a memory that makes them feel guilty
Sam was nose deep in a book about the paranormal. Notes and papers were scattered on the kitchen table, accompanied by the occasional doodle of a ghost or a headstone. It had been hours since she tuned into the world outside of her study bubble, and the only thing that ripped her out of it was the slamming of the back door. At first she’d thought it was her father, back from the bar and four drinks past the usual limit ---- hurried hands began gathering her work, but upon seeing it was her older brother Eric, she paused. Different face, same situation.
Watching as he stumbled into the room, he found a stable place against the kitchen counter as an unfocused gaze met her. It took her a moment, but she finally worked up the strength to ask him that inevitable question. “...what’s wrong?”
A low, irritated sigh escaped Eric’s lips. “She won’t take my calls.” Anne, the girl whose heart he broke and tried to repair with a promise of marriage. Anne, the beautiful and bubbly brunette that Sam never really got along with. Everything had felt fake with her, but Eric couldn’t see that. He loved her, and despite the fact that he messed things up by sleeping with another woman, he was still madly, deeply, obsessively in love with her. “She won’t take my fucking calls, so fuck her.” It was a touchy subject, one that drinking hadn’t cured. Clearly.
‘You hurt her, Eric, I wouldn’t take your calls either.’ Sam thought, but didn’t dare say. The passing silence drove her brother to push himself off the counter and toward the table where she sat. Eyes glued down at the books, notes, the mess. He scoffed. Desperate to change the subject to someone else’s faults.
“This isn’t normal, Sam...” he muttered to begin with. “You’re never gonna be happy if you keep this shit up, this isn’t normal.” He set his hands down hard on the table, delicate papers resting just beneath destructive hands. “Why are you like this? Why are you so keen on getting people to believe these fairy-tales?” ---- he left no room for an answer ---- “This is the kind of stuff sad, pathetic, lonely assholes believe in to make themselves feel better. You’re not like that, Sam, but you’re gonna end up that way if you don’t get out into the world and meet someone, you’re gonna be sad, lonely, pathetic.” Drunken words always stung the most, and they were usually the ones to push the little brunette over the edge.
“Stop it,” brows furrowed as she looked down to see his hands tightening into fists, crumbling her notes along with them. “Eric, stop! They’re just my studies, stop it!” Standing in a hurry, her eyes widened as he pushed a variety of papers and notebooks right off the table.
“No, you need to get ---- this needs to stop, you need to be normal, so people will like you. No one in this family is normal, and that’s why we get the short end of the fucking stick all the time!” He continued with another shove of her papers and books, his anger directed at the one person who had his back... no matter what. “You need to stop with this Shadow nonsense, people think you’re insane, did you know that? Reading about all of this is just feeding your sickness, so toughen up and show them all you’re better than this!”
If there was anything to set Sam off, truly, it was someone telling her Shadow wasn’t real. Her cheeks warming with rage, she felt as though she was on the verge of tears. Leaning down to pick up her book, Eric was quick to swipe it out of her hands. “Stop!” She shouted, trying to grab it back. But before she could, he’d sent it flying across the room and crashing into the wall. “Stop taking this out on me!” The girl finally retorted, moving forward and shoving him back. He stumbled, hit the counter hard, and grunted in discomfort. “Just because you screwed up the one good thing in your life doesn’t mean you get to make me feel awful about the things in life I actually like!”
“I didn’t screw up anything!” Eric shouted in return, not believing in his own words. A clink to the floor caught his attention. His car keys had fallen out of his pocket during the shove, and for a moment too long he stared at them. “Anne doesn’t know what she’s thinking, I love her. I fucking love her ---- she needs to know that,” he bent down and grabbed the keys.
Doing nothing but watching with a distinct anger in her gaze, Sam couldn’t help but think of how she needed to gather her readings and hide away in her room. A hand upon her shoulder caught her attention. Cold, dark, but welcoming. Her only friend. Catching only a glimpse of the ghost beside her, she quickly found herself looking back to Eric when he started it back up.
“You’re doing it again! Looking at nothing, looking at nothing like there’s something there!” He shouted, this time pointing aggressively in the direction Shadow was standing. “This is what I mean, any time things get too real for you, you tune out. You have to live in our Goddamn world, Sam!”
“Fuck you, Eric.” She clenched her fists, this time not raising her voice but rather, it quivered. She stared at him, knowing full well she shouldn’t have let him grab the keys. Knowing she shouldn’t have retorted, but rather agreed despite the fact that she didn’t want to believe in a thing he said. A silence filled the surrounding area once more before Eric turned, punching the wall on his way toward the back door. Sam stood there, glaring at him as he made his way out, not saying a word. Moments later she heard the car start, and as she began gathering the mess of papers off the floor, the squeaking of car tires as they sped down the road.
That was the last time she’d ever see her brother alive.
