A/N.: I wish you all a merry Christmas and a happy new year. Thanks to my beta for her really very good job and thanks for all the nice reviews. I hope you'll like this chapter =)

3. Trapped – two versus one is one too much

I slowly crawl to the surface and out of the oblivion into the hurtful reality of consciousness. A pounding headache reminds me that I really wish I'd never wake up again. I don't know when the last time had been that I woke up without one. Shit. I can't even remember waking up without feeling crappy. My neck hurts, my back too. What the fuck…my whole body is one pain and it feels like never ending sore muscles. I take a deep breath. I have no choice. I have to go to my lectures. I have to hand in the assignment and I have to start my other paper today and I have to go the architect's office. Okay it's a lot, but I can manage it. I just need five more minutes. Chills run through my body and I crawl a little deeper under the blankets. I listen to the rain drumming against the window. Honestly: I hate seasons, especially fall and winter. It's wet and cold. I miss the relaxing California sun. Another wave of chills runs through me and I have to clench my jaw tight not to make my teeth shatter. I have no choice. I have to get up. Now. I just try to remember when the last time had been that I woke up without pain, but well rested and ready to start into the day. Days started to be long dragging and full packed of duties that I feel slightly overtaxed every morning when I start to run through my to do list. I have to stop this and get the fuck up. I turn my head and take a look at the clock on the nightstand. Eleven? Noon? Why…hadn't my clock buzzed at six as it was supposed to? I immediately sit up. Bad idea. The room starts spinning and a wave of dizziness hits me. I take some deep breaths to gain back my steadiness and wait for my vision to clear. This is a bad nightmare. I have to attend the lectures, and I'll fail my class if I don't hand in my paper and start working on the other one. Oh holly shit, my boss is going to kill me if I don't show up to the office today and I can't allow myself to lose the job. I start to really panic now. I have to hurry if I want to hand in the paper on time. I reach for my hoodie on the floor. I'm freezing. I get up, this time slowly and make my way to the bathroom. I've forgotten that hurry is a nice word I have to expel from my list of what I still can do. Again one thing less. Great. The day hasn't even started yet – for me for that matter – and it already starts to get worse and worse each passing minute.

"Hold on bro, you're not going anywhere." I hear my brother behind me. Shit. I'd forgotten we're living in a one and a half room apartment with bathroom or better bath-hole. I left my brother the small spare room, because I've been witness of too many girl-stories. This means I'm sleeping in the kitchen-living-room, which again means I have no free second and am always in danger of being patronized. He grabs my arm and guides me back to bed.

"Trey, stop that shit! I'm already late and I have to…"

"Kill yourself I know, but not in front of my eyes." He says and forces me down onto the bed. I don't think that this is funny at all. He knows too well about my situation as if he could act like that.

"Trey, that's not funny." I look at him and in his face I can read everything and right now I read: lack of comprehension for my situation.

"Oh no, don't tell me you have switched off the alarm." It starts to make click. I'm angry. I hate it when he starts to treat me like a crippled child that has to be hovered and smothered. He doesn't have to act around me like I'm breakable. I'm not completely healthy, but it doesn't mean that I'll drop dead in an instant. He has to stop treating me like that. It's driving me crazy.

"Yesterday night. Yes I did and what now? Huh? Fuck, Ry…you've been completely out of it. You need to rest." He admonishes me. Who is he to talk to me as if he was my parent? He rather minds his own business before he decides for me what I can do and what not.

"And what about my lectures? Shit…I can't afford to flunk. This is a scholarship I have to achieve a high score and…" I explain him again, but am cut off by his voice.

"Now stop this whining and listen. I called your department and told them about your condition and before you complain about me raising pity, let me finish. Maybe I do, but right now I don't care, because this saved your ass for the next couple of months. I'll go later and pick up a form for you to you fill stating that you're sick and then they can't kick you out or take away the scholarship. I'll hand in your assignment, when I'm on my way to work." I don't like it if people start to care about my business and this is my fucking business.

"And what about my job." Without my job I'm really fucked and he knows that. We need the money. We need everything we can get.

