"Handle It"

A good big brother helps calm their little sister if need be. It seemed to her as if it was the oldest rule because for as long as she could remember her brother had been told it was his job to keep her out of trouble. Well, she may be two short days away from being eighteen. An adult as she liked to remind him, and while she would normally insist that she could handle things herself, she was very glad that he still did what he could to calm her down at this moment.

Her eyes still stung from her break down earlier. It had taken everything in her and her brother’s power to keep her from screaming. They didn’t want to wake their mother after all. He had taken her outside for a bit before deciding it was safe to bring her back in. Which she was glad that he had done by leading her, because things felt so very off at the moment. 

The kitchen table felt a mile away. Her legs wobbled like jelly and the dull bloom of a growing headache radiated from her temples. Through it all though she couldn’t deny how kind and normal it was for her brother to make her a cup of her favorite tea. He had done it so many times before. A simple way to calm her down between the ever common disasters that shook their home.

The heat through the old wore porcelain mug, decorated in hand painted daisies, seeped into her bones. The smell of the honey and orange infused steam almost hid the thick metallic scent that permeated the small run down kitchen. 

“Your breathing has slowed. That’s good.” His voice was even and calm. Much to calm, given the situation.

“You’re too calm about all this.”

“I should have taken care of it sooner if I’m being honest.”

“Mother will be upset.”

“Are you upset it happened? Or just upset you saw?”

Now that was an interesting question. Instinct told her to be upset that such an act occurred at all, and yet the throbbing of the growing bruise along the side of her jaw made her reevaluate. 

“I’m upset I saw you do it.”

“I can handle it.” He reassured her. The same tone he used when they were younger. The dreamful promises of a better tomorrow when father no longer had a bottle of whiskey in hand. “It’s nothing new.”

That was what was off. That for her big brother this didn’t seem new at all. In fact, with that small smile on his face he seemed in his element. It was confident, practiced, a part of her brother she had never seen before.

She took a sip of her tea. The heat and honey grounding her. It allowed her mind to wonder about other things. Things like how the moonlight broke through the seer curtains. Things like how those curtains fluttered lightly in the breeze. Things like how their mother’s flowers were beginning to welt. Dead tulip petals lay discarded on the gray and white plaid tablecloth, giving it a splash of color. Colors like the red decorating the oak floor and her brother’s shirt. 

“Your clothes.” It was in this moment that she realized that her voice was off too, distant and far flung. As if she was listening through a doorway and not sitting at the table partaking in such a strange conversation. “Blood is hard to get out when it sits.”

“I know.” He answered. “I’ll handle it.”

She turned, wondering how the red had pooled and grown since her tears had ceased, but he stopped her. His hand firm on her wrist. So much so that her attention had shifted to where skin meets skin. His grip was hot and sticky. His hand left a bit of the bright color to stain her pale skin.

“Don’t.” He insisted. “You’ll only break down again, and we don’t need that.”

“There is a lot to clean.” 

“I’ll handle it.”

“You said that.” The way he leaned back in the kitchen chair, it made her think that he saw this as a normal conversation. He didn’t find it as off as she did. As if they were having coffee down at the shop, when they wanted to avoid going home for just a few minutes more. “Why do you know how to handle it?”

He didn’t answer right away, and somehow that made her heartbeat quicken, like earlier that night when her world fell apart.

No. No, her world did not fall apart. It was eviscerated, torn and shredded. This was the aftermath. This was the inbetween, when those shreds were carefully being sewn back together into something new. Something that hopefully wouldn’t be so dark and fear filled as before.

Perhaps in this new world, that her brother had begun with the single precise swipe of a blade, would be better.

“I’ve done it before.” He admitted, “They always deserve it.”

In her old world that knowledge may have broken her, but not here. Not in her new world that was slowly being rebuilt.

He stood, and she kept her eyes on his face so that she wouldn’t see how he carefully stepped over the discarded form that tainted their mother’s kitchen. “Let’s get you to bed.” A gentle hand rested on her shoulder. “Bring your tea. It’ll help.”

She stood, allowing him to lead her down the hall. Photos of her old world stared down as they passed. Smiles that held lies for those who passed by never knowing the truth. A lie that she realized would never be told again. Now there were new lies to tell. Where that old smile held back malice and pain. Now fake tears and sorrows would hide relief and contentment. “It’s a big mess. I can help.”

“No.” He gently pushed her towards the stairs. His voice was low and gentle now that they were closer to their mother’s room. “I’ll handle it.”

She didn’t doubt that. So she climbed the stairs, quiet and sure, leaving the strange inbetween behind. Her big brother would handle it, because that was what good big brothers do.