Page 45 of Bittersweet Legacy

“No, I don’t think she does. I winced as I walked him to the car, the added weight causing the pebbles to torture my feet, making the yard I had to walk seem like miles.

I sat him on the passenger seat and removed some hair from his forehead as he rested his head on the headrest, his eyes closed.

“I shouldn’t have claimed her, I,” he just shook his head, not opening his eyes.

“I’ll get you home.” I whispered turning around and was surprised to see Caleb still standing there, his hands in his pockets.

I walked toward him to retrieve my shoes. “Why are you still here?”

He didn’t answer, but simply stood there, his hands still firmly in his pockets.

I sighed, throwing my hands up in surrender, my broken brother needed me more than I needed to win that petty fight.

“Just let Taylor know I’m taking Archie home, okay?” I turned around without adding another word.

“Dad’s gonna kill you for driving his car – he loves it more than me,” Archie mumbled as I sat on the pristine cream leather seat.

“Yeah well what choice do I have, huh?”

But the only reply I got was the light snoring from beside me.

“I like you better when you’re sleeping,” I admitted as we exited the property. I couldn't help but look in the mirror as we drove off and was surprised to find Caleb still standing there.

“Caleb,” I shook my head as the images of him with that girl swam back into my mind. I just wanted to forget tonight ever happened and start over.

I parked the car close to our stairs and helped Archie out. He was still quite out of it, but the 15-minute snooze did add a little to his strength and he was easier to manoeuvre up the stairs.

“No, it’s okay,” I motioned the butler off. “I’ll take care of him; I know how to deal with him.”

“Yep,” Archie leaned against me with a humorless laugh. “She was raised by a drunk, she knows all the tricks, don’t you, trailer trash?”

I winced at the bitterness of his tone. My brother was a mean drunk, that much was clear, but there was more than that, his anger was full of despair and the pain he was trying so hard to hide was, for me, as clear as day.

I wasn’t here forever; I couldn’t stay here, that much was sure, but maybe with a bit of luck and enough time I could try to find out what was wrong with him and mend some of it.

I knew I was being stupid but he was my brother, my twin! I didn’t want him completely out of my life, I wanted the chance of a ‘maybe one day’.

He leaned more heavily on me, making me stumble, I tightened my hold around his waist, I knew it was stupid – it would have been much easier to ask the butler to help him to his room, I could take over from there. But I didn’t want to – I stupidly wanted to show him that he could lean on me.

I sighed with relief as we reached his room and I sat him on the toilet seat. He leaned against it; his eyes half-closed. “This doesn’t change anything,” he slurred. “I won’t love you.”

I rolled my eyes, wetting a washcloth with some cold water to run it on his face. He hissed at the coldness and it was oddly satisfying to cause him some discomfort after all the pain he was causing me.

“I need to clean your drunken face,” I sighed. “And we need to get you out of this shirt.” I grimaced at the vomit staining it. It didn’t really matter how many times I dealt with this in the past, I didn’t think it was something you really got used to.

He tried to unbutton it but failed miserably. I rolled my eyes again at the all-too-familiar scene. Yes, a drunken fool was always a drunken fool, no matter who he was.

“Let me do that,” I offered, gentler than I wanted to. I’d learned in the past that nobody got that drunk just for fun, it had been so clear with my dad… well uncle… that it was the guilt and pain of the lies that pushed him toward the bottle. I couldn’t help but wonder what Archie’s driving force was.

“I don’t need you,” he mumbled, but didn’t try to stop me as I unbuttoned his shirt. A tattoo was scrawled in a beautiful handwriting across his rib cage ‘Every body drags its shadow, and every mind its doubt.’

I ran my finger on the tattoo with a little smile. At least I was not the only one who was a fan of Victor Hugo. My dad always told me mom was a huge Hugo fan. Did she read his stories to Archie?

“Where are your pajamas?” I asked, helping him up.

He shook his head.

I sighed; I didn’t have time for all this. “Okay Captain Drunktard, let’s get you to bed.”

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