"Indeed they weren't happy, but they understood. They have to, because in your state you're not going back there soon. You shouldn't worry anything but yourself right now. I can make enough money and…" I hate the concern in his voice, the pity and the worry as if I'm already dead. I'm not and I don't plan to be soon. I'm not doomed to dead. I'm just a little handicapped right now, no reason to treat me as if I'm of porcelain.

"Fuck you Trey, how the hell do you think this should work? We need this income."

"I don't care. Then I have to step back I don't know…but I'm not watching you, how you kill yourself."

"I'm not…" I want to counter, but he doesn't let me.

"You're puking your guts out. The only food you can manage to keep is plain rice and juice. You're in pain every single day, you're freezing and…if they hadn't given you a break from this fucking treatment you only would be semi-conscious like a zombie. I'm your big brother and I've done a lot of shit and I've hurt you more than once. But I'm not going to watch you, ruing yourself. This time it's my turn to watch out and I will do so. And now you go back to bed, under these blankets and rest. I don't want you to catch another cold in addition to all of that." He's my brother? Semi-brother or half-brother as they call it. If I had known that my Mum meant it when she called me a fucking accident. I'm not Frank Atwood's son. I don't know whose, but definitely not Frank Atwood's. Indeed I'm an accident.

"I don't need to get tested to know that my bone marrow is no match to yours." My brother told me, after I asked him, whether he would get tested – save my life.

"How do you want to know?" I asked him. I thought he only was afraid of the tests. I didn't know what he knew then. Until then I thought that everything was going to be okay again.

"I know it." It had been a defeating statement. My own brother said no, although he knew I needed his help.

"Okay, can you at least get tested anyway? They only draw a blood sample." I asked him again and he agreed. He'd been right. He was no match. We'd tried to find my Mom, but we hadn't had any luck. She was too much of a junkie as if they would allow her to donate anything anyway. So I remained defeated and with the thought in my head that I probably would die. The realisation that I was suffering from a severe illness struck me hard then. Nothing was going to be okay that soon again. There was no escape. If they found nobody, it didn't matter how much chemistry infiltrated my system. I wouldn't make it anyway. I guess the first week had been the worse. Of course they told you about all side effects and stuff, but living through it is much worse than only listening to it. I felt worse like crap. I wished my brother had kept his gun, I'd known a very good purpose of use. I never thought that pain and puking could become such a routine that you don't mind it anymore, but that has happened over the last few months. It's not as bad anymore, but then it had been. I was lying in bed curled up as small as possible and only wanted to die.

"Hey Ry, here you need to drink something." My brother said and brought me a mug of hot steaming tea. I tried to sit up, but all my limps felt like jelly. I couldn't support myself.

"Here, but only small sips. You need to keep it down." He said and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Thanks."

"At least something I can do for you." He said and then we stayed in silence. Trey isn't like Seth. He isn't much of a talker too. We sometimes just sit and stay silent. It's not like we have to talk to each other all the time. We can communicate even on a non verbal level.

"You know this isn't your fault." He started out of a no-where and I haven't understood what he wanted to tell me through this.

"You know Mom always was a bitch. And she…one day she and Dad had a fight. I don't know about what it was. I only know that Mom was gone for a while. I tell you, the time with Dad alone was the best I ever had. I wish you could have experienced it too. As Mom came back one day, she'd been pregnant. It wasn't Dad's child that was for sure. But do you know what? He didn't care. Of course he was angry at Mom, but when you finally were born he didn't care that you wasn't his. For him you always have been. He loved you as much as he loved me. He only couldn't show it sometimes. I think that he'd been better off without Mom and only with us. I think it would've been much easier for all of us." He said. I hadn't known. Nobody had told me. My Mom had, but I never thought that she was right about that. I'd been shocked. A sober person telling you that you are not much more than the result of an act of frustration can be painful and it was really painful.

"Don't worry Ryan. It doesn't change anything. It never had and it never will. For me you're my baby bro and nothing can change that." He assured me. I wasn't sure. This felt like a slap into my face, as I've been living a lie for quite a time, but I was grateful that my brother told me. I knew what was going on, so nothing to worry about.

