“Are you OK?” I ask, my heart still pounding in my chest.
“Yes,” I hear him mutter.
He goes to sit up and I rush over, putting my arm behind his back. When he stands up he seems taller and I feel my body on edge and I instinctively take a step back, my arms hugging each other. He immediately notices my retreat.
“Seraph?” he voice cracks, his hand extended in the space between us. I can’t hold back the tears anymore and they fall even harder, my chest heaving.
“I’m so sorry Braeden,” I cry out, suddenly feeling that this is my entire fault. Isn’t it always?
“Phoenix,” he says softly. “This has nothing to do with you.”
I look up into his eyes suddenly confused. He remains silent for a moment as he steps closer to me, removing my arms from each other, his fingers grazing where he once had firm a hold of me.
“I promised myself that I would never touch you harshly,” he says, the tone of his voice disappointed.
I look down at his hand on my arm. “Braeden, it would take a lot more than that for you to hurt me,” I whisper.
He lets out a sigh and leans his forehead on mine, our hot breath mixing in the space between us.
“I guess I have some explaining to do,” he whispers.
“Only if you want to.”
“I promised I would never lie to you.” His eyes now on the ground.
Grabbing his hand in mine I lead him upstairs, wanting to be in the confines of my room for this discussion. We both ascend the stairs, remaining quiet, nothing but the squeak of each step filling the still air. I look at Braeden as we pass the closed doors, hoping that my questions about what I thought I saw will be fulfilled tonight. Opening my door I lead Braeden over to the bed and I climb onto it, never letting our grip falter. He remains standing beside it, his eyes dark and distanced.
“Braeden,” I say yanking gently on his arm. “Please sit.”
His eyes find me as I pat the bed beside me. I scoot over as Braeden climbs up, both our backs up against my pillows, our hands still interlocked. We sit there in silence for a while and I don’t want to push him. He’ll talk when he wants to. I stare at the wall, the stillness in the room slowly eating away at me.
“It happened so long ago but why does it seem like no time has passed?” I hear him softly say.
That one sentence crumbles my heart into a million pieces.
“Because trauma blocks you from happiness,” I say out loud. “You want to move on but you can’t. No matter how hard you fight to forget it, it’s always there.”
I realize I’m not just talking about Braeden. I feel his hand grip mine tighter.
“What happened, Braeden?” I ask softly.
“There was an accident,” he say, his words heavy. “There was so much blood.”
My stomach churns at his words but I remain silent.
“I was seven years old when I lost one of the most important people in my life. We were the exact same age but Thomas always seemed older. He was my best friend, my protector.”
I squeeze his hand as the picture of the two boys flooded my mind.
“You were a twin,” I whisper as a statement rather than a question. He nods.
“He was born six minutes before me,” he said with a small laugh. “He always said that I had to do whatever he said because he was the big brother.”
A flash of Braeden’s whole family at the kitchen table smiling and laughing comes across.
“What happened?” I ask.
“It was an unusually warm night for the city and I insisted Thomas play street hockey with me.”
Chapter 41
Braeden
“Come on Thomas!” I shout from downstairs, my stick and pads in my hands.“It’s going to be dark soon!”
I hear the creak of the stairs moments later.
“Hold your horses, Braeden.”
My brother walks past me and into the kitchen. I get flustered and follow him in, my stick hitting the doors and walls as I move.
“Braeden, watch where you hold that stick,” I hear my mother say.
“Sorry, Mom,” I mutter.
She smiles and walks over to me, placing a small kiss on my head.
“Moooom,” I whine.
She just laughs.
“Someday you are going to miss my kisses,” she says as she stirs the pot on the stove. She looks out the window and then at the clock on the wall. “Dinner is going to be ready in 30 minutes. You two better go play now.”
“OK, Mom,” we say in unison.
“Jinx, you owe me a Coke,” I say quickly.
Thomas just laughs.
We both filter out the side door, grabbing our nets from the garage. Setting up in the middle of the street we start playing.
Chapter 42
Phoenix
“I don’t know how much time had passed, but I remember that being one of the best days of my life,” he says, his voice cracking. “I remember laughing so hard that I had tears in my eyes. Thomas was always so supportive of me and would always be there for me to practice. He was of course always naturally good.”
I see a small smirk come across his face and then it quickly disappears.
“And then all I heard was screeching of breaks and it was all over.”
I begin to feel sick.
“They said it was a drunk driver,” he says quietly. “I don’t remember much but they told me the car hit him first and that he was dead upon impact.”
I squeeze his hand even harder as I feel his pain.
“But that means he didn’t suffer, that’s good right?” I say, needing to comfort him somehow.
“I guess so,” he admits. “And then the car struck me.”
Tears start to well up in my eyes but I try hard for him to not to let them fall.
“By the time it hit me they weren’t going as fast but I apparently got dragged through shards of broken glass.”
