Page 102 of I Blame the Club

“Oh?”

My sister smiles, “You are.”

Warmth fills my chest as I look at the young woman sitting across from me. We’ve come so far since that terrible day at the hospital, since the day my title as older brother became something else completely.

Since the day we both became something else completely.

I stare at her, noticing the way her cropped shirt lets the edges of her scar peak through. It might have been Stella's skin that was ruined, but it didn't stop me from staying up at night, trying to think of a way to bring back her confidence. It took a long time for me to come up with a solution, and even once I did, it didn't turn out the way I expected.

The memory washes over me, but for once, I don't try and fight it.

Pain hits my gut as I meet my sister's gaze in the mirror. Her dark blue eyes, normally so full of life, seemed dull as she turned to look at the scar cutting through her left side. It was a hideous scar, running from the waist band of her leggings and branching off into a spiderweb of angry scar tissue that disappeared beneath her sports bra.

Stella had finally finished physiotherapy and had been hitting the gym as if her life depended on it. The new, lean lines of muscle made her body a work of art but I could see in her eyes that it wasn’t enough.

“It will fade over time.” I say the words with as much confidence as possible, wishing them to be true. Stella blinks, turning from the mirror to look at me.

“It will never be the same.”

I nod slowly, both of us well aware that her torso will never be what it once was. Just like our family, Stella’s side will always be marked with a permanent, ugly reminder of the accident that took our mother’s life.

And stole the rest of our father as well.

“I could take you to get a tattoo.” She blinks at my words, the tiniest flicker of emotion lighting up her eyes.

“You would do that?”

I nod, “If it would make you feel better, absolutely. Find an artist you like, who has the ability to work with unusual skin patterns, and I'll take you.”

“Deal.”

Not two weeks later, my sister came bounding into my room with a studio in mind. We drove for three hours to find the nondescript tattoo studio Stella had found online. There wasn’t a moment of hesitancy in my sister’s step as we walked inside and made a beeline for the counter. I didn’t question her decision to go into the back alone, I simply signed the guardian form and waited until she was done.

Stella didn’t say a word when we started the drive back, she just stared out the window, murmuring along to mom’s favourite playlist.

When we finally made it home, I turned to her with a tight smile, “Can I see it?”

She didn't say anything, she just pulled up her shirt. My breath caught when the scar reappeared – it’s twisted red lines just as grotesque as before. Stella twisted so I can see her other side and I stared at it with a frown.

“I thought you were going to cover up the scar.”

She gives me a sad smile, “So did I. But once I was there, I knew I couldn’t erase what had happened with a basic floral design.”

I swallow, my gaze tracing the bolded letters, “You picked a good word.”

“It felt fitting.” She let her shirt fall back down, covering up the damage no therapy or tattoo could ever repair, “Father raised us to take accountability, so this is me accepting what’s left.”

I pictured the strong print Stella had picked. It was just as permanent as her scar, but this one would serve to fuel her.

Blinking back to the present, I swallow the sudden lump in my throat.

“You have always made me proud.”

Stella smiles, her cheeks flushing with the faintest streak of pink, “You make me proud too, Mo. And I know mom would have been as well.”

My throat tightens as a wave of grief threatens to breach the surface. My lips start to pull down and my brows pinch together, but I force myself to breathe through it.

“She would have loved to see us now.”

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