"Are you okay?" He asked. I only nodded. I had trouble talking. I mean not my usual trouble. It was just too difficult right now. I was shocked and in pain and exhausted and I couldn't get a word out of my mouth.

"Good, go back to sleep. You'll have to eat later and I don't want to hear any complains, not even about my cooking, understood?" I nodded again and then crawled back under the blankets, blacking out the reality around me.

"Hey, earth to Ryan. Are you okay man?" My brother drags me out of my memories.

"Uh…yeah…just been thinking."

"Okay, then lie down again."

"Taking a shower?" I ask him. I'm freezing and at least a hot shower will make me feel warm for a few minutes.

"But quickly, I'll have to head for my job soon." My brother answers. I get up. No, not good. My head starts swimming and my legs start to get limb. I start to hate this. First I complain that my brother is treating my like a cripple and now I can't even get up on my own.

"Hold on bro." My brother grabs my arm and steadies me. "Wasn't such a bad idea to stay home, what?" He asks. I don't respond. I don't want to give him credit for what he did, although honestly right now it really doesn't seem to be a bad idea to take a day off. When my vision is clear again I go to the bathroom. I step into the shower and turn on the water. I have to wait quite a while, until the water gets hot. Then I stand under the shower, hot water pouring over my aching limps and for a little while I feel better as if the ache was gone during the day. I know too well this isn't going to be the case, but I keep the soothing illusion in my mind, until I step out and start to rub my body dry.

"You alright?" My brother asks. I nod. My tongue once again feels too heavy to be moved. He's definitely right. Staying home today probably isn't such a bad idea. I go back to the bed.

"Good boy. Here's the TV remote, here's the phone – call me if something happens. I'll call you at noon, check whether you're alright. Here's a can of tea, juice, water and some crackers. You need to eat something. You haven't eaten anything yesterday." I open my mouth to reply to that.

"No backtalk. I know what I've seen and that has been pretty much nothing." I feel like five. I don't care. My body is aching and every single fibre of my body screams for more sleep. No, staying home really isn't such a bad idea. When I lie down, I close my eyes. Chills run through my spine and I can't hinder my body from shaking. I feel something heavy falling onto my body. I open my eyes. Trey is draping another thick blanket over me.

"Better?" He asks. I nod again, not even in the mood for expressing my answer in words. I close my eyes again and get drowned in the smooth veil of oblivion's darkness.

A shrill noise wakes me up. Not good. Really not good for my headache. I don't open my eyes and hope it was only a bad dream. The door bell screams again. No, no bad dream. Right in this moment I feel warm and cosy. I don't want to leave the bed. The door bell screams again. Okay, I have no chance. Either my head explodes or I freeze to death. Not really good choices. I slowly get up. When I'm on my two feet again I feel a wave of dizziness hitting me. I have to wait. The door bell screams once again. Does this fucking thing know that I'm not going to be faster only because it knows how to shrill? I slowly make my way. I can imagine only one person behind this door and this is not funny. I turn the door knob.

"Trey, you don't need to babysit…" No this is not Trey. Trey has no long blond hair and Trey is definitely no female.

He opens the door. He's pale and has dark circles under his eyes. He's lost weight, but it doesn't look as if it was too much. He doesn't look like my mother did. Nevertheless the outlines of his face are sharper than they used to be.

"Ryan?" I ask him. I see that he hadn't counted on seeing me.

"Kirsten? What are you doing here?" She's the last person I counted on to see here. How? I mean, I haven't told Seth to tell her where to find me. What is she doing here? I left. I'm not her business anymore. I don't want to be her business anymore. I've made a clean cut. They should accept that.

"Can I come in?" I ask him. I don't want to face this in a crappy hallway. Also I need to check how deep and wide the gap is where once had been a relationship.

"Oh…yeah…but don't expect too much." Oh my Gosh. Kirsten in this apartment? This only can cry for trouble. I let her in though. I don't want to seem impolite.

"Did I wake you?" I ask him another question to sooth the undeniable tension between us. There are blankets spread all over the floor, which lie the assumption close that he has been asleep when I rung the bell.

