Eleven #2
Yesterday morning, I had to put his ass into the shower and make him breakfast. And that wasn’t the first time I’ve had to do that. He’s become a house plant I have to feed and water.
I wasn’t kidding when I told B that she was gonna need a hazmat suit to safely go into that pigsty. I’m not a clean freak, and my room gets messy, but his room should be condemned just on smell alone. I don’t know how he fucking breathes in there.
He’s depressed, and I’m worried about him. Evie and I talked about it a few nights ago. I was sitting downstairs, reviewing some notes Monroe had given me, when my sister and Max came home.
When B took off her Vans and lined them up next to our brother’s, she saw the dilapidated state of his sneakers and brought them right over to me.
I found dried blood on the insole, which was my line in the sand.
Evie and Max both agreed that enough was enough.
We couldn’t let this continue for another fucking minute.
If the boys were home, I would’ve called them down for a family meeting, too.
We talked about it for a while and came up with a solid plan. He needs therapy and a swift kick in the ass for hurting himself. It’s a miracle he can even skate with the shape his feet are in.
Evie immediately started putting together a list of shit for me to order from our Equipment Manager.
He’s getting new socks, sneakers, clothes, and a dozen bars of fucking soap.
I’m gonna throw all of his nasty crap out, and B’s gonna try to wash what she can salvage.
He barely changes his clothes and smells like ass.
I’ve never seen him so messed up. Whenever I try to talk to him about it, he twists shit around and brings it right back to Evie. Any fucking chance he has to throw it in my goddamn face that I’m a shitty brother and an even worse fucking son, he takes.
Sometimes I think he thinks he’s the only one who feels fucking bad about what’s happened. He doesn’t think I should still be angry with our parents over the adoption bomb. He can be fucking viscous when he wants to be.
Everyone thinks he’s a Golden Retriever, but he’s more like a Siberian Husky. He’s a stubborn bastard that doesn’t fucking listen. He also talks back and has something to say about everything. Even if it’s to himself.
He’s too busy getting lost in his thoughts.
He pays attention to the voices in his head more than anyone else.
And yeah, B and I know all about the angel and devil that he’s had since we were kids.
She’s got her intrusive thoughts and anxiety, I’ve got my angry dragon, and he’s got these two on his shoulder. Man, we’re fucked up.
You’d think he’d at least listen to Evie, but he doesn’t.
She’s forgiven him over and over again, and still, he tortures himself.
It would fucking help him move forward if he would just look at her the way that she’s asked us to.
Yes, she’s our sister, my little sister , but she’s also a fucking fighter. She’s fucking tough.
Even before I messed everything up for her, she handled the fucking bomb our parents dropped on us about being adopted better than me or Chase.
That’s when he started running to deal with the hard shit in his life.
It’s also when I became permanently pissed off, developed trust issues, and started punching shit.
It’s also when I started hooking up with whoever I wanted.
Evie did it the right fucking way. She read in the treehouse and went to therapy.
She took our parents, too, and they all “processed” their feelings.
We all did a couple of them now that I think back.
Well, they did – I just sat there bored out of my fucking mind.
That was the first time I colored in my left thumbnail with a Sharpie.
Then I started drawing on my skin with them. That was my original ink.
I’ll be mad at myself forever for what I did to B. Until the day I fucking die I’ll never forget how bad things got. But I’m trying to at least see past the burned image of her in my head. And Chase needs to, too.
Our sister isn’t the same person anymore, and the three of us aren’t who we once were.
She hasn’t done it in a while, but she used to text about us being our “triplethood” again.
That she wanted us to go back to what it used to be.
Without fail, Chase would try to set up “family dinners” or something for us to do together.
It’s like I’m the only one who sees that we’re never going back to that. We aren’t kids anymore.
The first time we ate in the cafeteria at a small table, my sister was in such a good mood that she might as well have been a real-life emoji.
She was smiling the whole time. I watched her be social, and it fucking blew my mind.
She didn’t stutter or shield herself when talking to some of my teammates' girlfriends while we waited in line. She held her own.
She even laughed. That got Chase’s attention, too.
It was all so genuine. She wasn’t “trying” or “working on it” like I’d heard her say so many times before.
She was doing it. She didn’t need us to help her or for us to get involved.
She’s more than capable of running her own life without either of us interfering and causing her any problems. Evie’s happy, and I want her to stay that way.
That’s why I’ve taken a step back from trying to fix what we had and instead tried to give her the space she needs to be who she wants to be.
It’s the main reason we can’t revert to how things were. We’ll just hold her back, and I won’t let that happen again. Not when, according to her, “she’s living her best life.” And if anyone deserves to, it’s my little sister.