Disclaimer: Don't own it.
I got to go because
Something's on my mind
And it won't get better
No matter how hard I try
Just Got to Be- The Black Keys
10 days before Christmas, 3:08 am
She tries to think of something to say, anything, but she can't. She ignores the rumbling in her stomach and turns around to head back up the stairs. She can wait a few more hours before she eats. She's done it before.
But Justin's quicker than her and soon she feels his fingers gently wrap themselves around her upper arm. She closes her eyes at his warm touch and concentrates on her breathing. In and out, in and out. He turns her to face him and for once she doesn't resist. She slowly opens her eyes and peers down at him. He's still smiling at her and she feels something in her stomach clench.
"Hey," he whispers, "long time no see, eh?"
She quirks a brow and whispers back, "Yeah. I guess so."
His hand on her arm travels upwards and he gently brushes back her hair, "You got it cut," he states, taking in the short, choppy style of her hair.
She shrugs, "Yeah. My roommate did it."
He nods and continues to run his fingers through the silky locks. "Looks good."
She inhales and shakily replies, "Thank you." She glances quickly at his gray eyes. "I'm tired. Goodnight." And she runs up the stairs.
*****
She wakes up just before nine to the smell of pancakes and bacon. Her stomach grumbles at her and she frowns, placing her hand on the offended body part, "Sorry," she whispers before getting up and heading down the stairs.
Her mom and dad are in the kitchen, busily making breakfast for their children, occasionally they pause what they're doing to kiss each other gently, or whispers something into each other's ears. Alex grimaces and takes a seat next Max.
"Hey Alex," he says before going back to the comic strip he was reading. She smiles at him and ruffles his curly hair. He glares at her and pulls away from her hand.
"Hey Maxie." She replies.
They sit quietly for a moment, only the sound of bacon sizzling in the pan fills the room. Alex takes a moment to study her younger brother. He's taller than her now, she's sure of it; he may even be taller than Justin. His face is thinner, his hair thick and curled. She squints at him and realizes that he even has some stubble. Damn. "I can't believe you're going to be eighteen soon."
Max shoots her a small grin, "I know, me either. I'm so excited though. You do realize that we'll be having the competition soon, right?"
"Huh," she makes a face; she doesn't really care for magic anymore. Hasn't practiced it in almost a year. "Yeah, I guess it is, isn't it?"
His smile widens, "Yeah, it is. So you and Justin better be prepared. I'm gonna kick your asses."
Theresa glares at her son, "Max, language, please."
He rolls his eyes at his mother and shakes his head, "Whatever," he mumbles and continues reading.
Soon after, Justin stumbles down the stairs. Alex tries not to think about how much she wants to jump him. His plaid pajama bottoms hang low on his hips, his wife beater clings tightly to his chest and his hair is in sleepy disarray. Her brow furrows and she stares intently at the empty plate in front of her.
*****
8 days before Christmas, 1:22 pm
Her parents and Max are downstairs working in the station. They're surprisingly busy, despite the holiday season and snow covered roads. She's taking the time to release all her pent up energy. She finds an old and surprisingly blank canvas tucked away in her closet. She sets her easel up, arranges her paint and brushes, finds loud, obnoxious music and turns it up as loud as she can.
She's furiously applying paint to the white space. Hurrying to fill in the blank spaces with color. Her breathing has increased and she tries desperately to control herself, but she can't. She throws the brush across the room. She takes her hands and smears them in the paint; covering both palms with the cold, thick substances and smears them across the canvas.
She lets out a cry and pounds her fist against the canvas, knocking the easel down. Tears begin to stream down her face and she wipes them away angrily with her messy fist. She sits like that on her floor, crying, wiping the tears, until finally she falls asleep with dried paint caked on her hands and cheeks.
*****
"Alex," someone says in her ear, she groans and rolls away from them. "Alex," they try again.
"Go away," she mutters and rolls away again.
"Alex, come on. Wake up. Clean this up before mom and dad come up. Take a shower." Justin sighs, "Grow up," he states before walking out of the room.
Alex sits up in time to watch him slam the door behind him, "Fuck you," she whispers. The tears begin again and she hurriedly grabs some clothes and rushes to the bathroom. She doesn't want to glance in the mirror, hasn't done it in months. But she does anyway, because she's a masochist, the face that looks back at her isn't familiar. Dark circles under the eyes, hollow cheeks painted gray and dull eyes. She wants to scream but she swallows it and instead turns the shower on.
*****
"Justin tells me you were working on some new masterpiece today," her mother says excitedly from across the table.
Alex smiles and pushes her potatoes around with her forks, "Yeah, I sure was. I should be done in a couple of days. I'll have to show you it when it's done."
Theresa grins, "I'd like that. I haven't seen one of your paintings in a while."
Alex shrugs and continues to play with her potatoes, steadily ignoring Justin's gaze.
*****
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Fuck off, Justin. God, I'm not in the mood. I don't even want to be here, let alone be talking to you." It's somewhat true, she reassures herself. She doesn't want to be here. She doesn't want to be talking to him. She just—she isn't sure anymore.
"No."
She closes her book on Picasso and raises an eyebrow at him, "No?"
He shakes his head, shuts the door behind him and sits on the foot of her bed, "I'm not going away. Jesus, Alex, every time we make a little progress you have to go and screw it up. You push me away. Always. Ever since we were kids."There's a flash of sadness in his eyes and she tries to ignore it.
She shrugs and plays with the shaggy throw blanket that is covering her legs, "I don't know, Justin," she says softly, staring at the blanket, too scared to raise her eyes. Too afraid of what he might see there.
He lets out a breath and leaves the bed. "Alex, I…" he trails off, stares at something above her head, shakes his head and repeats his earlier sentiment, "Grow up," and he leaves the room.