One
Who knew that picking out a single book among shelves of hundreds could be so hard? There are so many, dizzying my eyes whenever I try to focus in on a title. Hardcover books are my fetish, I love hardcover books. I tipped the book forwards off the shelf, it slides out easily even though it's enveloped by others and I caught a glimpse of the color.
Shutters clicked and a flash went off. I was caught like a deer in headlights.
"Sorry, that was pretty rude wasn't it?"
Of course it was you moron! Who goes around taking unwanted pictures of people? I wanted to shout, but I didn't. My face flushed pink; sometimes it felt like clockwork- very precise and very expected. Also, it was very annoying. He shifted the camera so that it wasn't blocking any part of his face and his eyes immediately took in my parted lips and widened eyes. I read his eyes like I would a book.
It irked me that he looked only slightly apologetic and more . . . intrigued than anything. So what if I was in my pajamas? It was almost two in the morning and people are usually dressed in their pajamas at two in the morning. Even if they were asleep in their beds. . .
"It's just that the lighting was bloody fantastic - and you were standing in the perfect spot - ," he cut himself off, recovering from his little 'photographer-in-awe' moment. "Still, it was rude as fuck. I can delete it if you want, it's a digital," he added embarrassedly.
"It's okay," I squeaked, as quickly as he spoke.
He seemed offended at my squeak, or some sort of reaction I couldn't really describe, because he gestured to the digital camera earnestly. It looked like he really wanted me to understand that if I didn't want him to have the picture, he'd happily oblige.
"Really," his eyes peered at me honestly, curiously, "my mum raised me better than this. Just give me the word and this picture will cease to exist".
"It's fine," I assured him, my eyes flickered towards the door. More than anything, I wanted to get out of there, even more than my hardcover book. "I have to go anyway".
"Well alright then. . . thanks!" he called out loudly, as if he was unsure that I already tuned him out.
I didn't. I heard him as I pushed open the door, looking down at my shoes - sneakers, not bunny house slippers. I wasn't running away from anyone, hardly. I really had somewhere to be. I had an appointment. That 'appointment' was probably retching on his way to the screen door. Truthfully, I'd rather clean up his puke then have him and his car wrapped around a utility pole.
"Garret," I pushed open the unlocked door to find my older brother dragging himself through the living room, to get to the kitchen, "you. . . stink. What time did you get to the bar?"
Garret moaned in response and hauled himself to the outside sink in the laundry room. I trailed after him, almost like a lost puppy, and like those times when I thought he was the coolest big brother ever. His shoulders hunch as he bent over the trashcan, puking a little bit more. His jaw clenched after he spat out the taste and I want to hug him. I want to tell him that it'll be alright but we made a promise. I didn't want to lie to him. I didn't want to drown him in self pity.
"Fuck," he hissed under his breath as he forced himself to dunk his head under the faucet, the cold water trickling down to cling at his long lashes.
I tossed him a towel after he's done and walked into the kitchen. He took the glass of water I handed him and watched me sit on the stool at the counter. His shirt is gross, puke and sweat. It's not attractive yet he managed to bring home a different girl every time he went out.
"Did you go to work today?" I asked and my legs carried me to a cabinet as my stomach called for food.
"Yeah, I'm not a total fuck up Katy," he said harshly. Garret sighed deeply and passed his fingers through his short hair, spraying water on the counter. "I'm sorry," he murmured, "I'm sorry Kate".
He gets wasted. It happens regularly, yet. . . I'm still not used to it.
"When did you start?" I questioned quietly.
"Around two, when I got off from work. I'm pathetic," he stated angrily and he scoffed loudly, "I'm so fucking pathetic. I was dreaming and I saw her. I saw her and Melody - my baby girl. And what do I do? I go to a bar and I fuck another woman".
I flinch at his language and my face turns a little red. People would think that I would be disgusted, sickened, and ashamed of him but I'm not. I can't be . . . because I don't really see the drunk twenty-two year old young man standing in front of me, with love marks on his neck from a woman he'd just met a couple of hours ago or bits of puke on his shirt and blood shot eyes.
What I see tugs on my heart, almost breaking it to little pieces like his. I see a small six year old brunette named Katy hanging on to her big brother's arm. I see Garret picking her up on his maturing shoulders so that she could see Barney on the stage over the heads of a large crowd. I see him, just shy of five years ago, sitting on a ballerina printed bed and holding me while I cried.
I don't see a miserable drunk man, I see my sweet loving broken big brother.
b r o k e n
- because it is, in fact, morning. Got up at some Bananna Cream Pie yogurt and posted this. Be proud, be proud.
Haha, anyway- I hoped you like. I'd love some feedback. You can have some hot coco up there if you do C=
