A/N: This chapter is probably packed full of grammar and punctuation mistakes. But it's late and I desperately want to post this before bed. I was waiting for Addy to come online so she could beta it for me (cherish you, darling), but, alas, no. I'll probably replace it when I have the right mind to proofread and if people complain. But until then, enjoy. FLUFF GALORE! xoxoxox
Chapter 11: Pitter Patter Goes My Heart
"Why the hell are you so edgy?"
I bounced nervously on the balls of my feet, pressing my fingers on the doorframe, next to the button of the bell I just rang. "I'm not."
"Wow," Jack said, in mock amazement, "I am so totally not convinced." He reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes and lighter. "Seriously, though. Why're you so twitchy? You haven't stopped moving since we left the motel this morning."
He pulled a cigarette from its case and began to light it just as I grabbed it from his lips as I realized what his intentions were. "Would you not smoke that shit out here?" I asked, pointing to the dull green smoke alarm above our heads. I let out a tired sigh causing the stands of hair I hadn't realized were hanging in my face, to fly out in front of me. Tucking the strand behind my ear I mumbled, "Jesus Christ, you have absolutely no common sense whatsoever. It's actually unnerving."
Jack sighed.
Truth be told, I was edgy. Well, not so much edgy, but nervous of what my brother was going to say when he saw me. I hadn't so much as sent a postcard to him since before the accident. In fact, I didn't even know how he tracked down my cell phone number in the first place.
Chris and I never really got along. Actually, although I hated to admit it, I was relieved when we both went our separate ways. He'd had a lot of problems in the past. Drugs, women, police. Nothing really out of the ordinary for Detroit. But I still loved him as a little sister should love her big brother.
We were standing in front of the painted green, metal door, behind which my brother resided. I pressed my fingers against the brass "2" that hung from the door by a single bolt and straightened the number so that it could be properly deciphered.
"Man, my head kills..." Jack piped up again from beside me and I could hear him returning his cigarette back into his coat pocket.
Rolling my eyes, I rang the doorbell again and listened closely for any movement behind the metal door. "Fucking lightweights…" I eased when I finally heard the distressed rustling of what appeared to be my brother rushing to his feet. A few bangs and clatters later – a lamp on the floor, a rug or two turned over – and finally the door was opened to reveal…
"GOOD MORNING, SUNSHINE!"
I let out a yelp in surprise when I found myself being lifted up into the air by the hands of my brother. Up past the doorframe, slowly approaching the smoke alarm, the ceiling, kicking and holding on to his shoulders for dear life…
"CHRISTOPHER, IF YOU DON'T PUT ME DOWN, I WILL KILL YOU!"
Promptly, my brother obeyed, returning me gently to the ground before holding me away from him by my shoulders to get a good look at me. "Jesus Christ, Mary Jane, you're getting way too skinny for my liking."
Snorting, I rolled my eyes again, "Yeah, well, it hasn't exactly been an annual meeting, has it? And you know not to call me that."
"Sorry. Dylan," was the sarcastic reply.
I too stood back so I could take in my older brothers form. His hair was brown, like mine but it was longer than I remembered. The last time I saw him, it was shaven as close to his head without him being completely bald. 'They didn't allow a lot of hair in jail,' he'd tell me and when I asked why not, he said simply, ''cause they take every expendable thing you have to give. Your name, your hair, your privacy.' At that point, he'd been doing three months in prison for auto theft. It could've been worse, but special circumstances led to special time. But I never bothered to ask what was so special about the circumstances and, obviously, it made no difference now.
He stood a few inches taller than me, but not as tall as Jack, but his build was similar to that of Bobby's, although it was difficult to tell if he was as heavily built given that a thick sweater covered his torso, underneath which, I'm sure would have been adorned with tattoos and knife wounds. Or maybe that was just a little sister remembering the protection and strength of her big brother.
Chris interrupted my thoughts and at the same time, Jack coughed lightly, "Is this the Michael guy you had so much to say about the last time I saw you?"
