Brotherly Love: Part 1
Screams corrupted the air. Smoke piled in thick screens. Fire spurted in random places; sometimes, not so random, but in big bursts like the engine over there. People ran everywhere, stepping over the dead bodies lying on the ground. And, here I am, observing this slightly farther down the beach than anyone else bothered to go. A moment ago, I had a huge shard of metal gouged in my hand. Naturally, I pulled it out. It bled like crazy, and I had to find some cloth to bandage it.
For such a tragedy, I feel strangely calm. Actually, I'm waiting for my brain to realize what I've gone through. Once it hits me, I'll scream as loud as the blonde.
Then, I saw him. Without him, I wouldn't be here. He rushed around looking heroic in his suit and tie. Well, he had a tie, but he used it to bandage a guy's leg. Sometimes, I can't even bare to think his name because when I do, I think about his father and all the pain he caused. The kind of hurt that never goes away and never sleeps. But, I can't dislike him for what his father did. Heck, I can't even dislike his father. He's also the reason why I'm here.
When everything seemed to calm down as much as it could, I went back to the wreckage. Coming closer, I saw the broken bits of soul torn everywhere. Misery filled their empty shells with a touch of hope. Hope had come only when someone pointed out that we were bound to be rescued sooner or later, but misery mainly consumed us. In this accident, everyone had lost something. No one won.
The doctor came out of the ER. I didn't wait to hear my fears confirmed as I buried my face in my hands, sobbing piteously.
My mom sat there beside me, giving me a one-armed hug. She didn't cry. She was never one to cry, but she did sit there with a disbelieving look. We all knew he had to die sometime, but we never expected him to die so soon.
Driving home was a nightmare. Our car had only us to attend to since my siblings were sleeping over at friends' houses. Mom wanted to "protect" them from dad's illness, so they didn't know anything. Of course, she allowed me to know. Both of them always considered me grown-up. I'm usually in on the secrets.
Once home, I locked myself in my big, empty room. Immediately, the crying started. My dad was finally gone, leaving me alone with my mother and my siblings in this house that echoes every noise in the hallways. This house where family portraits stared coldly from the walls, and the mirrors that watched you until you see your imperfections.
A knock sounded from the door, but I wasn't willing to answer it as I sobbed deeper into my pillow. However, the knocking continued until I realized that whoever was knocking wasn't going to stop. Gloomily, I shouted, "What!"
"Darling, let me come in. I want to talk with you."
Great. My mother.
"No. I don't feel like it," I replied.
"I think it's important, sweetheart," she paused to sigh before she continued. "It's about your father."
More tears swelled up in my eyes, and I closed them hard. Slowly, I walked across the fluffy pink carpet to unlock the door. As expected, she quickly paraded through and sat on my bed. Then, she waited until I, also, sat on the bed.
She watched me for a moment, and I glared at her. She wanted to talk to me; yet, no words came out of her mouth. Upon seeing my angry look, she started to talk.
"I thought since you were already upset that it'd be good to give you all the bad news at once and get your pain over with instead of giving it to you piece by piece." She said in a cautious tone that made me angry, but I nodded for her to go on because once she tells me what she wants, she'll go away.
"Paul Greene—"
"Dad," I said. She normally doesn't mention dad by his actual name.
"Ye-es," she continued. Again, she sighed. "He's not… You see, about eighteen years ago, I suspected your dad of being unfaithful to me. I didn't bother to investigate. I went on to have my own affair. Paul wasn't your dad."
"What proof do you have that he wasn't my father?" I asked, avoiding her eyes.
"We had a DNA test a few weeks after you were born. Paul didn't know, obviously. He assumed that he was the father."
I sat in silent shock as I felt everything I had known come crashing down around me. Shaking, I stood up. "Get out," I said in a harsh whisper.
"Liv…"
"OUT!"
Nightfall came, and our valiant doctor hadn't finished with all his "patients," yet. He helped people who needed him most. People with minor cuts and injuries would see him later for obvious reasons.
