I lean forward to grab the letter from Aiden, but the room spins and I have to quickly lean back against the wall before I puke. Instead, I lift my arm and point to it.
He looks away from me to the crumpled up ball of paper, letting out a big sigh before reaching over to grab it. I watch silently as he un-crinkles it and smooths it out against his thigh. I stare at his face, blinking a few times to keep it in focus, as he reads through the letter.
“Jesus Christ,” he finally whispers. “Where did this come from?”
I clear my throat and look away from him to stare at the opposite wall in our grandparent’s living room before answering him.
“It came when I was in Cambodia. Two weeks after he died.”
Jason doesn’t say anything for a few minutes and I take the time to look around the room. I always loved this house growing up. An old farmhouse on the outskirts of Charleston, it was filled with happy memories and good times, the complete opposite of the home we shared with our mother in New Jersey. I looked forward to spending every summer here with our grandmother. She baked us cookies, she fed us home-cooked meals, and she paid attention to us. She loved us and she cared for us and she did everything she could to make us happy.
This house that was once a dream, now feels like hell. I can’t stand these four walls that surround me, caging me in, not letting me get away from the memories and the pain.
“I’m sorry, Everett. This letter is…shit. I don’t even know what to say about this thing. Why didn’t you tell me? Is this why you’ve been drinking yourself into a coma since you got home?” Jason asks.
“It is what it is,” I shrug, ignoring the drinking comment. “He’s right. I’m an asshole, but there’s nothing I can do about that now.”
My brother scoffs, pushing himself up from the floor to stand over me. It hurts my head to look up at him. The overhead light is shining in my eyes and stabbing into my skull and I curse when I have to shield my eyes to see his face.
“I know I’ll never understand everything going on in that head of yours. I know I’ll never be able to sympathize with all the shit you saw over there. And I know the sadness I feel about Aiden being gone is nothing compared to what you feel,” Jason tells me. “But enough is enough. You were doing something you loved over there and you didn’t know he was sick. Even if you had, you couldn’t have done anything about it. He had the best medical team money could buy, flown in from all over the world. What he had, even your fancy medical skills couldn’t have fixed. You’re still alive and you need to start fucking acting like it. I’m sorry that letter hurt you, but I’m not sorry Aiden wrote it. He’s right. You need to get your head out of your ass.”
I can feel my anger start to replace my buzz and I clench my hands into fists in my lap. I don’t want to hear this bullshit coming out of his mouth. I know I deserve it, but I don’t want to hear it.
“What the fuck happened to the promise you made me yesterday?” he asks, snatching the water bottle out of my hand and hurling it across the room.
It smacks against our grandmother’s oak curio cabinet filled with her good China and drops to the floor, the last few sips of vodka leaking out onto the hardwood floor.
“It hurts,” I whisper, looking down at my balled fists, unable to look him in the eyes anymore.
“Of course it hurts, you dumbass! It’s called alcohol withdrawals for a reason. It’s not supposed to feel good, but I guess you don’t even want to try,” he fires back.
Jason squats down next to me and grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him.
“I’m sorry Aiden’s gone. I’m sorry you’re hurting and you feel guilty for not being able to save him. But screw you for not even trying. I was too young to remember losing Dad, but watching Mom fade away and drink herself to death was bad enough. You can go fuck yourself if you think you’re going to leave me behind too. If you won’t do it for me, do it for Cameron. She lost Aiden too, you know. What do you think will happen if she loses you as well?”
With that, he gets up and walks away. The angry stomp of his construction boots banging against the hardwood floor makes me drop my head into my hands to stop the damn thing from feeling like it’s going to explode.
I want to go back to the people that need me, but my body won’t let me.
I want to stop hearing Aiden’s voice in my head, but he won’t let me.
I want to drown myself in booze, but my brother won’t let me.
No one will just fucking let me be.
My brother has no idea what he’s talking about. Cameron will be fine without me, just like she’s been for the last four years. She doesn’t need me. She’s never needed me.
Everyone needs to just fucking Let. Me. Be.