Page 180 of Five Brothers
I look up at the blinds drawn over what little light streams in through the small window near the ceiling.
And the lights are off.
The same way his room is always dark now, and how he only ever wants to be alone.
I don’t think it’s to shield him from the world, because if it were, then it would be helping. It’s to pretend that he doesn’t exist.
If no one sees him, he’s not really here. Not alive.
It’s how he’s fantasizing death.
I reach out, touching the side of his head, my fingers on his hair.
But he shoves my hand away, and I gasp as he bites his words at me. “Get out!”
And then he slams the back of his head into the wall, and I cry out, grabbing him before he can do it again. I climb into the tub, crouch over his lap, and wrap my arms around him, my hand at the back of his head.
He wrestles, trying to shake me off, but I just hold him, burying my face in his neck.
“I don’t want anybody!” he snaps. “I just want … Please, I just want to be gone. I just want to be gone.”
He tries to push me off, but I hold tight, trembling.
“Don’t see me,” he says. “Please don’t see me. You have to go.”
He pushes a few more times, but every time gets weaker before he finally gives up. His hands fall away, and he just shakes in my arms.
“Please … don’t …” He bows his head, turning it left and right, shielding me from seeing him, but I take him and come up close to his ear, so he can hear me over the shower. I whisper, “You can let one person see you like this. Just one.”
Tears stream down my face, and I reach behind me, pulling the shower curtain, closing us in, away from the world. Hard breaths rack his body, but he doesn’t fight me. Molding my chest to his, I touch his face and bow my head next to his, inhaling and exhaling. Over and over until I feel his chest rise with mine and both of ours fall in sync.
“One person,” I breathe out.
His body slowly calms, and I run my thumb over his face as I hold it, feeling the difference between hot water and warm tears.
His stares at his stomach. “Don’t make me leave here.”
Water spills down my face. He can stay here forever if he wants.
“Keep me with you” is my own only request.
I sit on him, one leg bent up and my foot planted on the bottom of the tub as I press my mouth to his temple.
He’s too warm. “I need to cool you down,” I tell him. Reaching over, I twist the faucet right, adding cold water. He jerks a little but doesn’t say anything.
I feel his jaw flex under my hand, and I don’t know how long we sit there, but long enough for doors to slam shut downstairs. Thehouse empties as his brothers leave for work, and the kids go to the sitter and school, and then I hear engines fade down the street.
I add more cold water and then some more.
When he speaks again, his voice is soft and quiet.
“I just want to stop sometimes, Krisjen,” he tells me, still not meeting my eyes. “It wasn’t always this bad, but when it is, I can’t remember when it was good. I don’t like it here.”
I stroke his cheek with my thumb. Here as in Sanoa Bay? Or here as in life?
I don’t ask. I wouldn’t know what to say.
All I know is that I feel it, too, sometimes. People make life hard. Even the ones who love us bring pressure and obligation, and I’m no exception. We’re all culprits of making someone else’s life difficult.