He knew it was bad to dwell on the past; he had known it since the second Layen had been wrenched away from him that life would never be the same, though he hoped he could fill the empty space in his heart that Layen had given him. He cried himself to sleep more often than not, though the tears did nothing to satisfy his insatiable hunger for his sister. When he closed his eyes, he could picture the girl he had loved more than himself, as clearly as if she stood before his closed eyes.
Perhaps the reason he believed, at first, that she was still alive was because she still lived. In his heart, he had not laid her spirit to rest. In his mind's eye, he and Layen played together when they should have been studying, laughing together over a cold bottle of anything that was liquid and in the fridge, and living together. He had not allowed Layen to die, though he was constantly reminded of her death, and not merely by his parents.
Every breath of wind that blew whispered Layen's name into his ear. Every rustle of leaves in autumn was Layen's laugh, every drop of rain was Layen's voice calling him, subtly reminding him of the undying love that she had for him. Every second that passed was not one that stole Layen from him, widening the rift torn between the two of them; it was one more second that he treasured her even more. Every breath he drew was one Layen drew from in his heart, and as long as he lived, so would she.
He smashed his hand against the wall, unaware-or uncaring-of the mortar that powdered itself onto his face. The sound still echoed in his room, but he was certain his parents would not make the long trek upstairs to his room; their conversation was undoubtedly more important than anything going on with their only child still living. His parents were adults living in the adult world-why should they care about the pain Ceric could not escape? They let Layen die.why would they worry about me?
Even as his mind created such thoughts, he knew it was unfair to both him and his parents. They cared about him as much as they could; the loss of Layen had injured his parents more severely than they cared to admit, and they were not ready to love again. He swallowed deeply, as if swallowing could force the thoughts from his mind.
He heard faint knockings and he knew his parents had finished their discussion. He glanced at the clock, surprised to see they had only been talking for twenty minutes. That was short, even by their standards; a talk between father and son lasted at most half an hour, the only bonding that existed since Layen's death. His father's loving, outgoing nature had receded into a cold, hard shell that his father had not crept out of, despite Ceric's gentle coaxing. His mother was only slightly better; she seemed a guest who participated in the events of his love, but did not want to allow herself to grow too fond of him in case night fell, and she had to return to her home.
In a rare display of affection, she had permitted him to stay home today. He knew the reason had something to do with the mysterious phone call she had received early in the morning, sometime before school, but after his father had left. Whatever transpired on the phone sent her into sobs that quitted after an hour, despite the fact that they were strengthened yet again by quick glances at her son who quickly tired of the game to a point bordering dangerously close to disgust. When he could not take it any more, Ceric had grabbed his backpack and slung it onto his back, heading for the door, when his mother reached out and clutched his hand like a precious jewel.
"Please, stay home today." His mother's voice wavered weakly, shaking hesitantly like the tail of a newborn puppy. He could feel himself growing annoyed at his mother; clearly something was wrong, but she had told him nothing. He shrugged off her hand and muttered something along the lines of, "let me go to school", but, to his dismay, she gripped his arm tighter, her acrylic nails pricking his skin and she said firmly. "This is not a request." She was bordering on snippy, and Ceric knew he would have to retreat to the recesses of his mind before the day was over in a futile attempt to convince himself Layen would come back home. Denial was better than disgust, the emotion his mother had placed in him as of late.
"Alright, mom," he said curtly, his voice tight and clipped, stripped of all emotions except anger and annoyance. Tears began to well up in his mother's eyes, and he felt his heart soften. Almost against himself, he swung his arms around his mother, hugging her tightly, realizing as he did, he had not spent more than five minutes alone with her since Layen had died.
Thus began his final day of innocence. He had no idea at the time that he could count on two hands the hours left until he became an adult. At the time, how could he have known that he would go from baking cakes- little better than making mud pies in the garden-to being the last link in a chain that had been forged as he lingered on drunkenness, drinking memories of his former blissful life.
Suddenly he seemed slammed against the bed as his parents knocked on the door; the resounding clacks seemed to be nets shot at his heart, pulling him back to the present. He shot up to his feet and wandered over to the door, wiping his eyes as if the fogginess in his mind was an illusion caused by the sleep in his eyes. He fumbled for the knob and twisted it, pulling the door into his room. As he did, the vision of admitting a black fog of death into his room passed before his eyes. He peered around the door cautiously and was relieved to find his parents packed against each other; as bad as he considered his parents, they were far better than the foreboding menace he felt rippling off the fog.
He plopped onto his bed, vaguely remembering the morning his sister's death had been announced to him. That day, though, he knew she was dead before they told her; his broken heart had been all the sign he needed. From the grievous looks on his parents face, he knew something momentous had happened, but he knew not the cause. Suddenly, he felt very young as the butterflies of nervousness arose in his belly. He could not form words so he met his parents' gaze with his own.
Pol looked at Sen, obviously giving her the unfortunate task of news barer. He felt a flash of anger at the spinelessness of his father, but his crippling nervousness certainly did not make him much better. Sen glared at Pol, and Ceric stifled a grin. Pol had unwittingly given Sen the ownership of the household; his mother was now the man of the house. She took a deep breath, composing herself, but she could not find the words she wanted to say.
Ceric found his nervousness dissolving as warm joy spread in his stomach. He would have to be the man of the house, he supposed. He had no idea. "Who died?"
Ceric suddenly noticed the tears streaming down his father's face as he hung in the shadows behind his mother. Unnerved, he looked to his mother for reassurance, but was met with flecks of moisture dotting her eyes, as well. He jumped to his feet and grabbed his mother's shoulders, shaking her, trying to shake an answer out of her. "WHO DIED?!"
His mother shook her head slowly and reached up to pat his face. He realized, suddenly, that he was much taller than her. Funny, the things you notice when you're in shock. The rubbed his cheek several times before parting her lips to utter the two words that would change his life forever. "You did."