Page 21 of Unwanted

We stand there in silence, both of us shocked by our actions, scared of the reality that’ll creep in if either of us moves or speaks.

Eventually, Arlo speaks, and his words are enough to invite the crash I was so desperately trying to avoid.

“Lennox has lost his hearing, and probably permanently,” he reminds me. “He’s not just mad at you. He’s mad at everyone and everything.”

I squeeze his fingers. “So, what you’re saying is I’m being selfish?”

“Since when have you ever been the selfish one?”

“Isn’t that what you all think of me for leaving?”

He sighs and I regret asking immediately.

This isn’t the fucking time, Frankie.

“I’m sure everyone has their own thoughts about you leaving,” he says, surprising me with his honesty. “But the only way you’ll sort this out with Lennox is if you actually talk to him.”

“You mean I have to actually go inside his room,” I joke, half-heartedly.

He reaches around me, the hand I’m not holding pressing down on the door handle. “Go inside,” he says into my ear. “I’ll be here when you come out.”

As if all I’d been waiting for was his acceptance and support, I put my hand over his and push the door open.

We both release our hold on the metal handle, and I walk in just as I feel him walk away.

Lennox is prepared for battle, glaring at the door, as if he’s been waiting for another showdown with me, and it immediately puts me on edge.

I know from the staff Lennox hasn’t been sleeping. Losing his hearing has made him paranoid about not being alert, so he stays awake until he can’t physically fight off the sleep anymore.

I remember not to greet him verbally but hold my hand up in some sort of wave. I hate that it seems like I’m almost adding insult to injury. I walk over instead and take the seat beside him, his eyes watching my every move.

There’s a small whiteboard, a legal pad of paper, and his cell all sitting on the food tray beside him.

I pick up the whiteboard marker and write on it. “Is this okay?”

“Do I have a choice?” he responds, his voice now uncharacteristically loud in the quiet room.

I shake my head and continue writing. “We have to talk.”

“Text me,” he says, reaching for his phone, nothing but irritation in his voice. “This is fucking ridiculous.”

I drag my phone out and pull up his name. I’d be lying if I didn’t say it was weird to be communicating this way. All walking on eggshells and awkward silences. I didn’t want to trigger any more anger, but I had to remember that Arlo was right, Lennox was angry at everything; some of it was personal, but a lot of it wasn’t. It would be a while before he forgave the world for his misfortune, and it was my job as his brother to just be by his side as he navigated himself through it.

I type a few messages, variations of the same thing, deleting it every time.

“If you’re going to make such a fuss about talking to me, then just spit it out.”

I purposefully keep my head down and just haphazardly type what it is I want to say, no sugar coating, no stalling.

Me: Before you got to the group home, did you get knocked around by your foster parents?

His phone beeps and I give him time before I glance up.

The hostility on his face slowly dissolves, and I know the answer before he even opens his mouth. He just stares at me, his eyes filled with pain and shame.

Dragging myself closer to him, I place my hand over his and hold his gaze, desperate for him to read the question in my eyes.

He slides his hand out from under mine and turns his head to the side, hiding himself and the truth from me.

---