A/N: You need to go back to chapter one and read the first and last paragraph. You'll notice that I added some year dates to slightly separate scenes there. It was revised into two scenes, a flashback from four years ago then the present. I hope it wasn't too confusing.
Reality-impaired
2007
Mihael got into a fight.
He said he was angry with his classmate for calling his brother an abnormal freak. So he punched him again and again until the teacher stopped him. The kid was in the hospital for two days and needed reconstructive facial procedure. Mihael's parents paid for the bill. They said nothing to him, not even scolded him for what he did. They knew the reason, of course and the family got tired discussing about Mihael's issues and Nate's autism as part of it. So they kept quiet.
Mihael still remembered it. It's been years. He could never forget.
He looked at the calendar on his cell phone and knew Nate's fourteenth birthday is approaching. Mihael was outside, waiting for the examinations to begin. He looked up at the tall building in front of him and stopped wondering what got him here. He graduated from high school a month ago. He chose to take examinations in several colleges but this one was different. Their grandfather Quillish owned it. It was a special school.
Mihael placed his cell phone back in his pocket and he started to walk back to the classroom. Everyone was getting prepared. He took a seat next to an open window and took out his pen. Answer sheets were being distributed. He watched his own paper lazily and began answering after minutes. He slouched on his seat and emptied his thoughts about the past. He tried to forget about the way Nate rolled down the stairs when he pushed him almost four years ago. He tried to forget the searing pain and the smell of burning flesh when the iron hit his face. He tried to forget everything and focus on what must be done today.
2003
Mihael woke up almost immediately when the sound of the choo-choo train no longer filled the space. He growled and roll to the side. The darn toy must be out of batteries again and he was trying to remember where he placed the new ones he bought weeks ago. He opened his eyes at last and stood up, walking to the bathroom to wash his face. Then he walked to his brother's room.
Nate wasn't there. He was gone.
"Near? Mom? Dad?"
The house was empty.
"Mom?"
He rushed to the kitchen then to the living room. "Dad?"
He opened the door and started to cross the street. He looked around, hoping to see some neighbors. Even the street was empty. He ran back inside. "Near!"
He ran passed the living room then back to the kitchen. He went to the sink. There he saw blood, some of it washed hurriedly. Then a broken plate and towels with blood. It was red everywhere. He didn't blink. A small whimper came from inside him and he headed back to Nate's room.
He landed on the bed. He grabbed the pillows. He started punching them. He started to scream. But he didn't cry or rather he couldn't.
"Near!"
He was angry. He kept punching the pillows. Then he ceased. He looked at the door. He looked at the train set. He whimpered again.
Slowly, he walked to the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror. He traced the scar on his face. Last night everything was okay. He and Nate were fine. It took months but they were fine. He wasn't sorry for hurting Nate because Nate wasn't sorry about the scar either. But the blood on the sink...it terrified him.
What happened?
"Micky?"
He gasped and snapped his head to the sound of his name. It was Hal, Nate's babysitter. She approached him, puzzled and hesitant.
"They took Nate to the hospital. He had an outburst again then he started to have seizures."
"Did he break the plate on his face?" Mihael's voice, to his horror, sounded too calm, even mechanical. Hal peered at him worriedly.
"It was one of his tantrums again. Your mom said you still need to go to school. I'll drive you there. Micky?"
Mihael walked back to his room. Then he asked. "Was his face bleeding?"
Hal released a sigh. "Yes. Right in the forehead and near his left eye."
Left eye...the left side of his face...like where his scar was. Mihael felt woozy. He took a seat. He kept his eyes on the floor.
"Micky—"
"I'll take a bath then get dressed. I'll meet you in the car."
Hal watched him closely but she obeyed and disappeared.
Mihael wanted Nate to hurt for many years since he became aware of his condition and how it grew to be a viral disease he couldn't bear to live with. But he didn't ask for any of it to be this bad. Mihael only wanted Nate to feel pain, to feel anything. Now he smashed a plate to his face and went on an epileptic shock. And Mihael still needs to go to school. He needs to move ahead, with or without Nate. There should be a sense of relief to all of that.
He discovered, however, as if he was drying his hair and fixing his books, that there was only silence in the household and that he hoped for the sound of the choo-choo train and maybe even his brother back.
That night
Mr. and Mrs. Wammy sat down together with Mihael on the dinner table. They didn't touch their food. Mrs. Wammy prepared a steamed broccoli dish this evening. They lost their appetites a long time before dinner was prepared. Mihael didn't look at his parents. He looked at the empty plate. He wondered what went on Nate's mind that he grabbed it and slammed it on his face. Mihael let the thoughts consume him then he heard his father speak.
