Disclaimer: Prison Break and its characters are not mine. I'm just taking them out for a little spin.
I'd roamed nearly deserted streets, careful not to meet the eye of the few people who did pass my way, nearly two hours before it hit me that I'd left her alone.
I made a promise to protect her that night.
Trusting my word she threw away everything she knew,
put her life in my hands, only to have me just walk out on
her the moment it all got too much for me to take.
Disgusted at how quickly and easily I've failed her I'm hit with a sudden and certain feeling that something had happened to her, to both of them, while I'd selfishly run out to indulge all the crap, the best professionals going, explain away as the unique mis-wiring in my head, that makes me the fucked up individual I am and was long before Fox River.
Fear pushing me hard I search my mind, retracing my steps,
to find the quickest way back. My thoughts racing with the
worst case scenarios of what I may find, I move as fast as my
feet will carry me breaking into a full out run the last third of a mile.
As I reach for the door, heart pounding, the cool night air stinging my lungs making it near impossible to catch my breath, the curtain of the room next door slides back and I see his face in the window.
I can't read his expression in the faint light. I can only imagine it as disappointed.
I've spent a lifetime looking for pride in those eyes only to be sure, each time, no matter how he denies it, that more often than not what's truly there is not pride but disappointment at my failure to become the man I should have been.
A simple nod of acknowledgment is all I get before he allows
the drape to slip back into place and disappears.
It eases my mind that he's kept a watchful eye on Sara; that
both of them are safe, no thanks to me.
Opening the door as gently as I'm able, finding her in bed,
asleep, I step in and make my way across the room
to his next door as quietly as possible.
Pushing the adjoining door open as little as possible I still manage to slip through looking back as the cool blue light from his television flows into the room and chases away the darkness. It's just enough for me to see her lying there, eyes closed, hands together tucked under her cheek, her long dark hair fanned over the pillows, sleeping, safe.
Unnerved by what he may say, I pull the door
closed much harder than intended, I winch, fearing I've awoken
her with the loud click of the latch.
I stand there, hand on the doorknob, listening carefully
for a sound in the room behind me.
When none comes I'm left with no other choice but to reluctantly turn my attention to my older, sure to be judgmental, brother waiting patiently for a reasonable explanation of my thoughtless behavior that I don't have.
I'm hesitant to meet his eye. I understand well, although we'd never got it quite right, that for all intensive purposes Lincoln has always been a father to me and no man, no matter age or situation, is ever eager to meet that man's gaze head on when he knows he's let him down.
Avoiding the issue by looking anywhere but at him, I can't help smiling at seeing a half empty beer bottle on the night stand and an ashtray piled high with discarded pistachio shells lying on the bed next to him.
Seeing him alive and free enough to enjoy cold beer and pistachios reminds me that in some ways, very important ways, I didn't fail him when he needed me.
The best I can do now, or anytime, is apologize when I need to.
" Sorry. I shouldn't have walked out."
Standing there waiting for what he'll say, I'm prepared to take what I've got coming. Instead he says nothing, not bothering to even look up distracted, make that consumed, by the task of searching for the last few nuts that have managed to get themselves mingled with the empty shells.
" We've all got our demons. If your going to spend all your energy dealing with everyone else's, you'd damn well better be prepared for your own to come back and bite you in the ass with a vengeance once in a while, Michael. "
He finally looks up. " You don't owe me an apology."
Sitting there fidgeting with the nut in his hand, stubbornly
refusing to open, he deems it useless and lobs it across the
room, at me, hitting me square in the chest.
" Keeping an eye out for her ... giving you the space you need
to kick the shit out of yourself if you think that's what you deserve.
whatever you need, I'm behind you Michael, because I'm the
one that owes you."
He piles a few more nuts, cursing them for having 'no God damn opening ', atop the sizable mound of empty shells and slips off the bed... " You want to apologize to someone go in there and tell her your sorry"
" She's asleep. "
He crosses the room, shells falling from the overloaded ashtray to the floor behind him as he goes. " It's a fucking tragedy you know..."
He stops, just standing there. looking at me,
waiting for me to respond.
Confident there are more than a dozen items in this mess that could easily be labeled 'a tragedy ', but having no idea which one he's he'd going for I'm left with no other option than opening myself up to whatever it is he's looking to dish out. " What's a tragedy? "
" You . You're the tragedy"
A good looking kid like you. Been beating girls
off with a stick since you were twelve years old and yet you
still don't have a fucking clue how to handle a woman."
He stops, smirking at me, holding the mountain of shells above the trash can far higher than need be. " Oh she wants you to think she's sleeping, but I'd bet my ass she hasn't slept a wink, and is in there waiting for you talk to her..."
He smiles at me, the 'as smart as you think you are you've just been outsmarted by your big brother'; devilish grin I know well from our childhood and dumps the shells to the metal can below making an ungodly noise that would wake the dead.
" And if she was asleep ... she's not anymore "
TBC