Perfect, Pretty Family on a Postcard Picture Chapter 5: 4 Bad Conscience, an o.c. fanfic

A/N.: I still own nothing and am not making any profit out of this, but I hope that the POV-Confusion is lessened through my new attempt ;)

4. Bad Conscience – We were supposed to be better

"As long as it takes me to convince Ryan from coming with me." I answer him. He nods. He has an edge I haven't seen on Ryan. He looks rough and somehow unpredictable, but he's shy and concerned at the same time.

If I could I would beat the shit out of my baby bro. I have so no idea what's going on in his fucking head. I need to knock some sense into it, but I can't even touch him, without making him look like he had taken a beating from the College football team. Right now I could kill him. Since when is he so fucking sensitive?

"Could take a while." Trey answers and pours me another mug of tea. I need to sooth him and tell him that his attempt isn't for nothing. I would help him, both of them. They needed me and I would be there for them. I have to explain him that what he's doing is no betrayal, although it might look like that on first watch.

I feel so embarrassed by my brother's behaviour in front of this woman. She really seems to want to help us and him? He just pushes away everything and everyone. He has to understand that he can't go on like this. He needs the help. He isn't strong enough to go the whole way alone, but he doesn't want to see that. He and his fucking pride.

"For how long is he sick?" I ask Trey. I need to be in the picture about everything, need to know how serious it is to find the right help for both of them.

"It was diagnosed seven months ago." I answer her. He's fighting this for seven months now and he still hasn't understood the seriousness behind this.

"I just…it had been awful…I mean…Ryan never was sick and he took beatings like no others…and now he can't even get up in the morning." I tell her. I don't know why I tell her. It's the first time I can talk to someone about it and it's the first time someone is actually listening to me.

"Tell me about it." I encourage him, discovering his need to talk about it. My own thoughts run in circles of panic. Seven months? Oh my god. This is even more serious than I thought it was.

"What do you mean? Are you seriously interested in a medical description of all this?" He asks me warily. Both: Trey and Ryan can't warp their heads around the fact that there are actually people who don't turn their backs on them as soon as a problem occurs on the threshold of their lives. It hurts to see how distrustful two young men can be – how destiny played pranks on them.

"How did you find out? What happened?" I try to get him to talk. This is not only for him getting relief, but even for me to know how bad it really is. I want to be prepared when I face Ryan again.

"I don't know. I just realized that something was wrong."

We moved together from California to Boston. He wanted to keep me out of trouble, after he caught me dealing some drugs. It was rough at the beginning to share a flat. I mean in Chino it was okay, because I was out most of the time and Ryan was too; added to that the Chino rent isn't really high, which means that your responsibilities are much less than here. When we came here things started to change immediately, not only because of the higher rents for a hole like this. You know Ryan. He's ambitious and doesn't want to screw things up, and I had to learn this attitude. I simply wasn't used to this stable and steady life: getting up in the morning, going to work, coming back in the evening, relax a bit, get to bed and the next day the same routine. In fact Ryan has had a tough fight to make me stick to our agreement that I stay out of trouble and hold down a job. It took a while for me to realise that if I wanted to live here too, I had to carry some of the responsibilities as well.

"Trey, shit, turn the music off." He gave me the little room as bedroom, I think because he has caught me much too often making out with some girl in here. That's why he sleeps in the living-kitchen-room. I didn't care that he still was asleep. I didn't care about anyone then myself then. I had to learn respect the needs of others and Ryan was the one teaching me.

"Why? You're awake now." I answered. I didn't turn off the music, until Ryan pulled the plug. He was looking miserable lately, but I thought he was just overdoing it with his ambition. Well, he was overdoing it too, but I didn't know that he didn't feel well and had already for weeks. He never talks about things like that.

"Fuck you Ryan, don't you have a job to do or something? Don't you need to be somewhere?" I've been pissed off. I hated his schoolmaster-know-it-all-attitude and fact that he as right with it as well, as every time he reproached me for something. He's always been the good one, the one who did the right things, and worst of all was that he always got through with it.

"I could ask the same. What about your job?"He barked back at me.

