins us halfway, he and Owen talk without really trying to get me to join in. Today, it's a welcomed gesture.

My brain filters all of my classes out, and I fall asleep in the middle of the last morning period. The teacher wakes me up when everyone's clearing the classroom. She looks angry at first, but after taking a careful look at my face her expression melts into something more akin to disappointment and she lets me go.

Lunch is a blur of background noise and I don't even register my way from the cafeteria to my Trig class. I just want the day to be over.

There's no practice today, so I'm heading straight to work. It's a Monday, so there should be little to no movement. Plus, Hannah is sick. That means I have to cover the whole dining area, but at least there's no chit chat. Still, I have a dull headache radiating off my forehead when I leave.

I walk home from Lake City, the way long and cold despite the threat of Spring in the air. When I'm finally on my street, limbs numb from the crisp air and the strain of the walk, I see movement behind the living room window.