"How could I have been so blind?" Read, review, rate and feel my love. :P
How the fuck could he?
How the fuck could he put his own, life-battered, fragile, weak, precious, baby brother body through this himself? How the fuck could he allow for things to get so bad for him that death, that ending his hope-giving yet hopeless existence, seems to be the only option? How the fuck could he put himself through the pain that every day has obviously been forcing him through without coming to me like he once would have done? How the fuck could he be so selfish as to leave me with nothing but a scruffy but heartfelt note to remember my baby brother by?
How the fuck could I?
How the fuck could I not know that he was planning something like this; something so desperate that it almost makes me forget about every other time I’ve seen him suffering, that it dwarfs them by such a huge quantity that they seem nearly irrelevant. But they aren’t irrelevant. It’s all of those little things amalgamating into hundreds of huge things that have joined their evil forces to crush his soul in a twice as brutal way as that bastard bus crushed his body. All of those little things that I should have seen and destroyed before they had the chance to destroy him. All of those little things that I sort of saw, but left with him because people had told me to let him come to me first.
I should have listened to my heart, not the experts. Experts on caring for a bereaved teenager, not on being the big brother that my traumatised little Mikes deserves and needs. Needs now more than ever, as that motherfucking note can prove.
How the fuck could I let him believe all of the things that he put in that motherfucking note?
I thought we were good, that we were getting back to where we used to be. I was wrong. So very wrong. No, I was right; he was just lying to me. Lying to me so that he could run off and throw himself at a bus rather than letting me know that he needed help. I just don’t understand; this morning it was like we were almost back to what I can remember normal being like between us, but that note tells me that we couldn’t be further from that if I was making a conscious effort to force him away from my loving arms.
He thinks that I hate him; the one person that I love and treasure more highly than anything else on this wretched rock doesn’t just think that I hate him, but believes it. Believes it with the same amount of force that I dedicate to making him not believe it. Actually believes it like an alcoholic believes they can’t function without booze; like a life-long Christian believes in Jesus; like an anarchist believes in freedom.
Everything that I never wanted him to believe about himself, about my views on himself, and it seems that I have done nothing but reassure them that they’re true.
And I really fucking hate myself for it. Wish that I could be the one nearly obliterated by my own hand for it. But what hurts the most in all of this is the fact that he thought he was doing everyone a favour; that, by ending that which I live for, he was simply doing what he thought would make everybody happy. Because that’s all he ever tries to do. And all he ever gets back is an endless tirade of spiteful abuse. And it’s that endless tirade that pushed him to believing it, pushed him with invisible yet forcefully malicious hands out in front of that bus. It wasn’t Mikey that caused this even though it is his body that he threw at Fates henchman, it was the kids that tease him; the adults that condemn him; the loneliness that seems to flood him; everyone who’s ever dared to be nasty to such a caringly kind kid.
And that includes me. Shouldn’t, but it does. It’s fucking disgraceful that I allowed for this to happen; that I didn’t see that my own baby brother, my one important thing and responsibility, was this low, low to the point of attempting suicide. How could I have been so blind?
I did this. I did this and I deserve to get shot for it, no; I deserve something a million times as painful as what I’ve let Mikes do to himself. I feel like I’ve let everyone down; myself, my mom, my dad, my grandma and, most importantly by a long shot, Mikey. I’ve let him down with the force of a broken bungee and I’ve sent him crashing from the happiness he used to once always have brightening his childlike features.
Features that I’m glad are being shielded from view by the layers of blood-soaked bandages that no child should ever have to be smothered with.
He’s no child; he’s a young man with complex problems in need of real, proper help. Not some kid with teenage angst in need of some crappy therapy theories off of the internet. No, he’s sixteen now and has been through more than most kids, no; more than most people his age even possess the mental capacity to cope with.
I suppose that, in some twistedly sorrowful respects, I’m lucky. Lucky that this hasn’t happened before now, that he has been strong enough to make it this far. Lucky that he’s not dead; that Fate has, for once, been surprisingly merciful in giving me a second chance with him.
A second chance to be his big brother.
And now, staring into his wide, panic-stricken eyes I couldn’t be more thankful for that chance. The idea of him dying is horrific enough, but the idea of him dying whilst feeling like he is now? That’s something that I refuse to let happen to him, not to my little brother. I’d never let him die alone.
