Alive

By: Aviantei

27 mph


Not many things can make me feel like I'm about to throw up. I've enjoyed the rush of the fastest roller coasters with their twists and turns, I've gladly leapt out of planes with only a parachute on my back, I've sat in the copilot's chair as Alexander performs a full-blown arsenal of tricks and combat maneuvers with an IGPX mech, the world spinning around me. Hell, even when I get sick, vomiting usually isn't very high up on my list of common symptoms and grievances.

But here I am, sitting on a plane to New York, and my stomach hasn't stopped churning once, the taste of bile hasn't left my mouth, no matter how many expensive snacks and fancy drinks I let myself get my hands on.

Because I need to go home earlier than I planned.

Because there's an emergency.

Because Dad had another heart attack and he's in the hospital—

The tears of stress and anxiety and misplaced grief spring to my eyes, and I press my palms against them, leaning my head back, like that will make the sting go away, like it'll solve the problem. Like it'll stop me from crying, like it'll keep me from throwing up. Like it'll somehow help Dad get better, the trigger to whatever miracle cure will keep him safe. This isn't his first time in the hospital for this problem, he has a weak heart already, and all it would take is one more moment for his body to slip up enough and—

Five hours on a plane, unable to do anything.

Five hours, fucking sitting around doing nothing, jumping at my phone connected to the internet for someone to update me.

Five absolutely unbearable hours, not even counting the time wasted checking in at the airport, the time it'll take to leave the plane and the airport and get to where I should be, at Dad's side, making sure he's okay, five fucking hours.

We can make robots that race over two-hundred miles per hour for sport and we can't make air travel go any fucking faster?! My ineffective palms turn into fists over my eyes, applying more useless pressure that only provides half a distraction from the mess I'm dealing with. Oh, god, what if we lose him, too, what if he—

"Kirsten." I let out a shaking breath, lowering my hands to look at Alexander sitting across from me. His colors are kinda hazy: partway there, partway grayscale, like some pretentious photo filter. I'm impressed the color hasn't just vanished from everything, but I can't even appreciate what little I can still see, my thoughts miles away and almost detached from my body. "What can I do for you? Do you want me to talk? Listen?" I almost want to laugh; he's already dropped everything to come along with me, he fucking booked the plane tickets for me, and he feels like he needs to do more? "I can understand if you want me to be quiet, but I don't want you beating yourself up over there."

"Who says I'm beating myself up?"

Though my tone is half sarcastic, Alexander's voice says quiet and comforting. "Just a guess." He reaches out his hands for mine, his thumbs tracing gentle circles across my skin. "This is something stressful. And I'm not going to tell you that you should be okay or that you shouldn't worry. But I can tell you that it's not your fault that this happened, and you shouldn't feel guilty about not being able to immediately be there just because you live somewhere else. You're going, and you will be there, and that's what matters."

I let out another sigh that sounds way waterier than the last one. What a time for him to hold onto my hands; I can't even brush away the tears that are starting to fall. I don't pull away, though. "Nate and Caleb are gonna be alone, though. They're still young. They don't need to shoulder things on their own." I shut my eyes and press my head back against the seat, in the perfect position to just scream if I weren't restraining myself. "We already lost Mom, Alexander. I don't them to go through that again."

I don't want their worlds to turn gray, too.

"They won't be alone, because they're with each other. And you're going to be there as soon as possible." Alexander doesn't try to do anything like remind me that Nate and Caleb are both young adults, no longer small children who can't at least keep themselves together. But I'm the oldest, and I'll take on as much of that burden as I can. As if sensing that I'm about to get lost back in my own thoughts, Alexander tightly squeezes my fingers. "You don't have to shoulder the whole responsibility, Kirsten. I'm going to be here with you, and we'll work things out."

I shake my head. "You don't need to get involved with this—"

"Too late. It concerns you and your family, so it concerns me, too." We've been dating for less than a week and he can already go ahead and say things like that with conviction. He's far too good for me. "I'm not saying you shouldn't manage things or that you shouldn't support your brothers. But if things get too bad, I'll be here to support you. It's not like you haven't already been making me pay for stuff already; this is just the next step up." I open my eyes in time to see him grimace. "Sorry, do you not want me to make jokes? That one just sort of slipped out, but I get that this is serious."

"Mm. I don't mind for now." There might be a point where it won't be something I want to hear, but for now, I'd rather joke than deal with silence, than deal with the mess inside my head. Naturally, the one time I could do without a store of energy so I could sleep these five fucking hours away, anxiety has me too keyed up to even think about relaxing. "I'd rather hear you talk. Doesn't matter what it is."

"Alright, I can do that. Any requests?"

"Nothing boring."

Alexander gives me a small smile. "I can handle that much."


Our trip out of the airport and to the hospital goes flawlessly, thanks once again to Alexander's efforts. While I was making panicked phone calls and grilling Mariya for details, he was taking care of the plane tickets, the post-landing travel arrangements, and even paying attention to when I need to eat, since my mind can't even begin to comprehend stuff like that.