"Nate is stable. The doctors have to give him sixteen stitches. He needs to remain in bed. Your mother and I had a talk and we know you're old enough to understand that what we're doing is for the best. We want you to be happy and we want Nate to be happy."
"Look at your father, Mihael."
"No," Mihael pushed himself from the table. He still had his eyes on the plate and he was shaking his head defiantly. "Don't tell me. Just do it. You're already decided on it anyway and I don't want to get involved—"
"You're involved in your brother's welfare whether you like it or not—"
"Well, I don't want him! I don't want him anymore! I never wanted him!" Mihael's voice was angrier, louder and determined. Tears didn't stain his cheeks. Anger was written on his eyes. "I wish he was dead!"
He saw his mother's face fell and that her eyes did water. His father stood up to grab him but he ran back to his room and bolted the door. He threw himself to the bed. He punched the cushions. It was okay last night. Everything was okay between them again. Why did he have to ruin everything? Why wouldn't he just be normal even for once? Mihael buried his face on the pillows, suffocating himself, his chest heavy.
He heard his parents arguing. He heard his mother crying and accusing his father for always at work, coming home late. His father blamed her for pampering Nate and refusing to take him to the hospital for therapy. They were exchanging verbal blows and each word rang in his ears. He wanted to sink in the soft chunks of his futon and stay there forever. He couldn't admit what his parents had finally decided on. He just couldn't.
But why is he worried? There was no grief, no loss. Just the silent beckoning of things that he wished to be but never were.
He woke up that very morning certain that the mundane prospect of living is the same as the day before. But tonight will be the last day he and his brother will live in the same house.
The last three months became a blur. He hits his brother more than once everyday after coming to school. School was as difficult as its domestic counterpart. He was still secluded from the cliques and genuine friends come rare. The frustration was released through punching his brother. He never fights back, just stares at the stupid wall. He wanted to terrorize Nate because he wanted to break him. It wasn't fair for Mihael to be normal and live a crappy life while his brother was abnormal by medical terms and just stares blankly with almost everything.
Then one afternoon his brother fought back...hard...brutally. It was then Mihael realized he created a monster from his own unresolved angst. Neither of his parents or male neighbors can restrain Nate. Doctors advised confinement. Mihael was shaking in both awe and fear that Nate finally responded back to his violence.
He loved his brother, didn't he? So what is this? What is he doing? Two days before graduation, Mihael came home one day crying. He wasn't crying because he was sorry. He was crying because he was tired of being always angry and never really understanding why.
Nate was in his room, vegetated by medication. This night was supposed to be okay. His special teachers will take him away from them. He will leave now and Mihael will stop blaming him for everything wrong in his life. This night will make it all okay. He consoled himself as he remained sitting in a flight of stairs.
The car arrives and they take his half-asleep brother. There was a flashback at the back of his head. It was the day when he discovered Nate was different because he didn't want to play ball with him and preferred to stare at the Batman stickers. The flashback held itself before his eyes and Mihael collapsed inside. He went back to his room and just sat there in the bed, unable to cry.
He was in a state of dream, he has to be. The pain shoved itself in every crevice of his body, his mind and most importantly his heart. But he wasn't crying. He didn't sleep that night either. Days follow and he still hasn't grieved when he knew he should. The household was calm. The loud laughter from his brother no longer filled the space. He plays rock music as a substitute to the lull he can't stand but the haunting silence of his brother's absence was almost hard to forget.
His anger dispersed. He wasn't angry anymore but instead he felt nothing. It wasn't that bad but it provided him hours of cultivating his developing talent in writing. He stored the papers in a box, mostly literature about Nate and journals that gave way to thoughts about reconciliation...about amendments. For the first time in the long years of resentment, Mihael was truly sorry.
2007
"Did you have a good time, Micky?"
Mihael put on the seatbelt and grinned at his dad. "Yeah, I think I aced it."
"Well, you better. Your grandfather would be disappointed if he can't have you in this school, boy."
His father started to drive to the nearest McDonalds. "So you sure about this, Micky? Do you really want to major in Special Education?"
Mihael laughed. "Dad, we've been over this."
"Sure, but—"
Mihael cut him off. "I know I want this, dad. We both know why."
His dad says nothing. Mihael looked at the cars in front of them and he absentmindedly traced a finger on his scar.
