Disclaimer: I WISH I was related to the creators of "Lost," especially J.J. Abrams, but I'm NOT. The plot is my own, Livien is mine, and everything else is theirs.
Brotherly Love: Part III
He started twiddling his thumbs and looking back from me to the ocean until he got the nerve to say what he wanted all along. "What proof do you have that we're related?" he asked.
A few moments passed before I reached into my duffel bag and pulled out those infamous papers. Reluctantly, I gave them to him.
"I have a sister," Jack said in shock, rubbing his eyes.
"Yeah," I said softly.
It felt like forever that he was silent next to me. I never felt so unnerved.
"I-I need to think about this," he said at long last.
I started blinking really fast to keep my tears from falling, and I nodded. "If… you have any questions… you know where to find me," I said, my voice quivering from the sobs that would soon come.
Then Jack stood there, that look of "Why now?" on his face again. "Please don't cry," he pleaded.
"I'm… I'm not. Just—go."
He gave me the look of utmost confusion, much like someone standing at a buffet table trying to decide what to choose. He told me he couldn't deal with this right now, and when he's ready, he'll come find me.
I nodded in acknowledgment; not trusting myself to speak in fear choked sobs would come out.
When he left, all my emotions from the past week started rising in my chest as if my feelings were the fizz in a bottle of soda with the lid recently popped off. The reason I was here was my dad. If he hadn't died, my mom wouldn't have told me about my biological father; I wouldn't have gone to Australia; I wouldn't even know about Jack. I'd be happy. Lonely. But, I'm lonely here, too.
My hands reached my eyes to wipe away the tears that were beginning to emerge. Then, I couldn't contain myself as I buried my face in my hands, still trying to hold back those tears in case anyone was close enough to hear.
"Dad?" I asked as I came up to his grave. I stood quietly for a moment, composing my thoughts. "I'm sorry I didn't come earlier." My voice shook slightly when I said this. "Mom told me that you… aren't my biological dad. And-And, I was wondering what would've happened if you knew? Would you have loved me still, or if I would've known you at all? Would I have lived with him? But… I'd like to meet him. My biological dad… I just wish you were here to give me you blessing." I took a deep breath, and released it while rapidly blinking my tears away. I didn't think my dad would like it if I cried at his grave.
When I finished talking for the moment, I sat down on my knees and placed the flower I'd brought next to his name. This place had an eerie, foreboding quiet. It gave me the idea that I wouldn't get to be here again for a long time.
Leaves rustled behind me, and I kept my head buried in hopes that whoever it was would leave.
"Sometimes," said a voice, "I find it helps to write songs when you're upset." By that time, I had already snuck a peak at my speaker. It was Charlie. Bloody rock God Charlie. Why does he have to see me cry?
I took a shaky breath, in hopes it would cease my tears. He and his guitar sat beside me before he said, "Don't stop. You wont feel better until you let it out." At this point, I felt happy someone spoke to me for once that I felt obliged to do as they asked. Instead of covering my emotions, I let it all out.
Not long after, I found myself crying onto his shoulder with his right arm wrapped around me. He just sat there with me for countless minutes, not inquiring as to why I was crying. I returned the favor by not asking why he was consoling me. The silence was an appreciating one, but strange nonetheless.
As my crying began to stop, he asked if I'd ever written a song. My answer was no, although I've written many poems.
"Are you any good?" he asked.
"No… I don't think so. I've never shared them with anybody."
"Why did you start?"
"To relieve my anger," I said. "And my sadness," I admitted on second thought.
Charlie sat there, listening to my words, never taking his arm off my welcoming shoulders. "May I ask," he began, "What happened to make you want to write poems?"
Before I even thought about it, my reply was an instant "No." He nodded at this in full understanding. After all, there were many things from his past that he wouldn't like to share.
His arm left my shoulders to take hold of his guitar. "Can you play?" he asked as he strummed the chords. I smiled sadly and shook my head.
I would give anything to hear you talk againTo hear your footsteps as you came home from work
Knowing that you're safe
And feeling things would never change
My life had changed abruptly
The day you did not come home
Mom said you were sick
And I asked for how long
My pen stopped at that line, glaring at the words I wrote. If I had to write poetry, why couldn't the words at least sound good?
I crumpled the paper and threw it in the direction of my desk, not looking to see if it made it in. Afterwards, I laid my head on my desk. It would be so easy to take it out of my desk one last time just to hold it. I don't have to snort it. It'd ease my pain more easily by holding it than writing cruddy poems, anyway.
