I take a break from writing today. I used the excuse of my hands were hurting again. No, no, that is not right. I think I told my teacher that my teacher that my wrist felt sprained. I told her that I had another argument with my sister and it resulted in her attacking me. "Defensive wounds" I explained to her in my email. She understood my pain, but still told me that I had a couple of weeks to turn in my thesis, or else she is going to fail me on my assignment.

It is not easy explaining to yourself on you are writing a paper on your sister. It is not easy that you are using her past addictions as materials for your class. It is also not easy that once you finish this paper that you have to present your findings to the class about your sister. The eyes of my classmates are embedded into my brain. The worries of anticipation fills my mind with woes. A strong word, I may add, but I feel abandoned.

I am no different than my sister. The only difference is that I vocalized my pain. It is too bad that I am only speaking it to myself.

"Big brother, are you still here?" My sister is taking a shower in the bathroom. I did not want to shower with her this time. I never really wanted to shower with her in the first place.

She does not need to be alone. The last time I have left her alone, I ran into a floor of sharded glass and a bloody sister. It was a miracle that she did not hit any major artery. She told me and my parents that she wasn't planning to kill herself. She claimed that she did not want to see the demons laughing at her.

Make them go away, big brother. Make them go away. Those words I can never forget. It covers me like a blanket. Better yet, like a tattoo. Her eyes were filled with agony when the doctors came and sent her to the psychiatric ward. She spent a couple of days there. The doctors told my parents that during her stay, she always cried out to me.

I was there. I just did not have the strength to push through those metal doors.

"Big brother, are you still there?" She calls me again, with much worry in her voice. I evacuate my thoughts and return to the matter at hand. Even though sometimes my thoughts were becoming more of an oasis to reside and rest.

"Yes, sis. I am still here. I am sitting right at the door." I tell her with sure certainty. I confirm it to her through knocking on it. I gave her slight taps. I hear her returning to the shower where she continues to bathe.

"You are not going anywhere, right," she questions me.

"I am not," I answer.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"You promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

"So, you are not leaving me?"

"For the umpteenth time, no."

"Good." She returns back to bathing and I don't hear anything else. I still time her on her baths. Twenty minutes. Twenty-five, give or take. It really depends on how long it has since her last bath or it is her time of the month. I am just grateful that she is having them again. At one point, that too came to a screeching halt.

The sound of the bath water turns off. I hear slide the shower curtains. She knocks on the door. I get up and slowly open the door slightly. I give her a change of clothes.

"Thanks," she answers.

"No problem," I explain to her. I take a couple of steps from the door. I still look away. "I am going to make you some lunch. I will be in the kitchen. I am not going anywhere."

"No," she shouts to me. "Don't leave me. You promise you won't leave me alone." She pushes the door and runs into my direction. Her clothes and her towel leave a path as her nakedness is in front of me. She clings tightly around me. Her arms around my waist. Her head pressed against my chest. She sniffles onto my shirt. She is trembling. Her shakes are making me shake.

"Don't go nowhere, big brother," she says. "Don't leave me."

I put my hand on her hair, rubbing it affectionately. She smells of strawberries. That shampoo I got for her is really doing the trick because her hair is really soft.

"I will stay," I tell her. "I am not going nowhere."

"Promise," she says with her pleading eyes.

I let out a slight, but plastic smile. "I am your big brother. I will never abandon you."

I lament on how precious, how valuable this moment is. I just wish that it did not have to happen under these circumstances. I tell you all this because she has never called me "big brother" under this duress. In the past, I was known by other names.

Asshole, dickwad, dipshit, dipdick, stupid ass boy, fucking bastard, gay ass, fuck boy .

She had a category on how she displayed her feelings for me through those nicknames. They were uncanny and were sure as hell, unapologetic.

I can't pinpoint when my younger sister steered away from us. But, I can tell you how she made life difficult for my parents and me.

It was around our freshman year of high school where I noticed such a change in her. It started slowly. How she dressed, how she began wearing makeup, her taste in music, her personality, everything.

She addressed us in a different way. She came home at all parts of the evening. There have been times she was present for breakfast. We didn't go to school together anymore. Even if we did, she did not want to be seen around me. I was too much of a "basic bitch" for her.

My parents did not, or at least, try to give it any thought. They tell me that she is going through a phase. All teenagers go through a phase, they told me. They were going to allow her to go through its course and before we realize it, she will return to us.

That was the excuse they gave my younger sister after missing curfew, skipping school, her first shoplifting charge, her first suspension, getting caught smoking marijuana, getting caught having sex with a boy in their bed….

Shall I carry on?

The changes became surreal when she started dating this boy that was well beyond her years. At the time, she was fourteen and he was twenty-one. From the intel I gather, he was a college dropout, a dreamer, a guitar enthusiast, an alcoholic, a heroin addict, a prolific liar.

