Another night wasted, time ticking by while I'm last in my own world. Hiding behind my locked door, sleepless nights spent wandering my room, changing my clothes, trying to find something - anything - that feels right. Sitting outside my window drinking whisky I shouldn't have, in the hopes that the alcohol might help me sleep. It never works in case you were wondering.
It all started after a night like this. I don't know what was keeping me up then. She came in to wake me up that morning, giving me a reproachful look when she saw me standing in the middle of the room, lost in thought, wearing my favorite fighter endorsed shirt and a black pair of half leg briefs not that you could notice them much due to the baggy shirt.
As I said, she stepped in, I wasn't in the habit of locking my door then like I am now, a slight scowl marring her features. It didn't quite register to me precisely why she was in my room. The barrier between my brain and my mouth must've been a bit worn down by sleep deprivation and so many hours alone.
"You shouldn't frown Heidi, it'll cause wrinkles." popped out of my mouth, mirroring a popular sentiment our mother used to offer. She just raised her eyebrows ever so slightly, then pointed at the window. My eyes followed her finger, processing for the first time how bright it was outside.
"It's time to get up Daniel. Or at least get dressed and ready for school." Her soft voice a bit testy, knowing that once again I hadn't slept.
I just stared at the window dumbly for a moment and then leapt into action, scrounging clean clothes from the piles on the floor. Satisfied, she turned and left the room, closing the door behind her.
This is how most of our conversations went. Short sound bites punctuated by gestures or facial expressions. Rarely did more than two or three sentences pass between us before the encounter ended. Never too many words, often too few. Not that I recognized it then.
That morning I pulled on some dark denim jeans and a heavy muscle shirt to combat the cold outside, then a red t-shirt over that before scrambling to get socks on and my boots laced before heading downstairs to grab a mug of coffee. We trudged out to her little rusty piece of crap she called a car through the slush and snow. She cranked up the heater as soon as she turned the engine over.
I fussed with the shoulder strap of my seatbelt as we drove in silence, vaguely grumbling in my head about how the thing would never tighten up like it should, and about how the piece of shit we were riding in would never get warm until we were already where we had to go. But this was a private dialogue, held only in my head.
Then the world was spinning. I was slammed forward and against my door, a shocking pain running up through my left arm as I flung it out seeking something to brace against. I was dazed by the crack my head had gotten against the window as the spinning came to an abrupt halt. I wrenched the door open and promptly vomited all that acrid coffee, now mixed with stomach acid, out onto the ground. My right hand fumbled with that damn seatbelt as my left was cradled instinctively to my chest and I finally stumbled out of the car, dry heaving with the vertigo, scooping up some snow to get the taste of vomit out of my mouth.
Suddenly I remembered my sister in the car and I scrambled back through the open passenger side door, not at all prepared for the sight that greeted me. She was slumped onto the steering wheel, one hand still hanging onto it, the other hanging limply down. Blood was streaming down the side of her face, leaving a deep ruby stain on her fair skin and in her otherwise strawberry blonde hair.
I think I screamed. I gathered her to me, forgetting everything I knew of emergency medicine. I honestly thought she was dying... With her laying there limp in my arms my mind just couldn't process what I may have already lost. For the first time, I loved her. Truly and completely. I know I was crying and stroking her face and I think I was mumbling as I kissed her forehead and cheeks and lips and chin, oblivious to the coppery taste of blood on my lips. As I kissed her I felt her briefly stir, lips parting under mine as she let out a soft, pained groan. My mouth opened with hers, taking the innocent kiss of sorrow and love a step further, and I let out my own moan as her breath passed into me.
In that one moment I felt more emotion pass through me than I do in an eventful year. To feel her body stir, to taste her breath, to know she was alive. She wasn't leaving me. There was still time to say things that had never been said. There was a brand new closeness to my sister in that kiss, on so many levels. And after the kiss broke, there was the desire for more.
Turns out I had a minor concussion and a broken wrist. Her concussion was more severe, and she needed a couple stitches to close the cut on her forehead. But the change in me has been profound. That desire is still in me, and every time I look at her or talk to her it grows. I think I see her more clearly now.
And after these weeks, all those unsaid things have remained that way. I can't find words for any of them. I want that closeness back, more than I've ever wanted anything, more than I want mom to be alive again. But much like raising the dead, I have no idea how to achieve it. I really wonder how long I can keep this up...
Closed for LovelyLuna.