There was an awkward shift in the hallway, and I suddenly felt the urgency to move to a different setting. Somewhere where it wouldn't feel so wrong to talk about everything that had happened.
"No, uh, this is… This is Jack." I finally looked over at Jack, who hadn't said a word since the door was opened. He was reaching out for my brother's hand, to which Chris finally responded to with an awkward and suspicious handshake. Quickly I said, "Jack drove me here."
Chris let go of his death grip and looked at me, amused. "You couldn't drive yourself here, Princess?"
Another awkward silence.
"Let's step inside," I heard Jack say as I stared, frozen, at my feet.
XXXXXXXX
The radio had been playing 80s songs the whole time I was telling my brother about the accident, about Michael, about the epilepsy. And then about Jack, by which time Chris had been rubbing his forehead with the heels of his hands for exactly 8 minutes, according to the analog clock that hung dangerously above the radio, ticking annoying almost too quickly.
The entire apartment was a mess but I could tell he'd tried to clean up before he'd answered the door. Laundry was placed – more like thrown – indiscreetly next to the door of the kitchen, giving the impression that it was just about to be washed, but instead gave off the smell of something dying. As we walked in, I looked to the right of the front doorway, through the kitchen doorframe where I saw plates piled high in and around the sink. I suddenly felt blessed to be stuck with Jack's brothers instead of my own. The door to the bedroom was shut, yet I had no desire to venture beyond it. From the floor hallway, we stepped directly into the living room, which gave the impression that a fraternity had been living in the apartment, instead of a 28 year old man. But I did see him try to discard any porn, drugs, or drug paraphernalia that were scattered around the room.
We were offered tea, Jack and I both declined. We were offered gin and tonic, Jack and I declined again. We were offered some kind of pancakes with mold, which Chris swore on his life were blue berries and, again, we took a rain check.
"Wait, so lemme get this straight," Chris began, his voice muffled into his curved form from the egg shaped chair opposite the couch Jack and I sat on. My brother removed his hands from his face and I could see that his eyes were red. "You are in a near-fatal car accident… You get epilepsy… You're boyfriend is in a vegetative state for almost a year and a half… you move in with a bunch of guys you just met…" he paused, recapping in his mind what he had just said. And then he finished, but he hadn't need to speak for me to know what was coming, "And you didn't think to call your brother, the last blood relative you have left in this world."
Wondering where the conversation would go from here, I nodded slowly, wrapping my fingers together, not daring to look into Chris's eyes. I couldn't tell if his words were filled with hurt or anger.
Finally, I said, quietly, "I didn't think there would have been anything you could've done."
Chris exhaled and I looked up from my fingers to see that he had a a finger pointing at my face. "I'm you're older brother, kiddo. I'm supposed to help you through thick and thin." He sounded like he was about to cry, but I decided it was in my head when he continued: "Do you know how fucking long it took me to track you down, Dylan?" I winced at the yelling and I felt Jack awkwardly get up from the couch and ask where the bathroom was. His response was a general wave in the direction of the bedroom from Chris, before adding, "I thought you were fucking dead for a two years. And you don't send a goddamn thing." He downed the contents of the yellow plastic cup in his hand before crushing it in the palm of his right hand. "Some fucking love you show there."
My brother had never been able to see a situation from more angles than one so, of course, I'd suspected this.
"I'm sorry," I said, my voice sounding as tight as my throat. "I've just had a lot to worry about."
"You know what, Dylan? Fuck you. You are the biggest bullshitter I've ever met."
When I'd realized that he was finished and was waiting for me to respond, I took a deep breath trying to decide on a way to apologize without repeating myself. I knew from experience that arguing my point was not the way to go when with my brother.
"You're right," I said, surrendering. "You're right," I repeated. "I'm sorry, I've just had a lot going on. And… it's been a struggle." I was doing the younger sibling sympathy routine, complete with real silent tears and sincerity in my voice. He fell for it every time.
When Jack returned to the room, Chris had joined me on the couch for a reunion/forgiveness hug. From Chris's shoulder, I looked at Jack through red eyes and winked.