Shall I carry on?

We started seeing less of her. She eventually stopped going to school. One day, I came home to an empty bedroom. She moved out. Not only that, certain items were missing from mine as well. She stole my mother's jewelry, including her grandfather's watch. The only thing she had of him because he died during World War II. I don't want to really get into that subject but my younger sister didn't just steal stuff, she stole a piece of us.

In the end, my parents gave me the same excuse for my sister. She is going through a phase. She will eventually return.

She sits at the kitchen table. She pats on the table making beats. She shows anticipation, excitement on the dish she will be having for lunch.

"What's for lunch, big brother," she says melodically with her hands. "What's for lunch, big brother? Whatcha gonna make? Is it a sandwich or is it a cake? I wonder whatcha making for lunch, big brother? It doesn't matter because it is made from love like my big brother."

It is something simple. My mother didn't leave any money this time. We are running low on food. My paycheck isn't available until next week. I have scrap what is in the kitchen. I think I might call Wendy if I could borrow some funds. My next excuse this time will be….

"You are making omelets again, aren't ya?"

I turn when she is right next to me. Amazing how distracted I am at this point. She sways forward and backward while looking at me cooking.

"I like your omelets, big brother," she says to me. "They are the best omelets in the whole world."

"It is nothing special," I tell her. "It is simply made of eggs and rice. A simple recipe. Anybody can do it."

She shakes her head. "Uh, uh. I can't do it. I can't do anything right."

I place my hands on my hips. "What makes you think you can't?"

"Your younger sister hears mommy and daddy talking at night when they think no one is listening," she says with a childlike voice. "Mommy and daddy think your younger sister can never be the same. They think your younger sister is forever "scarred."" She makes a slight scoff. "I don't know what "scarred" means? Is it the same like this scar?"

She pulls up her skirt. I turn red because I see her panties.

"Put that down, sis," I tell her.

"Is it like this scar on my stomach, big brother," she questions me.

I try not to look. I don't want to look. She tugs on my shirt.

"Is it?"

I continue cooking.

"Is it?"

I need to turn over the egg so I don't overcook it.

"Tell me, big brother."

I look up before sighing. I do my best to never display frustration to her.

"I can't really answer that, sis," I say to her. She continues showing her panties and her stomach. I see her long slash mark on her stomach. She did not make those wounds. Those wounds were a parting gift from her boyfriend. There was an incident.

She pulls down her skirt. "Okay, big brother." She smiles and extends her arms around me. She hugs me and doesn't let go. She clings tightly while I try to finish making lunch.

Silence fills the room as we eat. She takes slow bites. The old her would have finished the meal quickly. Not this sis. She takes her time. She is very delicate. Even with the smallest grain of rice, she was not going to miss a morsel.

"Crazy big brother," she smiles. She tells me that there is a grain of rice on my cheek.

"You are making a pig of yourself," she tells me before reaching for it and putting it in her mouth. "All clean now, big brother."

At least she is smiling. There is something that is filling the room better than the sadness that consumes within us. Well, me anyway.

I wonder what Mom and Dad are doing in their tiny castle. Are they thinking of us? Are they considering what we can do to become a family again? Or they still want to escape? Escape? Escape? Escape? Escape?

"Big brother, your nose is bleeding," she tells me with worry.

I get that a lot. Especially when I am under stress.

She grabs a napkin and wipes my nose. "And you are supposed to be the one taking care of me."

"Thanks," I tell her.

I take both of our plates and put them in the sink. I tell her that she should go into the living room. She turns on the television where her favorite cartoon show would normally come.

Once I get done with the dishes, I head to the living room. I turn to the television where she stares idly at the screen. Her program isn't on, but the news.

The trial date has been set for suspected drug dealer accused of kidnapping, aggravated assault, attempted second-degree murder, and rape on a high school girl that will remain anonymous. He was arrested over eighteen months ago after DNA linked him to the high school student. The sixteen-year-old was reportedly found in an alleyway, left for dead. The victim was found severely beaten, drugged, and raped. She was taken to a local area hospital where she recovered. She is expected to testify before a jury in this upcoming trial….

I grab the remote and turn off the television. I see her reflection as she takes a bite of her sleeve. She turns around and looks at me.

"That was a bad man on television, big brother," she says. "Bad boys like him should be severely punished. She gets up and runs to hug me again.

"You are not like that," she tells me. "You are a good guy. You are the best brother in the whole world."

It tears me inside because the small girl who used to tell me to "fuck off" is the same one who is dependent on me. The same girl who took our peace of mind is the same girl who wants peace. Inside of her head is a raging battle. She is not the same girl. For that very person who is facing trial took her peace of mind.

"You are right, sis. I will never do anything like that. You can always lean on me for anything."