Brothers

I hesitated, fidgeting with my jacket zipper, staring at the house. I rub my left arm, fighting back the chills and goosebumps. I feel awful. I should hurry up, I can't stand the withdrawal for long, the craving will win out like it always does. I want it to stop now, all of it. I want to get better now. Clean. I don't want a repeat of two days ago. I touch my right arm, tracing a finger up and down where the scar is covered by the jacket. I shiver uncontrollably.

I woke up with a pain piercing headache, not the worse I had, but a top ten. I was face down in the dirt. The taste of wet earthy dirt in my mouth. I spit it out, gagging, causing pain to my whole body. Everything was aching, bile reaching up my throat. I gently got to my knees to crawl towards the tree in front of me. I lean against it, waiting for the nausea to pass. 

It wasn't until minutes later that I felt it, which to me was logical since my whole body was hurting and I had my eyes closed, not noticing anything. I stared down to see a blood ridden filthy arm. Dirt and mud was caked to it, blood still dripping out. Underneath it all was a long deepish cut from the middle of my forearm reaching to my elbow. I vomited to my side.

I don't remember how I got the cut or how I ended up in the woods, but what I do know is that next time I won't be able to walk out. The doctor from the clinic nearby bandaged me up. He didn't really question me or was curious. Must be use to it all. He did tell me I was lucky the cut wasn't deeper.

I found out what city I was in and with the little cash I had crumpled in my dirty pants, took a bus ride to Wisconsin and another one to the town of Kinsley then I walked here. Before I left the clinic though I swiped a bottle of pills, just to get me through the long bus ride to Wisconsin. When I got off I chuck them. 

Now that I was here I couldn't make my feet walk the last steps. I count the years since I last saw Justin. Eight years. Eight years since I last saw or spoken to my brother. And now I was asking for help. Again. I rub my temple, wishing this stupid headache will go away head.

I walk the last steps to the door. Swallowing down the urge to puke, I rapidly knock on the door. No one answers. Crap. I glance over towards the car packing in the garage. He has to be home. I knock again. Nothing. I know Lisa is working at the school right now. Dad told me she was a third grade teacher now the last time I spoke to him. So Justin must be writing, which means he can't hear anything. He always works with the music blasting high in his ears.

I sigh in frustrated. I lean my forehead on the door. Probably for the best. I couldn't just ask Justin for help, not after the night we last saw each. It isn't right.

I look back at the street. I could just leave and Justin wouldn't know I was here. I'm thirsty and my arm is killing me. I could even come back. Just one last drink, just one last time and I would get better. I wish right now that I didn't chuck the pills. I need those pills now and a good drink. I rub my face.

"No", I said firmly. "No more."

I'm tired. I'm done as Justin told me, I laugh softly at that.

Please say you'll help me. I need my big brother. But will he want me? If there was a time I hated myself more than anything it was now. I close my eyes.

I was high, drunk, desperate and twenty. I just used the last of my money to buy the pills I was on. I needed more money. It was past midnight. I didn't have a key and didn't want to wake up Justin and Lisa, or more like it I didn't want them to know I was stealing from them again, who were engaged then. So like an idiot, I decided to break the lower window to get in. I knocked a vase with flowers in it, pulled cushions from the couch, knocked pictures down, and went through rooms, leaving a mess behind. There was really nothing to sell. I was about to leave with Justin's laptop when I heard Justin shouting from up the stairs,

"The cops are coming!"

In my hurry to leave I trip over books I throw on the ground out of frustration. "Ow. Damn it."

"Greg?" He came running down the stairs.

He stared at me with disbelief that turned to disappointment and anger when he saw the laptop lying in front of me on the ground. Then his eyes change to something else. "Wait here."

He went back up the stairs. I heard Lisa and him talking. I did as he said and sat on the messed up couch, the laptop on the table in front of me. I knew I screwed up then. I was disguised with myself.

He came back with money and a check in his hand. I was too messed up to know what was happening. Lisa was standing behind him. She looked sorry for me.

He handed me the money and the check. "Here. Take it. It's enough until you cash the check in the morning. I'm done. I can't do this anymore. I thought you were going to get better, I hoped for it, but you won't. And I can't take it anymore."

He was shaking his head. He couldn't even look at me. He placed the money and check on the table.

I wasn't thinking, I was high and drunk.

I started yelling at him, saying awful untrue things. I told him he didn't understand what I've been through. I lost my mom at fourteen, he got eighteen years with her. I didn't.

"My mom was dying in front of my eyes and I couldn't do anything about it! Dad was lost in grief, he was unresponsive. I couldn't handle it", I yelled at him.

"I lost her too! You always seem to forget that. She was my mom too! I was dealing with the grief too, even when I was taking care of you and dad. But I didn't become a drunk and addict."

"I didn't ask for you to do that! I don't need or want your help! Screw you!" We continued to yell at each, Lisa tried to stop it. I told him I hated him. He told he never wanted to see me and next time he was going to let the cops arrest me.

I took the money and the check, never looking back. That was eight years ago.

I know Justine and Lisa got married, I wasn't invited. I know he had a son and then a daughter. Dad tells me things about Justin's life whenever I crash at his house. Dad hasn't cut me from his life. Yet, at least. He always tries to get Justin and me to forgive each other. We're brothers he would say. Family. And mom wouldn't like us fighting.

I knock one more time. I push away from the door. I slump down onto the steps. Then the door opens. I swirl my head around. Justin is standing in the doorway. He's eyes wide with surprise. We stare at each other for a while. He looks different, but good. He hairs shorter, a beard starting to grow in. He's still fit though. He let out an audible breath, he was holding. He's eyes take me all in. I'm glad the jacket covers the bandage.

"What? What are you doing here, Greg?" He doesn't sound mad. So that's good. I stare at him for awhile, trying to find my voice.

I take a deep breath. "I . . . I'', I look down at my feet. I can't do it. It's hard because I don't deserve it. I don't deserve his help not after everything I did to him.

"Greg why are you here?"

I look up. He's forgiven me. His eyes are soft and welcoming. His smile is

encouraging, assuring me. He's looking at me the way he used to. He knows it's different this time. But he wants me to say it.

I exhale softly. I look straight into his eyes. "I need help Justin. I want to get better, clean.  . . I need your help."

He walks towards, warping his arms around me. I start crying. I can't seem to stop. He holds me tighter.

"I'm sorry, I say through heavy sobs. "I am so sorry."

"I forgive you. You never stop being my brother."