"Nothing, have none." I thought it was cool. It wasn't. I know how important it is to have a good job, not only because of the pay check. It keeps you out of trouble and gives you some kind of perspective. One day I started to understand my brother. Really I started night school to get my degree, but back then I didn't care. I wanted to be free and my own master.

"Shit Trey, I can't work for both of us. I have to comply with the requirements for the scholarship. I can't spend my whole time on a job." He explained me. I thought it was posh. I mean scholarship at Harvard was nothing for normal people, but for rich and snobbish ones. In my point of view he didn't fit into this picture. He was only pretending to be one of them when in reality he wasn't.

"Then stop…what the hell this ever is." I said and took one of his books only by its back.

"Trey, be careful they're expensive." Ryan said. I didn't pay attention and instead started waving it around.

"Trey, stop it!" He screamed at me. I didn't stop and then he got to me and tried to grab the book out of my hand. I pushed him away, a little harder than intended, but effectually.

"Stop the shit!" Ryan screamed. He reached for the book, but I grabbed his arm and tore it away.

"Trey…stop…" Eventually I was bored and gave him the book back. He started to study that morning until late night. He used to study ten hours in a row and longer. He wouldn't even stop for a dinner break, if I hadn't placed it in front of his face. I looked at the wrist – it was the one I held hours earlier to keep him from getting to me – it was black and blue.

"Dude, what's that?" I asked him and pointed at the wrist, disbelieving that the colour has been my doing.

"Your violence." He growled. He was pissed off about my behaviour, with reasons.

"C'mon, I've never held you with that much force."

"Probably you did, because it looks like that."Oh yeah, he'd been really very pissed off and I had a bad conscience, especially when I saw that the spot on his chest - where I had pushed him - was black and blue too.

From then every fight ended like that and at the end I didn't even dare to touch him, because I feared he might suffer a new bruise.

"Hey bro, what happened to your leg? That looks dangerous."His whole thigh had been bruised and red. This time I've been sure that the cause hadn't been me. I hadn't touched him in ages.

"Do you believe me when I tell you that I have no idea?"

"No, because the cause of this bruise can't be forgotten."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but apparently it can." He said and then I realized that his upper arm was patched with several small bruises like his back was as well.

"Okay baby bro, stop the shit and tell me who kicked your ass?"I was getting angry, because no matter how bad I tease him, he's still my baby bro and I have to protect him somehow. It's also frustrating that my four years younger brother is so much more mature than I am and that he lets me feel it.

"Trey, I promise I don't know. Hell, Trey you know I'm not a good liar."He had a point. A lying Ryan would have looked different.

I started to be really scared to touch him, but he wouldn't wake up on the buzz of his alarm clock and I know he would've kicked my ass if I had ignored it. I had to shake him like hell to get him to wake up.

"Hey Ry, you need to get up."

"'m tired."

"Yeah, I know, but you have to think of your scholarship."

"Headache." It should have become clear to me that something wasn't right then. He never complains about anything in front of people and at the mention of his scholarship he should have jumped out of bed. Nothing has ever been more important to him than his scholarship.

"I get you a Tylenol and then you get up."Things went on like that. He was having headache after headache and I blamed his studies and his job for it, because he was putting himself under way too much stress.

"Ryan, step out of the bathroom. I have a date with Lyra!"

"Yeah…just one minute." He started to take overlong showers – too hot for my taste, close to the boiling point.

"Some day you'll boil yourself." He nearly crawled out of the bathroom. He'd stopped to work out and his movements were very slowly and careful.

"You don't look too good man." I said. He looked like he was coming down with something or as if he already had a fever.

"Don't feel like that. I just go and crash." He said and then went to bed. When I went out he had already been asleep. I've watched him more carefully then. I started to be afraid he might ruin his health due to all the pressure. He never went to bed that early, always worked on something and now he was even too tired to study.

One evening I watched him doing a paper. He can be very quick and he's working very precisely. I heard something was dripping, but it wasn't the tap in the kitchen. When he's working the flat is awfully silent. You can hear every noise, no matter how silent it is.

"Uh…Ry, maybe…here." I handed him a tissue, when I saw the cause if the noise. His nose had started bleeding just like that.