Still holding onto my hand, Alexander doesn't stop me from powerwalking into the hospital—though it's because of him that I haven't just sprinted in. Since I already know the room number, we can take the elevator straight to the right floor. Alexander handles our luggage and doesn't protest when I release his hand to rush towards Caleb, who's waiting outside the door for me.

"Kir!"

I sweep him up in a hug the second I'm able. Out of the three of us, Caleb looks like most like Mom, with his freckles and orange-red hair—the latter of which I bury my face in and drop a kiss on. Caleb trembles in my grip, and I don't blame him. He was there when it happened. He was the one who called the ambulance.

"I'm so, so proud of you, Caleb," I say keeping my voice soft. Wetness from his panicked tears starts to soak into my shirt, but I don't dare let him go. "You did amazing, little bro. Don't worry. I'll take care of everything now. Dad'll be alright."

Caleb sniffs while I rub against the back of his t-shirt. "I thought he was gonna—"

"I know. It's awful." I was there the first time Dad's heart went out, barely any older than Caleb is now. "But you acted fast and you got help, so he's safe. That happened because you were there." I want to say, Don't worry about it, but that seems unfair. You can't help but worry about it, because the possibilities haunt you, especially when you've already lost once. Caleb nods, and I give him one more squeeze before letting him pull back to wipe at his face. The bags are dark shadows beneath his eyes. "Where's Nate?"

"He had class. Dad made him go."

I raise an eyebrow, my older sister instincts kicking in. "And you're not at school because?"

"I got permission. I've been doing my work in the hospital room." He glances to the shut door where our dad is resting. "I didn't want to leave him alone. The doctors have him under watch. I don't want to go away and then have something happen…"

I hum in understanding. Nate probably feels the same way, but he's always dealt with issues best whenever he has normal life to back him up. "As long as you're being responsible about it, take all the time you need." Alexander at least catches up with me, and curiosity slips over Caleb's expression at the newcomer. Right, I should probably introduce him, considering. "The old man awake right now?"

Caleb blinks, but it doesn't erase his intrigue. "Yeah, but who's this?"

"It'll be easier if I don't have to answer the same questions more than once. I'll introduce you inside." I knock on the door a few times to signal my entrance before opening it. Dad looks up at once thanks to his finely honed reflexes, and at first glance he looks okay. Sure, his dirty blonde hair is a bit mussed from being stuck in a bed and stubble has formed on his chin, but he otherwise looks okay. If it weren't for the beep of the heart monitor and his hospital gown, I wouldn't have guessed he wasn't in top shape.

Too bad for him I know better.

"Kirsten," he says, voice as gravely as ever. "I'm glad to see you, but you didn't need to rush out here, seeing as you were already coming. I'm doing just fine, and I'll be out of here in no time."

"Tough words for someone who probably can't get away from bed without permission first," I say, flopping down into the closest visitor's chair. Caleb skitters around to the other end of the bed, where he's taken over Dad's table tray with art supplies. If Caleb wasn't around, I'd dig into Dad for acting like things aren't a big deal, but I don't want to stress the kiddo out any more than necessary. "Either way, I'm here now, and I'm glad to see you doing alright. Just think of it as you get some bonus time with me now."

"You and your company, I take it." Dad looks at Alexander, who's come to stand behind me. I don't even have it in me see if Alexander's embarrassed by the scrutiny. Admittedly, even I saw this introduction happening in way less inconvenient circumstances. Dad puts on his stern expression, the one he reserves for work occasions. "What do ya say, stranger? You have a name?"

I may just be imagining things, but I think I hear Alexander swallow. "C—Alexander, sir."

"Alexander, eh?" Like he's making up for missed chances in the past, Dad stares him down for what feels like it's stretching on for hours—until his face breaks out in a grin. "Sorry you got stuck with my troublemaker of a daughter. I tried my best with that one, but there was only so much I could do."

Alexander chuckles, sounding like he's unsure if it's okay to laugh at the joke. "I find that a little trouble isn't so bad every now and then, sir."

Dad laughs out loud, and I can feel the heat as it crawls up my neck. Caleb notices right away. "No fair!" he says, pointing an accusing finger at me, "You didn't tell me you were dating anyone. I thought you were just messing with Nate when he said you were hanging out with someone!"

Are you trying to say that I would only hang out with someone for a joke? Before I can begin to voice my objections, there's a heavy thump from behind me, and we collectively look to the doorway to see Nate, his backpack abandoned on the ground and his mouth hanging open, making it near impossible for him to push out words. "Y-you—You're—"

"Nathan," Dad says, still grinning. "Come on in. Kirsten was just introducing us to Alexander here."

"Alexander?" Nate asks, his voice rising not one, but two octaves.

"Yes, Alexander. More commonly known as Cunningham Hume," I say, standing up and putting a hand on aforementioned man's shoulder. Caleb has reacted quickly, his phone out and recording video without me even needing to say anything. "Happy birthday, baby bro."


[Author's Notes]

That's right, it's time for the Tailor family arc! With some angst sprinkled in, as well as some humor? This story was never meant to be an angst fest, though, but we still have some tension mixed in.

I mostly just like exploring character and family dynamics, so here we go.

Next time, this arc continues! Please look forward to it, as I run into NaNoWriMo screaming.

-Avi

[10.28.2019]