"Uh…no…not really." I lie. I don't want to make her snoop around in my business. Shit. What am I supposed to do? I left them and I never thought I'd see them – her again, and now this. Shall I behave like the latest fashion of asshole and throw her out, or pretend that nothing stood between us? Both options are bad choices, because both would be lies. I should act as normal as possible around her, when normal even exists in such a situation.

"Uh…can I get you something…tea or coffee or…" I need to offer her something. I need to do something to distract me from the thought that she's here for real. First I thought that I started hallucinating again. I did once, after my second round of chemo. But her scent, I never could only imagine that. And this warm smile. I have missed it, yes. But when I went off, it had been gone. Why is it there again? What has happened during the time I've left them? And why does she still care?

"A tea would be great." I answer his question. It hurts to see how fragile he seems to be. He moves carefully and I can see that he clenches his jaw. He's in pain – probably a lot of pain. I see how he stares at the kettle. He's uncomfortable around me. He has enough reasons to. He'd left us, because of me and no matter how often my son wants to tell me that it was because of something my husband did - deep down I know that I'm one of the reasons. The water boils. He pours it into two mugs. He places one with shaking hands in front of me.

"How are you?" I ask him. I hope for an honest answer and that I can set a conversation going.

"Uh…I'm fine." I answer. There's no way I'm telling her the truth. Hell, what shell I do? I feel like caught in a trap, a feeling I never appreciated too much.

"Are you sure? You look a little under the weather." I don't want to go like a bull at the gate. I'm afraid he might back off immediately. I'm glad that he let me in.

"Yeah…just a little cold…nothing serious. You know all the germs flying around in the lecture theatres." I answer her. I forgot that I must look like shit. Of course several months of chemo leave their marks – obvious marks. So why circumvent the inevitable? Because of my pride and my dignity. Two things I still have left and won't let go off in near time.

"You are studying here?" I ask him another question. He only nods. Starting a civilized conversation with him is like pulling teeth. He doesn't even look into my eyes. His answer though astonishes me. I hadn't thought he would hold onto his dream after he'd left. He'd been such a helpless kid when he came to us first. He has had no dreams. I still know his answer to my question what he wanted to be – seventeen. He had given up his dream and instead just had wanted to survive. How desperate must a teen be when he thinks like that? And now he had grown out of his misery and moulded himself a life worthy of living for.

"And where?" I go on pushing him into a conversation, hoping that this might be the right basis for a new start.

"Harvard." I answer plainly. No need for embellish a simple fact. I feel a little guilty, through this interrogation, because I can figure out why she wants to know all of this and because I can't give her the friendly detailed version, but only the plain indifferent one. Not really fair, after she made the whole way here to see and talk to me. Nonetheless I want to know why she's here, but I don't like to ask. I'm afraid I might scare her away then and I don't want her to leave – not now. I must have forgotten how much warmth she brings with her presence. It's like she carries a natural comfort with her, which wraps you into smooth and soft warmth, something I'm not yet ready to give up.

"Wow. I assume a scholarship." I say and he nods. I hate to beat around the bush, but I'm afraid of scaring him away with a direct question. I want to keep this moment only for a few more seconds. I have forgotten with how much familiarity the room is filled with when he is present. Notwithstanding anger issues, he has a calm aura, which offers you to relax and feel safe when you're together with him. Silence drops down on us like a heavy ceiling. I don't know anymore to say and he isn't offering anything from his side.

"A cold, huh?" I ask him harshly and directly. I'm fed up with tip toeing on eggshells around the obvious. It never helped, but has been the reason why my family nearly broke apart. I won't ruin anything again only by staying silent about the truth. Nevertheless all I can do is hope that he might tell me the truth, but he won't. He won't tell me, even if he still was living with us. He never let us in into his inner circle.

"Uh…yeah." I see her worried concerned look, which tells me that this worry and concern are the reasons for her visit. Not just a polite 'hey-how-are-you' visit, but one with purpose. Anger starts spreading through my body, tensing up every single fibre of me. Has Seth…Seth this little fucking…but, wait he can't know, because I didn't tell him – okay I didn't tell him, because talking isn't happening lately; but I also didn't write him about my whereabouts. So how…? My mind goes blank, because there's no plausible answer available in it.