"Oh…shit…thanks." From that day on his nose started bleeding more often just out of nothing. I should have been worried, but I wasn't and blamed the caffeine for it. He was drinking coffee at all hours of the day. This couldn't be healthy. The last straw had been a couple of days afterwards.

"Trey, can you prepare dinner tonight, I'm really tired."He said. I was pissed off. The agreement was cooking by turns and it had been his idea. He was supposed to stick to it.

"C'mon I've been on duty yesterday. You know about our agreement." I announced him.

"Yeah…you're right." He answered and then went into the kitchen. Honestly: at least he can cook. When I prepare something it usually ends up in a mess. I was reading, because I had started my night school and Ryan said he would kill me if I didn't take it seriously. I only got disturbed by a thud. When I looked up from my book into the kitchen Ryan was gone. I went to look what caused the noise and found Ryan lying on the floor – eyes closed.

"Ry?" I asked and kneeled beside him. His skin was cold and clammy and I started to panic.

"Hey, Ry…c'mon, open your eyes." He didn't respond and panic overwhelmed me. Seeing your brother motionless lying on the tiled kitchen floor is horrible. I started to splash some cold water over his face in an attempt to wake him up. He began to stir.

"C'mon bro, come back. Open your eyes." He slowly managed to come back to consciousness.

"Hey Ry, are you okay?" I asked him, my hands cupping his hot cheeks. He definitely was running a fever.

"hurts."Was the only word he answered and I was really worried. Ryan never gives you the helpless, but the tough boy.

"Ryan, what hurts?"

"Head…back…legs…arms…everything." This sounded like a really serious flu to me. I didn't thought it might be something else. I didn't know anything else.

"Okay, that's not good…can you get up."

"'m tired." Shit. Since when was Ryan helpless? He never was. I started to panic, because I don't know this kind of behaviour from Ryan. Ryan never showed any weakness.

"Yeah, let's get you to bed and then you can sleep." I ensured him. He tried to get up, but his arms weren't able to support his weight. I had to nearly carry him. As soon as Ryan was in his bed, he fell asleep and he didn't get up again. The next morning I've been on my wits' end and I only saw one more solution.

"Hey Ryan, time to get up."

"You never use my full name unless I've messed it up." He replied from under his blanket.

"Well, somehow you did. You forgot to tell me that you don't feel well, far away from well."

"No idea what you're talking about." And with these words he turned around again.

"Maybe, about that you passed out on me last night?"

"Yeah…but, everything's fine."

"No, nothing's fine. You're always tired, your nose starts bleeding out of nothing, your body is one bruise that I don't dare even touching you. So don't tell me you're fine. I don't buy it from you." I had said.

"Okay, I'm not fine, but why in hell shell I get up?"

"You have an appointment."

"What? Where? When?"

"With a doctor." I was already prepared for his rage blackout.

"What the fuck? If I needed…"

"No you wouldn't. Now get up, we're already late."Thus I dragged him to the hospital. There they had already the second bad news: they wanted to keep him over night. If glances could kill I would be dead by now. He didn't like the idea, but after some serious talk he hadn't fought the idea. Unfortunately I didn't have a lot of time, so I couldn't stay with him. I met him at home. He's been sitting on the couch in the dark with a mug of hot coffee in his hands.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" I asked him.

"I live here. Forgotten?"

"Yeah, but sitting there in the dark." No answer came. He just looked into the room, not responding.

"Ryan you're scaring me right now." I sat across from him. He didn't look at me. Okay he never looks at someone, but this had been different.

"What's wrong?" I asked, only now I realised that he was shaking. I've been completely defeated.

"I'm sick."

"Oh…okay…sorry man, but I mean that was to be expected or I mean…" I didn't understand where the problem was, until he had interrupted me.

"I have Leukaemia." He said. His voice had been calm and he'd just said it straight forward. I hadn't been able to respond. I should have said something, anything. But I couldn't.

"The news is always hard to take." I tell him after he stopped talking. He feels visibly bad about his behaviour that he hadn't known how to reply, but I know the feeling. I hadn't known what to say when my Mom got sick either.