He’s just staring at us. No. At Frank. Staring and shaking like he’s really frightened.
Poor bastard probably is. Probably scared of what we think.
“Mikes?” My voice is barely audible amidst the sobs that I’m no longer afraid to hide from my brother; if anything he needs to hear them, needs to hear how much I care.
I do care.
If I didn’t I wouldn’t be feeling like my heart has just been crushed by the same bus that’s currently splattered with his vital crimson desperation; I wouldn’t be having trouble breathing through the written words that are screaming through my mind like the squeal of rusty brakes; I wouldn’t have tears pounding down my face with the ferociousness of a pack of high school bullies descending upon on an innocent kid so that they can feed their precious pride with the kid’s bloody tears; I wouldn’t be clinging to his hand as though letting go will send him back to the deadly realms of suicidal thoughts.
He tries to look to me, but he just doesn’t have the energy to. He starts whimpering in a way that’s different to how he has ever done before; it’s like the unsure, scared, shaky whimpering of a new born baby but with the anguish of a war survivor thrown into it. It infiltrates the already sickening air of the hospital room and I can see Frank turn to look away, his own sniffles adding to this symphony of unstoppable sorrow that’s being conducted by Fate and orchestrated by those that I love the most.
I move myself so that I’m in his line of tear and coma blurred sight, taking note of how his panic doesn’t quell at all. Can I really expect it to if he really does believe that I hate him enough to want him dead?
I can feel his fingers squirming in my hold, but I’m not going to let go; I can’t. The thought of letting him go terrifies me; it’s only by extreme luck that there’s still a hand left for me to hold.
Oh God. He really could have done it; really wanted to do it. Really could have left me brotherless and worthless.
But isn’t that exactly how I left him?
“Mikes, Mikey, oh, thank God you’re awake! Do you know how scared we were? Do you have any idea how much you’ve put us through? You could’ve died, Mikes. Actually died and not come back.” Frank turns to shoot me a warning glare, but I couldn’t give a shit; he needs to hear this. Needs to know how not-worthless he is, even if it does mean me getting vocal about it. He can’t just do something like this and not expect me to be upset about it; he’s my baby brother, for fuck’s sake! “Fuck, Mikes, how could you do this to me?”
His whimpers amplify into full-throttle cries, his squirming fingers thrashing in my hand like a frantic fish. I can’t relent; I have to make him aware of exactly what he’s done and of exactly how much I do care. Besides, I don’t think that I can keep this bottled up inside.
“And that note; what the fuck? Mikes, I love you more than anything, just to even think that this sort of bullshit goes through your mind… It kills me. And it nearly killed you.” My voice is a whisper by the end, crackling with embers of a false fury presented under the misconception of being concern turning to absolute misery and failure, but he’s still shaking. “How could you, Mikes? Why didn’t you come to me? Or even to Frankie? We’re always here for you, right Frank?”
Frank’s grimace looks twice as pained as my voice, so I rub a hand over his shoulder. This can’t be easy on him; he loves that kid, that young adult, almost as much as I do. And he’s done twice as much as I have for him.
“Yeah.” He swallows. “Of course we are.” He nods and offers the both of us his signature smile of soft reassurance, the smile that looks so much sexier as a smirk. “Always.”
Mikey clamps his eyes shut, as though he can’t stand seeing us, and pain rips through me as he finally starts clutching my hand back; clutching it so hard that I actually fear for the safety of my fingers. But I don’t care, he wants me to comfort him and I’m not about to let this situation get any worse for him.
“Mikes, please talk to us. Let us help you.”
Frank leans forward to stroke some stray hair out of Mikey’s face, much like I used to do when he was still a kid and needed comforting after a nightmare; a nightmare that was usually about the death he now seems to dream about. Mikey tries to struggle away and his heart monitor announces his fright for all to hear; my poor baby brother really has snapped, really can’t take it anymore.
Frank gets the message and, with a heart heavier than the tons of tears tumbling down his sodden cheeks, backs off.
Leaves me disgusted with him for being so harsh towards my petrified little brother and Mikey screaming like Frank’s actions physically hurt.
Just what the fuck is going on?
I want answers and I want them right now.
But not until I’ve calmed my Mikey down.
A/N: Sorry that was so short; I hope that it was alright! Thank you very much for reading and please, please review; I can’t improve if you don’t! :)