The hug ended and Chris rubbed his hands together before exclaiming, "We need to celebrate somehow. You guys weren't planning on leaving tonight, were you? How does a drink sound?" he looked at me, grinning.
"Sure," I said with a shrug and a grin in return.
We both turned to Jack, who still stood next to the bedroom door.
"You in John?" Chris asked.
"It's Jack," he said with half smile. "And yeah, I'm in," he added, looking at me with a whole one.
"Alrighty, then," Chris exclaimed, rising off the couch, "Let's go get fucked up."
XXXXXX
The three of us entered, shivering from the brisk winter Chicago weather and shaking snow from our hair. We stood surveying the seat situation. Chris nodded at the bar tender, who nodded back, pointing to an empty round booth in front of the glass window, behind which snow was falling gracefully on the sidewalk. Christmas worthy fairy lights hung on the inside, dancing and reflecting off the glass on the darkness outside.
The scene of the bar – O'Brien's – was not out of the ordinary. It was the similar musky, dimmed light atmosphere of in the bars in Detroit. It was uncomfortably hot with our jackets on but we stripped them off once we'd sat down. A jukebox was pounding loudly from a corner, people gently swaying in each other's arms nearby.
I sat between my brother and Jack, who hadn't said a word to either me or my brother since we'd left the apartment. I turned and tilted my head slightly, trying to get a better look at him, feel what he was feeling. But I'd learned from experience with Jack that trying to read him was as difficult as trying to empathize with a rock.
"I gotta make a trip to the pisser," I heard Chris say and I nodded in response, not taking my eyes off Jack.
He was leaning forward on his elbows, observing the people around him. Every now and then he'd crack his knuckles, alternating between right and left. It was a habit I'd despised when I was first confronted with it, but now, I was used to it. Maybe I'd even learnt to like it. The music continued to sound in the background and I could feel his feet tapping in time next to mine.
Finally, I leaned forward and pressed my fingertips to the skin of the back of his hand. Not removing his eyes from his surroundings, he smoothly laced his fingers with mine and covered my hand with his other. His palms were warm even though we'd been outside in ten-degree weather moments before, much warmer than my hands, which were red from the bite of cold. A smile played his lips and for the slightest of moments we were the only ones in the room.
But both of us returned our hands when we heard Chris yelling to the tender for 6 pints before returning to his seat at my right.
"So how did you two meet again?" he asked Jack and I, both of us returning to planet earth with a crash landing.
"At the hospital," I answered a little too quickly, but was soon saved by the sight of a tray of 6 pints of beer being settled on the table between us.
Chris nodded, removing a glass from the tray and promptly drank a third of its contents. "At the hospital while you were neglecting your big brother?"
When I ignored this and instead to a few sips of my own beer, he turned to Jack, "Why were you in the hospital, man?" I could tell he was trying his best to sound concerned, but ended up sounding cocky.
Jack paused as though he was trying to find the right words. "I got shot in the shoulder by a gang member right outside my mo– my brothers' house."
It was then that I realized I'd never heard the full story of the day Jack was shot. I'd never thought that asking him for the details of that day would be a smart move since even baring the remaining scar to me last night was difficult for him. Men, I know, want to make others believe they are impermeable to anything. But I knew that prodding him to continue wouldn't be wise.
"Fuck, how are you now?" Chris tried to continue the subject, and I mentally kicked his head in.
After a long sip of beer Jack replied, simply, "Yeah, I'm fine," and I could feel the subject closing, and when Chris opened his mouth to reply, I physically kicked his shin, causing him to grunt deeply before, luckily, taking the hint.
He finished his beer before picking up the next. The door opened behind Jack and I.
"Hey, Dylan," Chris whispered, subtly pointing over my shoulder at whoever'd just come in. "Check this out," and slowly he slid out of his seat, casually walked over to the bar and sat down next to the group of women that had just entered. I heard a muffled, "can I, uh, buy you girls a drink?" One of the girls blushed and giggled.