The big guy spotted me and walked my way, and I tried to make myself inconspicuous. But, he really did see me, and he really was walking towards me. "Hey… Do you want chicken or lasagna?" he asked.
"What?" I asked.
"Airplane food. Y'know. To eat…"
"Oh… Um… I guess I'll have chicken," I answered.
Then, from a crate he apparently found, he pulled out a tray of airplane food. "Chicken's pretty good," he said. "Considering it's, well, airplane food." He preceded to hand it to me, and sarcastically said, "Bon appetite."
"Thanks," I said and began peeling the foil on top of the tray. The chicken was cold, as expected, and I just kind of picked at it, my hunger dissolving the more I tried to enjoy it. Finally, I decided it was hopeless and set it aside.
Soon enough, my body told me I needed to sleep. I walked around all the people that lied on the ground, trying to find an empty space not too far off from the crowd. For the second time that day, I found myself farther down the beach then anyone had wanted to go. Still, I wasn't far enough in case something horrible happened.
Minutes later, I had made a pile of sand and rested my head on it while I lay down. Sleep eventually came to me, but it took awhile.
"Before I consent to give you this information, I need to know how old you are."
"I've been eighteen since last Monday."
"Can I see your ID?" he asked.
"Yeah. Sure," I said, reaching into my black purse. Once out, I slid it across the table.
"Okay then. Everything seems to be in order. Here's the file containing everything anyone would want to know about this Christian Shephard. Or, shall I say, Dr. Shephard?"
Eagerly, I grabbed the file out of his hands, and since that moment, I hadn't heeded to any word Marx said.
Then, I found out my biological father was dead.
"Wow, that cut looks nasty."
Startled, I looked up to see my speaker who was apparently watching me wash my gash, not cut. "It's not so bad," I said. Not so bad? Yeah, right.
"Is it supposed to be yellow like that?" he asked.
"Do I know you?" I asked.
"No… Just thought I'd mention that you should have Jack check it out."
"I'm fine."
"I'm Hurley, by the way."
"Livien."
"Nice to meet you, Livien… You really should have Jack check that out."
Again, I told him I was fine. After that, he left to go find some fruit and asked if I'd like any. Coldly, I told him "no thanks."
Ocean waves crashed against the sand, and I breathed in the salty air. No rescue boat had come. No rescue plane flew over us. Nothing was coming.
Our third day here, and nothing was coming. I could see everyone carefully trying to think of something else. I couldn't blame them. Once they knew nothing was coming, they'll loose every shred of hope. After that, who knows what will happen?
Sighing, I unwrapped the cloth around my hand to look at my wound, and I began to realize how gross it was becoming. The yellowness thrived in it and made it swell. It wasn't big yet, but it wouldn't take long to grow.
I glanced at Jack's tent, noticing he had gone off somewhere. While trying to make myself seem invisible, I went inside the tent and acquired a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Because I worried Jack would come in any minute, I didn't bother looking for any cotton to pour it on and simply dripped some on my wound.
"What're you doing?"
Turning around, I saw Jack's figure standing by the doorway of the tent. As calmly as I could, I screwed the cap back in place, never taking my eyes off Jack.
He rubbed his eyes as if in exhaustion. "What're you doing in here?" he repeated.
"Rubbing alcohol," I croaked.
"You could've just asked me to look at your wound."
"I didn't want to…" I said, my voice cracking a bit.
"Well, I think I should have a look at that. Rubbing alcohol won't do anything for anything that's starting to swell."
I nodded in reply as he took my hand and rubbed some sort of medicine into it. "Why wouldn't you see me?"
Avoiding his question, I looked down, staring at my dirty shoes.
"Stop avoiding my question, Livien."
I gave him a questioning look.
"Yes, I know your name. Now answer my question. Why wouldn't you see me?"
"Because I'm avoiding you," I whispered.
"Why are you avoiding me?" he asked, his voiced touched with impatience.
"Because you're my brother."