Page 37 of Shattered

Chapter twenty-one

Brayden

Mr. Stiles no doubt thinks I need to walk and clear my head before I speak to Bexley.

I don’t.

I need to walk and clear my head because I’ve finally accepted something that has been brewing for the last week.

I’m hot for my fucking teacher and I’m pretty sure it’s not one sided.

He makes me feel like I can do anything.

He has a way of taking me away from all the problems in the world when we’re together. The ice is where I find that feeling, but outside of it, the only thing that provided that sensation was being lost in a tight hole. Mr. Stiles presence does it alone.

The familiar dark cloud that hovers above the trailer park is noticeably powerful as I approach. The muddy, dead grass zaps all my energy as soon as my feet touch it. At the highest point in the park, my trailer sits, covered in rust and green moss. Similar to the rest of the trailers.

One part of me hates being here. I hate everything about it. I hate the views. I hate the smell. I hate the dead feeling it gives you inside, but then another part of me relates to being here with Bexley. It makes me think of the times I spent growing up with him, the overwhelming love he gave me, and his relentless commitment to providing me with a happy childhood.

I hope he’s home. My conversation with Mr. Stiles made me realize that I can’t abandon him, regardless of what happened between us. I can’t turn my back on him. He stood by me through thick and thin, never abandoning me even in difficult times; if anything, he risked his own safety to protect me.

How can I turn my back on him?

As I open the door, a cloud of smoke and the scent of old alcohol hits me. My mom’s small, curled-up frame catches my eye as I glance to the left at the stained sofa with multiple holes. It’s evident from her stained clothes she hasn’t done laundry in weeks. My initial reaction is to always help her. The number of times I’ve had to shower, dress, and feed her has become impossible for me to keep track of. But now, I do nothing. It took me a long time to come to terms with the fact that she was no longer my mom.

Bexley can count on me to be there for him because we are brothers. A mother’s primary responsibility is to shield you at all costs, but eventually, she changed. Instead of her two sons, she chose drugs and involved her own son to sustain her addiction. In the same way she betrayed us, I turn my back on her and move toward my old bedroom. Bexley’s bedroom.

The moment I walk in, the smell overwhelms me, and my eyes begin watering. Alcohol and God knows what else assaults me. Bexley is fully clothed and lying on the bed, holding an empty vodka bottle.

With a sigh, I shake my head and make my way to the bedroom window, opening it to allow some air inside. I quietlysit down at the end of the bed, being careful not to wake him. I fix my eyes on his vulnerable and messed up state. I cannot walk away, but I refuse to stand idly by as my brother slowly destroys himself. I try to think of ways to help him while running my fingers through my hair and massaging my head, but I’ve encountered this before. I’ve been here time and time again. Without money, there is nothing I can do. I can’t help him. It’s up to him to help himself, even with venom coursing through his veins. He needs to try.

Gazing down, I see a white plastic bag that is filled with something. I bend over, snatch it, and open it, revealing a bag filled with candy.

Not any candy, but my favorites. All my favorites, but none of Bexley’s.

I squeeze my eyes shut and inhale deeply, attempting to manage my emotions. Just like old times, he went out and brought back all the things I love. I put my hand in and pull out my number one candy. Nerds Ropes. My smile widens as I see he’s brought me all the Nerds favorites—Nerds Ropes, Clusters, Rainbow Candy boxes in grape and strawberry flavors. No one knows me as well as he does. As I bite into the Nerds Rope, the rainbow flavor transports me back to our childhood. Despite never having money for candy when we were kids, Bexley claimed the cashier liked him and gave it to him for free. Every time, he made me wait outside while I gave him a long list of candy I wanted, and without fail, Bexley would bring out everything I asked for. It wasn’t until a few years later, when Bexley was too sick to go to school, that I stopped being easily fooled. I wanted to make him happy, so I went into the shop and began filling my bag up. I wanted to make sure the man knew I was Bexley’s brother, even though I’m sure he could tell simply by looking at me. The cashier was dumbfounded when Iapproached him, bag overflowing with candy, and explained that it was all right because I’m Bexley’s sibling.

Bexley was not favored by the cashier at all. He had no idea who Bex was, or that Bexley was stealing the candy every single time. I suddenly realized that Bex only kept a few candies for himself, which was nothing compared to the pile he would give me. Despite sharing mine with him, he always ensured I had the most to eat.

That was the thing with having a mom like ours; she didn’t care that at the age of ten; we were roaming the streets doing what we wanted after school. She barely paid attention. There was always some kind of food in the trailer. Whether it be moldy bread or crisps, but Mom didn’t always make us dinner. We would have to root around in the cupboards and try to find something for ourselves.

There were moments when choosing candy was the safer choice for us.

We were happy in those moments. Bexley’s full face and chubby cheeks become visible in the images. He looked healthy, alive. I glance over my shoulder and see his face now, gaunt and pale, giving him an ill appearance. His cheeks, once full of life, are now sunken. Bexley no longer had any interest in hanging out with me after a certain point. He stopped going to the park. Despite everything, he never stopped bringing me candy. Tucked away in our shared room, we found solace while enjoying candy.

I drop the Nerds Rope; the taste becoming sour. It doesn’t taste as it used to anymore.

My attention is drawn to an object on the nightstand—our book, accompanied by our UV pen. I get up, walk over, grab the book, and return to the end of the bed to sit down. It’s an old one, one that we completed.

Has he been reading these? It’s amusing to me when I flip through the pages and they appear untouched. No words written on them, but there are. There’s an entire story written between these pages. Full of love, hurt, and pain. A whole insight into someone’s life.

To many people, this is an unused diary.

To both me and Bexley, it’s our whole world.

I shine the light on a couple of pages; the words bringing happiness to me in this moment.

I feel sick Bray I wish Mom wold give us somefin to make it better like she used to

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