I lifted my head off my desk and opened the third drawer down. My fingers fumbled through the mess until I reached what I was looking for. My heroin.
It would be so easy just to snort it. No one would ever know… But, I would.
Then, my former rehab instructor's voice rang through my head. "It only gives you a temporary high. It will never take away your pain. When that high feeling is over, your pain will hurt just as much as before, maybe even more. There are other ways to deal with your dad's illness."
My smile faded as I put the heroin back in its hiding place. There are other ways to deal with my dad's illness.
"Charlie?" I asked.
"Yes?" he said, fingers still dancing with his guitar strings.
"Why," I started… Maybe I shouldn't ask this question.
"Why," he repeated. "Why what?"
"Why are you here… with me?"
His smiled started to disappear, and a serious look formed in his eyes. It seemed like I struck a chord. A weakness. He took a huge gulp of air, not yet releasing it. His eyes met mine, letting me know he would be quite serious with his answer, even if I wouldn't understand it. "You look like someone I know back home," he said, his voice a little solemn. "I feel connected to you that way."
"Who do I look like?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Maybe I'll tell you some other time."
An awkward silence followed. Perhaps it wasn't all that weird, but I didn't know how else to label it.
My eyes watched as he stood up. "I'll talk to you later," he said while his hand rested on my shoulder momentarily. He left me to sit by myself, to ponder the thoughts that wanted to eat me alive.
"I'm leaving," she said as she applied another layer of heavy makeup.
"What?" I asked incredulously.
"You heard me. I'm leaving."
"Leaving where?"
"Oh, don't act like that. I'm just going on a vacation. I'll be back."
"Where are you going?" I said slowly to make sure she heard every single word.
"To the Bahamas."
"Why?"
"It'd be nice to lye on one of their beaches this time of year," she said looking out the window. "Look how horrible it is out there."
I understood what she meant. The weather wasn't acting nice lately, but that's the usual winter storms. "You can't leave me alone here!" I said as my voice started to rise.
"You're not alone. You have your siblings. You have your dad."
"You sent Christian and Lilly to boarding school when dad got sick, remember!" I screamed. "And dad's lying sick in a hospital bed right now. Are you really just going to leave us here!"
"Don't act so selfish, Liv. I need to get away from all this. Would you like to go to Paris. You've always loved it there this time of year when it's about to snow."
"Mom!"
"What?"
"I'm only sixteen! I can't go alone!"
"Oh, that's right. I guess you'll just have to stay home."
I gave her a look of disbelief as I stormed out.
"Don't worry, honey! The maids will still be here!"
"What else is knew?" I muttered to myself halfway down hall.
Night was overriding the sunny sky as I made my way back toward camp. I saw Charlie sitting alone by a fire, with his guitar to the left, abandoned for the evening. Cautiously, my feet led me to his side; and I found myself sitting next to him. I felt my heart go hollow when he didn't acknowledge my presence.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"For what?" he replied.
"For asking why you were consoling me earlier. That was rude."
"No, it's understandable. I didn't speak to you before, and then, suddenly, I cared about how you feel. It was only natural for you to wonder why."
"I'm glad you stopped snorting heroin, Charlie," I said quietly.
I could feel his eyes jump to me, wondering how I knew his secret. "How'd you know?" he asked with an edge in his voice.
"I looked the way you did when I stopped… And, I saw you use it once," I admitted. "But, I didn't tell anyone."
He nodded. "I guess it was inevitable that someone would catch me at one point." He paused before asking, "How long have you been clean?"
"About a year now," I said. He gave me a warm smile that came with a one armed hug.
"I'm surprised you trust me enough to tell me," he said, his husky voice sending my heart beating just a little bit faster. I could tell from these words that he was beginning to trust me a bit. Just a bit. Not for saying I knew he snorted, but by confessing that I used to be an addict of heroin, as well. I suppose it gave him hope that he, too, can quit. It always helps to know someone that has had the same dilemma as you and survived.
"I thought it would help," I replied, returning his smile.
We sat together, staring at the flames from the warm fire. No one heard the exchange of our words since there were none. The silence was a comfortable for some reason, even with our sudden, new friendship.
When a cough sounded behind me, we both turned around. It was Jack.
A/N: Hey, I hoped you liked my latest addition to this story. I hoped I characterized them well enough, but I'm not sure if I got it right, but I tried, in my defense.Hey look, the review button is right there… How convenient. :wink: