Disclaimer: If I seriously owned anything in this story, do you think I'd be writing it? Exactly. I own Charity Burns, her family members, and all the other OCs. Nothing else. Zip. Zero. Nothing. Nada. Notadamnthing. :) Kapeesh? :)
A/N: I'm horrible at updating lately, I know, I know. :( I've just been so busy and I did not expect this week to be so, I figured I'd have time to write and finish this story before then. But nope. :( Between personal problems, the upcoming holiday season, and the joys of high school, I have just been drained and in NO mood to write. But viola! I have a new chapter and it's bang! worthy. :) I think it's one of my best yet, though it starts out a little slow. Second to last chapter? Oh yeah. I'm almost done. I just want to say thank you to all that have been reviewing, I've never imagined making this many reviews on my first try. Keep on the lookout. :) Now, enjoy the second to last chapter! :D
-Charity's POV-
I walk into Penn's room carefully, standing inside the darkness for a moment, letting the darkness and my eyes adjust. No one has been in here for a while now; there is a stagnant smell to the air. I let a deep breath slip into my lungs and roam my hand up the wall, flooding light into the room.
It looks exactly the same was it was when Penn went back to the hospital. Wiping a few stray tears from my eyes, I flaunt my way over to his bed, which is still covered in his neon green comforter, the one he begged my mother for forever. I smiled softly at it, rubbing the soft fabric while taking even more in of what the room had to offer.
It was Penn, the room was Penn. It looks like him. I can stare at the walls for hours and see his face staring back at me. The way the dark blue walls with the perfect white trims and the lighter blue carpet meshed perfectly. The way there was just the slightest unkempt vibe to his room: a stray paper here or there or a piece of lint on the bed… but it was him. It is my brother.
The computer hasn't been on in ages now. There is a layer of dust on top of it, where a picture lies of him and I. It's from last summer, when he was healthy and we were in the Caribbean for vacation. A sunset sets the picture off, oranges and pinks bursting in the background while we smile hazily, our bodies exhausted from all the sight seeing we'd been doing. There is something perfect to it though, something I'd never change for the world. The memories from the past are all I have left now… it makes me want to cry more even thinking of that.
I pick up the picture for a moment, studying it closely, the way our eyes just gleam with happiness, a time when our family, though not totally happy, at least seemed so. There was no arguing over money problems or worries about Penn's health, or how I was going to graduate and go off to live on my own. We were happy to a degree. I miss it.
Downstairs there is laughter, loads and loads of it, coming from beneath the carpet and sinking into the room, leaving its happiness around me. I don't want this happiness, I want to mourn my brother and think about trying to find my own way in this world. For years, I've relied on him for everything, now I'm alone. I probably should have realized it then that he wouldn't be around to baby me forever, but I still can't believe now it's live or get crushed.
Somewhat though, spending the week with Matt, Jeff, Beth, and Shannon has helped me. I think I'm more confident, a little freer. A week without Penn at a time when I should have been around has helped me. I was able to survive on my own, even though just barely. It's tougher, but I think I can to a degree. I'm just not sure though… with all the problems that surround me now. I want to runaway, but where is there to run?
No where for me. I'm stuck in this hell of what if left of my family, suffocating between my mother's overprotective-ness and my father's asshole persona. Where do I stand in this? I'm not anything razzle-dazzle. I'm not super-smart; I'm not drop dead gorgeous. I'm just an everyday girl who loved her brother way too much for her own good.
I sigh while crawling over to Penn's bed and slipping beneath his covers. A faint scent of him wavers through my mind, a brief period of his face dancing there. There is a little girl in my mind, chasing after the picture of him, tears streaming down her face while his image fades into the distance. I have to shake my head and clear it from any thoughts of that.
Almost have I forgotten of the letter that sits in my hands. It's clear white tone makes it unbelievably bright to me, screaming pleas of 'open me' and 'read me' off it's non-existent lungs. I don't want to. I'm sick of crying and I'm sick of tears. I just want Penn. Is that so hard to ask?
My fingers trace over the envelope carefully, feeling the slightly rough edges scrape the tips of my fingers. No more tears, I must threaten my eyes. Tears are deadly to my mind. They are no longer allowed. They must be outlawed.
Perhaps I'm loosing my mind. It's the only way I can describe how I feel. Should I open the letter? It sits gingerly on my lap now, basking in it's nearly weightless glory. Maybe it can just blow away with the wind and stop haunting me. Then again, though, what would Penn think of me if I didn't read it?
I believe in Heaven and people watching from above. He's probably pissed right now, seeing me like this. What else can I do? I don't know what to do. A friend, someone to lean on would be nice. Rina doesn't understand. Penn is who I came to for things like this. I guess I could call Beth, but I don't want to burden her. She's got enough to think about, plus, she's been through a pretty traumatic loss recently herself.
"What do I do?" I ask the ceiling, biting onto my lip bitterly. "Tell me what to do!" I scold it.
Eyes of mine wander to the letter, knowing I must open it. Do I really have to? I guess not, but it's going to eat at me forever, like a person who has murdered someone hiding out. You can't escape your conscience.
Before I can even process the thoughts further, my index finger tears angrily at the paper, pulling it open, leaving pieces of paper on the lime green blanket I lay under. Delicately, I pull out the loose-leaf paper, the creases of it sticking to the side, making me fight to pull it out. When I do, it floats to my lap, lying there cautiously. A single tear falls down my cheek at the thoughts of what's inside.
My fingers wrap around it once more, while I pull it open and read the date and greeting and then, before I can stop myself, I start to read my brother's thoughts.
Dear Charity,
I can't even imagine what you're going through right now if you're reading this. I don't want this to have to be my last goodbye to you, but if this is… it means we never got the proper send off. I'm sure by now you're angry at me for letting you go off to North Carolina, while I knew my health was far from par. (Unless you haven't figured this out yet, and if not, you're probably even more hurt). I couldn't let you waste your life away, slaving over me like you have done since just after Christmas. I have the cancer, not you. You are 18-years-old, beautiful, and full of life, you have to live it. That's why I made sure you at least tried to go for something of our dreams. Little did I guess you'd actually win. Though, it doesn't surprise me, you've always have had a way with words. (And don't shake your head no, I've read your papers for English and other stuff in the past, you're great).
I'm not sure what to say here. Siblings don't usually have to say goodbye forever like this. Not at all. I just know though, by the time that you get back, I won't be here. I can feel it in my bones and as much as I'd like to be here with you for your return, my body is just too weak to make it anymore. Mom hid that from you, hid to you that there wasn't any hope left for me. I love you dearly, Char, but you'd never be able to handle that kind of pain, so it has been kept a secret. I'm sorry for that too, but I was and am just trying to protect you from more pain (which I haven't probably done and well, it always seems to be a lose-lose situation for me). My health and this disease is not my main concern for this though.
It's the aftermath and your sanity and survival is what plagues me and makes me want to fight harder, but how much harder can you fight when God's run out of miracles? Please, I beg of you, don't cry. Tears can't bring me back from this, hours of depression and mourning won't either. You need to be strong and move on, keep your chin up and by all means, avoid family (which you're probably already doing). You've always been the type to be off on her own, only close to a couple in life. I guess I have been lucky enough to be one of those few. What can I say? I'm so amazing, where do you think you have gotten it from? Ha, it's certainly not from dad.
All I'm saying is hang in there. Go onto life without me, become that woman I see you to become. She's strong, beautiful, happy, and hardheaded at times, but one of my most amazing people I know. With that, I hope you've had the time of your life with the most amazing wrestlers too, you and me both know that those Hardy Boyz are just plain great. I hope you've made memories with them, learned about yourself and growing. I had a feeling you'd learn more than you could imagine while there. Share it with me, think it, I'm sure I'll hear it somewhere.
Take this as my thank you for everything you've ever done for me over the years, especially with the tough road this year has been going on, it's the only way I can explain this letter in simple words, but continue on, I'm not done. (You know I take forever to explain myself.)
You'll move on from this, but knowing you, it will take time and a lot of faith in yourself. You rely a lot on me, which will change. You're more independent then you've ever imagined and you can't realize it. You're so intent on screwing up, or not being perfect to where you can't see yourself anymore. You know you, don't forget her. She's amazing. A sister only the real lucky get to have. A sister who's memories are always with me, a sister who's smile is etched into my brain when it's tough and I need a smile. A sister who loves me, with a brother that loves her more than the world in return. A sister who has spent more time at a hospital with someone who is fairly less than fun to be around, at a time when mostly everyone leaves. I know you put on that I'm the one that is above par, but it's not me, it's you. Look in the mirror, see who you are, you're incredible, Char, you always have been. Nothing has ever changed that, nothing ever will. You just need to see it. See Charity Burns, not Penn Burns little sister, but Charity Burns, a strong and wonderful woman. A woman who has a lot of share with the world and a woman who will always be forever in my heart.
I love you much more than you'll ever know,
Penn.
To say after reading the letter, I am flabbergasted is an understatement. I want to cry, but there is something holding them back. Penn's words ring in my ears, as if he's reading them himself, sitting next to me on the bed, watching me react with a smile on his face. I know he's right, and I know that it will take time to get over something so drastic in my life. He can't expect me to read a letter and go on as if everything is hunky-dory, but this can be called a stepping stone, or maybe, a weight lifted off my shoulders. There is just something in this letter that tells me I need to do something, but I'm not sure what. Penn's always known the right thing to say, though it ends up wordy. It makes me feel better.
"I love you Penn," I say to the room quietly, knowing though maybe he doesn't hear me in the way I hope, he's somewhere listening to me, somewhere inside my heart perhaps. Corny as can be, but so very true. A person you love never leaves your heart. They remain there forever.
My eyes begin to droop, closing by the second. I see a faint outline of someone, someone who looks so very familiar as my eyes close, sitting on the desk chair beside me. The person is smiling at me, eyes gleaming with pride. I begin to sleep with peace.
"Well, where the hell is she?" a male voice screams, shattering my sleep. How long have I been out? I ponder the thought for a moment, sitting up in my bed. Wait, no it's not my bed, I'm still in Penn's room. I glance around, looking to the desk chair with a frown. Did I dream it? I'm not sure, but I know there was something—something good—in this room.
Penn's letter falls from the sheets, cascading down to the floor with a swift and quiet motion. I gaze at it lovingly for a moment, before re-focusing to the conversation outside.
It's my parents. My father is angry, as usual and my mother sounds very usual as well, trying to calm him down. "Jason, please, calm down. I'm sure she is around here somewhere. Her car is still in the driveway."
"Janet, the child is not in her room! Where the fuck is she then? The girl acts like she's the only fucking important one in this world and as if she's the only one hurt by this. She can't act like this. She's a fucking little brat who doesn't understand how to deal with something the right way. I'm sick of her bullshit."
"You know what, Jason? I'm sick of yours too. You're talking about your daughter as if she's not even your own. Think about how you're speaking."
"I'm speaking perfectly fine. I'm not the one that has ran off and left her parents to worry while she's probably out with her friends at some club getting drunk with more bad influences like that druggie. Did you know that Jeff Hardy has a past in drugs, Janet? We sent our daughter off for a week to live with a druggie! God only knows what our once good little girl has done in this week. Hell, she's probably already shot heroin up her arm. Those boys she went to live with our nothing but good for nothing low-lives who stock up on steroids and act like gay—"
I couldn't take my father's rant anymore. Getting up from the bed, fully pissed, in unlike Charity fashion, I stomp towards the door and tear it open. Eyes full of tears, I look my father dead in the eyes, "Now, say that again to my face." I stare at him with hatred fueling in my eyes.
"There you are, young lady! Do you know how much trouble you are—" he starts back up.
"Save it, I'm not in the fucking mood to hear your bullshit. Now, it's obvious that you think you know me already, or you're just such a bad father to begin with, but calling me a possible druggie is so far from the damn truth. I have never touched any such thing. Speaking of me like some trailer trash living out on the streets while I am your daughter is filthy. I am not some damn toy, I am a human, with feelings."
My father goes to speak.
"Don't even start. My brother, my best friend, the person I love more than anyone, just died. You have the nerve to tell me to stop crying and act like a man? Newsflash, daddy, I am not a boy. I am a teenage girl who's just trying to survive. You have no idea what else I have been through in this past week adding onto Penn's death. To judge my friends, the people who have been supportive of me during this hell time, to call them druggies and low-lives while not even knowing anything about them, makes you even lower. These people have taken a complete stranger into their lives and made me feel like I have belonged in this world again, when I couldn't be near Penn. Have you ever done that? No, you've just been an asshole. So I'd suggest you save it and rant to someone who actually cares."
"YOUNG LADY!" My father bellows in response. "You have NO right to speak to your father like that! Who the fuck pays for your clothes and your house and all your damn food?" I glare in response. "To find you inside your brother's room, only to come out and eavesdrop on a conversation which does not involve you is not allowed! I am the man of this house and I will not have this, go to your room and stay th—"
"Oh please," I snicker, almost wanting to laugh. Whoa, where is Charity? "I don't have to answer to you. I am eighteen."
My father glowers. "Well then, little girl. Go survive on your own then. You have one hour to get your shit our of my house before I throw it out on the streets. No daughter of mine will speak to me like that."
"Jason!" my mother gasps. "NO!"
"Janet, stay out of this."
"Fine," I say confidently, even though I'm not sure where I am coming from. "I don't need to live like this. I deserve so much better than to be pushed around by a bully to call my father. Don't expect me back any time soon." Before he can even say another world, I slam Penn's door in his face, lock it, and run over to the closet.
My parents argue about my father's verdict to my 'bad behavior' outside the door, while I throw a duffel bag onto the bed. Around me, I grab some of the stuff that mattered most to Penn, or things that I know he'd want me to have, along with some of his clothes and some of what I didn't want my father to get his hands on. The last thing I grab is the photo and the letter, setting them carefully into the duffel bag. Wrapping Penn's comforter and pillow around it, I open the door, shove past my ready-to-pop father and poor sobbing mother, without a word.
Only a half hour later, the stuff I call my own is packed in a couple suitcases and small bags. Without word to either of them, I bring them to my car, setting the cases in the trunk. When I come back into my room, my parents stand there, eyes looking around the now semi-hollow room.
My father says, "When you leave this house, you are not welcome back."
"Jason, please," my mother moans, eyes full of tears. The darkness from outside makes my room look even creepier. I sigh, feeling horrible for my mother and doing this for her, but it needs to be done. "I just lost one of my children, don't make me lose my other."
"Fine," I state to my father, going over to my last stop, my savings of about five-hundred or so dollars. "Don't expect me back though, when you'll be looking to apologize. You've had your chance." I look around, taking one last deep breath and look to my mother, whispering, "I'll be in touch with you," into her ear. This only makes her cry harder, gripping onto me, begging me not to go.
I almost break down, but this new, more confident Charity tells me if I stay here any longer, I will be in jail for attempting to hurt my father. So, I sigh once more, give my father a 'this-is-your-bed-lay-in-it' look and walk out the steps and out of the house, never looking back.
Next update will be within the week. Hopefully soon enough. :) Well, read and review, please. :) Thanks everyone. :D