I cringe. Braeden lets go of my hand and I worry that our conversation is over. But instead his hands go to the bottom of his shirt and he lifts up, exposing his torso. I shimmy myself on the bed a little trying to not be uncomfortable with a half-naked man in my bed. It’s not the time for that.
Braeden turns his body a little and I gasp. Straight down the length of his entire back is a large scar, the skin raised and slightly pink. I reach out and touch it, making Braeden jumping a little.
“Did it hurt?” I ask, knowing it’s a stupid question.
“I don’t really remember most of it,” he admits. “One minute I was laughing on the street with my brother and the next I was in a hospital bed alone.”
My eyes fall upon a scripture tattooed into his skin, the words are broken up by the line of the scar.
“Death captures the dying, but sorrow steals from those left behind,” I read out loud.
There are also two birds in midflight adorning it.
There is a moment of silence between us. “And after his death, the life I always knew crumbled in more ways than I could ever have imagined. Not only did I lose a brother on that day, little did I know I was starting to slowly lose my mother as well.”
He turns back around and is now facing me.
“I’m so sorry, Braeden,” I say as a betraying tear escapes, flowing down my cheek.
Unfortunately, I know that this nightmarish story isn’t over.
“Every day since his death, the days drug on, days turning into weeks, weeks turning into months. I remember being on my own a lot. My mother started to lose all interest in everything and severe depression crippled her. I couldn’t even make myself go back into our room that we had shared. From the night of his death, I stayed in the guest bedroom. My whole family fell apart that day.”
I run my thumb over the top of his hand.
“My father did what he could for me, but between the hospitals and my mother’s depression there was no time for me. Sometimes I would come home and she would just be staring out the front wind
ow. She was a ghost with nothing of my loving mother left inside that shell.”
“She still loved you, Braeden, you have to know that,” I assure him.
He shrugs. “Is it wrong that I was mad at her?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No,” I admit. “She left you alone when you needed her the most. But don’t blame her. Being crippled by depression is something I hope for no one to experience. You feel like you can’t control anything. Like the only way out is death.”
He gives me a worried look and reaches up and brushes a finger down my cheek.
“It breaks my heart when you speak like that, Seraph,” he whispers.
“But it was my life,” I explain. “Like you want to forget how much pain your mother and brother’s death have caused you, I do as well, but it will never happen for me.”
Putting my forearms out in front of us so that the scars are on my arms are visible to both.
“As long as we bear these scars we will always be reminded.”
He reaches out and runs his fingers along them, then bends down and puts his lips gently to each. He shifts again and I see the bright red slash across the top of his shoulder. I reach out and touch it.
“And now you bear a new scar because of me,” I utter with a tone of disappointment. He looks over his shoulder at it.
“I could never regret my decision that got me that one, Phoenix,” he says, the mention of my name sending shivers down my spine.
He takes his hand in mine and silently tells me to come over and I settle myself in between his legs, my back to his chest.
“How did she die?” I ask nervously.
I feel his chest rise and fall more quickly.
“She hung herself,” he says into my ear. “In the shed.”
Fear runs through my body and I can’t hold back the stream of tears that leave my eyes. Now I know exactly why he panicked when he found me.
“Braeden, I’m so…” I start to say before he cuts me off.
“Shhh, Seraph,” he says while running his fingers through my hair. “You had no way of knowing.”
I quiet myself down, the sound of my small sniffles filling the room.
“And then after that it was just my dad and I,” he explains. “My father spent a lot of time blaming himself that he couldn’t save her. I know that he loved her and tried everything he could but she just wouldn’t hold on enough to try. We both loved her so much but at some point we were almost relieved. Does that sound too selfish?”
“Not at all,” I admit. “You both had watched her suffer for so long.”
Putting the pieces together from what Braeden had previously told me, three years had passed between the death of his brother and his mother.
“You just wanted her to be at peace right?” I ask.
“Yes,” he breathes out.
“She is, Braeden,” I assure him as I look down at our hands interlocking. “She got the peace that she always wanted.”
Chapter 43
Braeden
As I talked about my family to Phoenix each reveal seemed to have lifted weight off my shoulders but in the end I felt physically and emotionally drained. I didn’t want to burden her mind with my tragic past but after my scene out in the backyard I knew I had to. She would eventually see the scars and the tattoo. I know she would never push me into explaining, but I owed it to her. She needed to know everything. Everything that made me the man I am today.
With her back still laid upon my chest, we remain silent for a moment, I assume both of us taking in what I had just told her. My mind races in a million different directions, wondering what she’s thinking. Feeling.
“Tell me what you are thinking,” I ask her.
She doesn’t say anything for a moment and I fear that she is starting to break down.
“Seraph?” I ask again worried.
“I was just thinking about my dad,” she says, her voice soft.
I give her a light squeeze, remembering I’m not the only person who has lost someone. Phoenix has in more ways than just death.
