Friday

Waking up Friday morning, though not easy, was simpler than my usual fight to keep from going back to sleep. It was a sad irony that now my dreams had become something I enjoyed, and I was sleeping less.

My phone was lit up when I grabbed it. On the screen it was flashing the missed call, and I began to flip my phone open. Caller I.D. said Rachel, my sister. Why had she called? Then I remembered the agent and sneered.

Rachel was good at running away. To tell the truth, she’d always been amazing at it. At 24 years old, she was in denial. Her own kid was doing great, and her husband, Kurt, was in this wonderful, stable job. She couldn’t imagine that in a bad situation because her life was going perfectly.

I pushed my phone into my pocket and started down the stairs. It was time to tell Mom-Thing to take her meds, but all I found was an empty bottle of booze and missing car keys. Because I could hear Dad pacing in his studio, that could only mean one thing.

My feet pushed me outside, and in a matter of seconds, I was chasing taillights. They swerved dangerously, and like an out of body experience, I heard the screech of tires and the sound of metal grinding on metal. I tried to run faster.

There was nothing I could do, though. By the time I reached the cars, I saw blurred shapes through my tears. Five of the shapes stood around the totaled cars. I ran at the mangled red one, and even tried to crawl through the shattered windshield, slicing myself open on broken glass. Someone carried me back, though, whispering inaudible words into my ear.

“Give her to me, Con. I’ll be able to hold her longer. C’mon, man,” a low voice ground out next to me.

“No, she needs someone she knows right now.” I heard Connor’s voice over the rushing in my head, and it only took a few seconds to register that I was in his arms.

“Connor, don’t make me take her from you. She’s not stable right now, and you’re going to fall if you keep her.” I felt rough hands trying to drag me from Connor’s arms, but I clung desperately to him.

“No,” I whimpered. Finally, I opened my eyes. I must have looked terrified. “I’ll stand. On my own,” I clarified when the other boy tried to move in Connor’s place to hold me up.

“Jeremy, leave her alone,” Connor backed me. He set me down as soon as the Jeremy-Guy let me go.

Jerkily, I made my way toward the nearest porch, and Connor followed. My hand slipped into his of its own will, and squeezed it gently. Still, the cuts on my palm made it painful.

“He’s strong, I guess,” I told Connor. He gave me an odd look. “Jeremy, he must be strong.” I nodded over at the guy, judging that he must be about twenty. His golden hair was cropped close, and his eyes reminded me so much of Connor’s.

“Military training does that to a guy,” Connor replied softly. “He’s following in Dad’s footsteps. We just hope he doesn’t follow too closely.”

I glanced at him, completely confused. “He’s my brother, my oldest brother that is.” Confusion still dominated my features, and then he realized what I was confused about. “Dad died in Iraq.”

“My Dad’s a writer,” I looked at him as sirens blared in front of us, and then continued bleakly, “but he might as well be just as dead as yours.”

Reviews

[0_o Abbie]

This chapter was a little confusing. I'm still not clear on what happened exactly.