Both Jack and myself chuckled, an Aerosmith song screeching from the jukebox. We both finished our beers in a matter of gulps and I picked up my second, finishing it within 5 seconds, slamming the glasses down once we'd finished. His remained untouched, since we were supposed to be driving home in the next hour or two.
Smiling, we looked at each other. Then Jack took my hand, "Come on," he said and pulled me through the crowd over to the jukebox, which had finished its latest tune. Standing directly in front of the machine, he punched in the numbers with confidence.
He turned back to me and gently took my right hand in his left, after which he placed his right hand on my lower waist, just as "Song to the Siren," by Robert Plant began to flow from the speakers. Following suit, I reached up so that my left hand could just grasp the back of his neck, and then, as though it was planned, the two of us began to sway; Jack bending his knees just the slightest so that I didn't need to stretch my arm as far, and me, rocking on the balls of my feet.
I lifted my eyes up to his, and resumed the eye contact.
Long afloat on shipless oceans
I did all my best to smile 'Til your singing eyes and fingersDrew me loving to your isle
And you sang
Sail to me
Sail to me
Let me enfold you
Here I am
Here I am
Waiting to hold you
I felt Jack's callused fingertips touch the skin on my lower back, between my t-shirt and jeans and I grew closer to him without noticing, the warmth of his torso, causing me to shiver in my own skin. Lightly, I tickled at his hairline with my nails.
"I'm sorry I dragged you over here," I said, still keeping the eye contact, a soft smile on my face.
My fingers vibrated against the back of his neck as he laughed deeply, "Dylan, do you really think I'd be here if I didn't want to be?"
My smile widened and I stood taller in my shoes.
Did I dream you dreamed about me?Were you hare when I was fox?
Now my foolish boat is leaning
Broken lovelorn on your rocks,
For you sing, "Touch me not, touch me not, come back tomorrow:
O my heart, O my heart shies from the sorrow"
Forward and back we stepped careful not to collide. Neither of us were dancers. We both knew that. But for some reason, together, we just worked, and I would like to say that at that moment everything made sense. But that only happens in fairytales. And neither of our lives were fairytales in any shape or form.
I am puzzled as the newborn child
I am troubled at the tide:
Should I stand amid the breakers?
Should I lie with Death, my bride?
Hear me sing, "Swim to me, Swim to me, Let me enfold you:
Here I am, Here I am, Waiting to hold you"
The song ended and after saying goodbye to my brother, who didn't seem to know who I was, let alone the girl he was talking to about when my father had been called up to fight in Vietnam and went on a hunger strike for 4 weeks – or so the government thought, really he'd been sneaking food –, Jack and I returned to Jerry and Camille's car for the long drive back to Detroit.
Midway through the journey, just as the static on the radio was sending me off to sleep, I heard buzzing from Jack's side of the dashboard. He reached for his cell phone and, shifting in my seat, I turned myself around to face him as he answered it.
"Hello?"
I heard a muffled voice on the other end of the line.
"Oh, hey, Bobby," Jack replied to the muffle, trying his hardest not to snicker. "This is, like, the first time you've ever actually called me."
I watched the road in front of us as we changed lanes smoothly so that we could speed in front of a red convertible.
There were more muffled words from the phone.
Jack's smile broadened, as though he was excited to be teasing his older brother, and he said, "Aw, come on, man. Mom always taught us not to ask to speak to someone's friend if you've called said person's phone. It's rude."
More muffles.
"Naw, sorry, man, you're gonna have to ask nicer than that."
From the other end I clearly heard, "JACK, GIVE DYLAN THE FUCKING PHONE!"And promptly, Jack did so, handing the phone to me.
Holding the phone to my ear with caution I said, "Hello?"
"Dylan," I heard Bobby's voice croak and it sounded as though he was in emotional pain.
"Yeah, Bobby."
His next words would reverberate in my skull for the rest of my life and I knew as soon as the first word was spoken what was to come:
"Michael died last night."
Michael died.
Michael died.