“He was my best friend,” she starts. “My whole world crumbled when he took his last breath.”
I hear her sniffle and I know she is trying not to cry again.
“Let the tears fall, baby,” I say as I lean down, putting my lips on top of her head.
“I was so young and all we had was each other,” she starts. “When I was born my mother took off after a few months leaving no note, she didn’t even leave anything for me to remember her by. My father worked full time, but I was always his number one priority. He wasn’t the best at everything but he did his best to care for me.”
I hear a sigh leave her lips.
“I remember lying in my bed every night imagining my mother coming home to us, our broken family once whole again. But she never came.”
My heart breaks a little.
“I remember the exact day that my whole life fell apart. My father told me he wouldn’t be picking me up after school and that I was to go home with Mary, our neighbor, because he had an important appointment he had to go to. I knew something was off when he woke up that morning, something was wrong. I could just tell in his face.”
I run my thumbs over her knuckles, silently encouraging her to go on.
“It was later that night he told me he was dying. I was pretty mature for my age and my father and I never lied to each other. He didn’t want to sugar coat it for me.”
I want to comfort her more, but I find myself frozen.
“It was the first time in my life that I truly felt alone,” she starts up again. “He only had six months to live and as much as I don’t want to admit it, they were the best of my life. My father was very reserved but he took this time to spend even more time with me than he already did. Every day he would pick me up from school and we would go do something, whether it was simple like getting ice cream or taking me to the zoo for the afternoon.”
I could hear the smile in her words.
“But things were incredibly different. After a few months, the roles reversed and I became the parent. My father was strong but the disease was stronger. He lost a lot of weight and, much like your mother, he was a hollow form of what he once was. He couldn’t walk much anymore due to the excruciating back pain. “
“You and him were all alone?” I ask.
“No, there were neighbors that came around a lot and dropped off food and helped me clean but, to be honest, I enjoyed it most when it was just me and him,” she explains.
Things fall silent again and I wonder if she is done.
“And then, just after four months, the disease over took his body and he spent the rest of his life in a hospital bed, which, thankfully, was only a few days.”
She lets out a sigh.
“I spent every waking moment with him in that hospital room. We ate every meal together and watched our favorite shows. And then I knew that our time together was dwindling at a rapid pace by the look on doctors and nurses faces every time they would look at him. At the end of the third day he passed away.”
I can hear her sobbing, her chest heaving up and down. Putting my arms around her, I drag her body up to mine and I cradle her in my arms like a child, her face nuzzled into my neck. I don’t say anything and just let the tears fall, knowing like me that this has been bottled up for quite some time. After about five minutes, she pulls back and looks at me, her eyes puffy and blood shot.
“And if my life couldn’t have gotten any worse, Elaina showed up at the hospital the next day along with a social worker and I was informed since she was my mother that I would be handed over to her.”
I cringe at the word handed, it was so…unloving.
“She never wanted me,” she continues. “She thought she had gotten away from me when she left my father. She constantly reminded me that I was a burden to her. Before I was even born I had ruined her life.”
How could anyone not want her? Not love her and see the wonderful human being that I
see?
“And then Carl came into the picture,” she says quietly.
My whole body goes rigid, the mere sound of his name sending anger through my body.
“Phoenix, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“We’re showing our skeletons, right?” she asks me.
All I do is nod slightly.
“I was fifteen when Carl started abusing me,” she says slowly. “I remember exactly how it started.”
She points to one scar on her arm, it the most faded, but still very apparent. It was round and raised a little bit, but I knew exactly what it is, it fit the size and shape perfectly.
“He burned you with a fucking car cigarette lighter?” I ask in disbelief, my heart breaking all over again.
She nods.
“The three of us were out grocery shopping, which I was dragged to because Elaina was all about appearances. I didn’t realize how close the car next to us was and I bumped the door into it.”
She runs her finger over the raised skin.
“I knew it was coming,” she says, her voice dripping with pain. “That was the worst pain I had ever felt in my life. Well, up until that point.”
My knuckles clench, my desire to have this man dead increasing by the second.
“But then it just became the normal for me. It was everyday life.”
“Why didn’t you try to escape? Why didn’t you tell someone?” I ask, not knowing if that was a fair question.
She shrugs.
“I was scared,” she admits. “I knew that if he ever caught me he would give me the worst beating of my life. He wouldn’t kill me because that would be too nice. He would beat me to the edge of my life but never let me slip off it.”
I can feel tears start to well up, something that hasn’t happened to me since my mother’s death.
“But I did get away once.” She smiles.
I don’t have to ask to know what incident she is talking about.
“It was the first time I had control of my own life. No one knew I was there except the cars zipping by but they didn’t even care enough to stop. I was scared when I climbed up on the railing but there was an eerie sense of calm flowing through me. Peace was within my grasp.”
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