"Okay, let's stop this. I've seen the letter your brother wrote to Seth." I say bluntly into his face. Now all cards are out. I watch his body tension growing and I'm surprised that a weakened body is still capable of such a tension.

"What letter?" What the hell? Trey? This bastard. I'll kill him, honestly. This isn't funny. I don't know how to vent the anger inside of me, without breaking something.

"He wrote Seth that you were very sick and that you needed help. I know that you have leukaemia and it's obvious that you don't feel too well." I reply. He looks at me, shock written all over his face.

"So Trey had been gone pleading my charity case?" I ask her. I don't want to be mean, but I'm so damn fucking pissed off that it's impossible to remain polite.

"He only wrote Seth that you need help that's all." I answer to sooth him, but I'm afraid he might draw back. He doesn't look too happy about me knowing about it.

"And what does my brother suggest you to do?" I ask. I'm more than angry and I'm beyond upset. What the hell is going on? I open the door and there's Kirsten confronting me with my misery and hopelessness. Do I really look as if I needed that right now? No. I don't need it.

"Nothing. I only wrote Seth that you need help and someone who can take care of you." I hear my brother's voice coming from the door.

"Ry, I'm sorry bro, but I can't do this anymore." Trey enters the apartment or hole, or whatever we're living in. No, this is far beyond funny. This wasn't what I consider as concerned brother behaviour. This is cornering someone. Two versus one. How am I supposed to battle this? This is not fair at all.

I see the helplessness in Trey's eyes. Who thought he would ever be that concerned about his little brother? I didn't. I can understand him. He was too young to take care of a critically ill little brother. Hell, I hadn't been able to deal watching my mother die and I was a lot older then. I can't imagine how it is to watch his little brother…no…stop. Ryan isn't dying. He's seriously ill, but he isn't dying. I have to tell myself this as often as I believe it. Otherwise I'm no help for Ryan.

"And now you just shirk me off, like a…pet during the summer holidays or what?" I have no idea what's going on in this head of his. I thought he was okay. Didn't I already do everything to get him out of this? I try to get him as less involved as possible. I didn't tell him to stay and sweep up…the puke and other body liquids when I hadn't been able to reach the bathroom in time. It was his decision. It was his decision that I stay home from now on. I didn't tell him to take care of anything then himself. And heck he's old enough for that.

He feels attacked. Of course he does. He was caught off guard and sick, both attributes he couldn't handle very well. But I need to get the situation under control. He has to save his strength and not waste it on some kind of stupid unnecessary fight.

"Ryan…nobody is shirking you off. Trey is only aware of that you need more care than he can offer you and he has figured out who can give it to you." I say calmly. I try to sooth him. He has to come down again.

What the heck does she want to tell me? I'm not going to fall for her words. I left for good and she knows that. If I had wanted to stay in contact with them – if I had wanted something from them I would have expressed it. But I don't want anything, but my peace.

"This is not going to work." I only answer. I have to leave this madhouse. This is driving me crazy.

I see how agitated he is. This didn't work well, but I don't want to stop him. I'm in no position to tell him what he's supposed to do. I let him down and failed him. I behaved like…the last man on earth towards him. Indeed I have no right to say anything. But I have a duty after I let him into my house and got him involved in my alcoholism and threatened him out of the house. He wasn't just a boy I knew once. He's not only a friend of my son's. He's more for me – for us. I watch him walking towards the door, shaking his head in disbelief. He opens the door and nearly storms out of the apartment.

"Ryan, don't go…stay! Shit!" Trey shouts after his brother and follows him. He catches up on him on the street. I watch them through the window. Ryan must still have a lot of strength left when he can manages stairs that fast, but I worry. He's standing outside in the pouring rain. I see how his brother garbs his arm and turns him around. He's screaming something into his brother's face. I can tell him screaming doesn't lead to anything in Ryan's case. He lets off on his brother. I see how Ryan disappears in the cold and rainy night.

"How long did you plan to stay?" Trey asks me, when he's back in the apartment.