Michael died.
Michael died.
Dropping the phone, I grabbed onto the dashboard, my stomach churning and I knew for sure I was gonna be sick. "Pull over," I shouted to Jack, who immediately responded by making a sharp change in lanes.
Once we'd reached the side of the highway, I opened my door with such force that for a moment I thought it might come unhinged, and just as I had expected, my stomach was emptied within seconds, and then I was on my hands and knees, beating the ground with my fists, screaming blue murder.
Jack sprinted around the car, bringing me to my feet, where he held me as I clawed at his chest, desperately trying to breathe.
Tears streaming.
Head screaming.
Blood rushing.
My own voice crying, "Oh God. He's gone, Jackie. He's gone."
XXXXXXXX
Author's note: Okay, so nobody hate or kill me. I've been having a kinda hard time since I last posted and I'm sorry to all my readers and reviewers who thought I was dead. I'm gonna try and get the next chapter up by next month (I wish I was joking), but I still want people to read and review, because, believe me when I say (and all those other writers out there will understand what I mean) that the ability to make people enjoy what you write is blessing and I thank and think of each and every one of you constantly.
Now for the long overdue review replies:
Professor Simms: I know, I know, still no sex in the champagne room. But I'm hoping it will be soon too. Thank you for the very kind words, they meant a lot.
EbonyRose02: It's difficult to say exactly how many chapters are left. I have a basic outline for the story, so judging by that, I'd say there were about 10 chapters left, probably more. Also, I have a sequel in mind… So don't fret! X
Verona Sage: I'm so sorry I had to put you through that again! New year, larger load of work. However, it's the last year of high school, which obviously makes up for absolutely everything. I hope this chapter was satisfying enough and you continue to be freakishly happy. Lol.
I run with scissors: ah, fluffiness, one of the best things about fan fiction. It makes me happy too. Thank you so much for telling me that I have some of the best English skills. I always thought I kinda sucked at English. Also, I loved that term, "strictly-dickly", that was fantastic. I'd never heard that before. Also, do you by any chance live in Florida? I ask 'cause I have a guy friend who moved to Florida from New York and back a few months ago and he kinda matches your description. Just an observation.
Shining Star of Valinor: Why, hello there! Yes, I do know how much you love this story now. I hope you don't fall out of your seat again, though! I don't know if I could afford a lawyer if you sued me. Dylan's breakdown is, as you can see, just around the corner. But don't worry, she'll be okay in the end. Congrats on your SATs from like 5 months ago! That's amazing! Applications are taking up most of my time at the moment. Ugh, I hate colleges. I DON'T WANNA GROW UP! HELP! x
Smilin Flash: Herro, my darling. I've just put you to bed. Weird. Anywho, I love you more than I could possibly write or say and you honestly deserve the best in this life. I love you, I love you, I love you. Xoxoxoxo
ImAdctd2A3rdClssRkStr: Glad to see you're stuffing your face right and left. Only joking, you know I love you to pieces, from the top of your head to the toes of your cookie stuffed body. As always, thank you for your review, it is much appreciated. I hope life is treating you well, as it should be. Xoxoxoxox P.S. Update that story of yours.
Electricxrain: I am greeting you with a belated hello. After 4 months! Here is more, my friend. Enjoy. Xoxox
Lady of chaos and tragedy: Sorry for the wait! Thank you so much for the compliments, they mean an extraordinary amount! Sorry, I can't share my talent at the moment, I'm trying to get through high school! Maybe next year though?
OldSchoolBetty: Here is your new chapter, my friend!
XMonsterx: Good luck with your story! Ugh, don't even get me started on Four Brothers obsessions. I've lost my DVD somewhere and I've been holding onto my life by a string. Thank you so much for the review and let me know when you've posted your story! X
.blood.sex.booze.: Here it is… At last! Thank you for reviewing twice! You were actually the straw that broke the camel's back and I realized that I was leaving too many people hanging. Silly me but ah well…
Thank you also to everyone who've been reading as well, my hits page is off the charts!