I don't know why I've told her everything. I have the feeling as if she understands me. At least she really cares, because she's here and she's reluctant to go without having had a good word with Ryan. That's already more than I can say about other people, those who were supposed to care.

"How did it go from there?" She asks me.

"Chemotherapy and radiation and I don't know what all. A lot of medication and stuff." The first turn chemo had been the hardest for both of us – I guess. Ryan had played the tough guy – he still does. I don't know how he felt then. I only know him taking the situation bravely.

I watched him disappear in the bathroom. After a while, when he still wasn't out, I decided to check on him. I knocked on the door.

"Ryan everything okay man?" I started to worry. He was puking his guts up since days and I worried he might have collapsed again.

"Yeah." He answered. There was a strange noise. I didn't know what it was and as we agreed to a don't-lock-the-bathroom-door-policy, because I was too afraid he might break down in there, I just got in and watched my little brother shaving his head with a razor.

"What…Ryan…what are you doing." I was shocked. I wasn't prepared for that.

"How does it look like?" He asked back.

"I see, but why?" I didn't come to the conclusion on my own. It was too strange as if there could have been a reasonable explanation at first sight.

"I know you shouldn't be very concerned about your appearance when you're puking twenty four seven, but honestly when you hair falls out and your head looks like patch work…this really looks crappy." He said. I couldn't even respond anything because I've been torn down by his humour.

"Let me deal with that from now on." I say to Trey. He looks worn out and tired. This is much more he can bear. He doesn't have the strong facade his little brother has. It's too easy to witness what the truth for him is.

"But first he needs to come with you." I answer. I can't understand why my brother went away from these people, who had offered him such a good life - a life in which nothing has been missing, not even love and comfort. Why did he turn his back on them?

"You wrote something about the need of a donor?" I ask him. He nods. "Did you get tested?" I ask him on. Sometimes this news can be that overwhelming that you can't see the most obvious solution. It took a while until we came to it in my Mom's case.

"I'm only his half-brother." I tell her. I don't want to tell her the whole story, but I own her this much. She came all the way from California to us. She left her peaceful life to help us – to burden herself with something like that. I at least owe her this part of the truth.

"But that doesn't matter. Any kind of relative can be suitable." She explains to me. I notice that she wants to help me keep up the tiny bit of hope I have left. I can't let her know that I already lost all hope – that losing hope was my reason for writing her son and asking for help in first place.

"That's what they told me in the hospital, but it didn't help Ryan." I answer her. The fact that I can't help my brother to get better is awful. Damn, I'm his brother. I'm supposed to make him better, I'm supposed to take care of him, and I'm supposed to protect him. I have done nothing of all of that. Now I'm sitting here to get rid of him, because the whole taking care thing is driving me nuts.

"So you aren't a match." I shake my head, because the little word 'no' doesn't slip my mouth easily – not in this fucking situation. I never had a problem with saying 'no', but now I have. My cell phone starts ringing, but I don't pay it any attention.

"You should answer that, it might be important." I tell him. I don't want him to feel uncomfortable around me. I still ask myself why Ryan felt uncomfortable. Okay, the answer is obvious. I haven't been the best foster mom one can imagine. No, I'm pretty much sure I've been the worse exemplar you could get.

"Yeah?" I take the call. "What?…shit…where are you? Yes…okay, stay there. I'll pick you up and don't worry. You'll have to face the consequences. I told you to stay here with your ass." I nearly scream into the phone. I should be glad that he's at least reasonable enough to phone me, before he's doing something even more stupid than he already did.

"Sorry… but I'll have to leave you for a minute. Do you mind to wait?" I ask her. It's probably very impolite to leave her like that, but I don't want to take her with me. She has caused this little outburst and I'm afraid it might get worse.

"No, I'll wait. Was it Ryan?" I ask him back. I hope Ryan hasn't done anything stupid. He's well known for doing stupid things when he's despaired and confused – tow attributes matching well his current state.

"Thanks and yes, it was him." He answers me and then heads off. I'm alone: alone in this cold apartment. It hurts how the two of them have to live – under what circumstances they have to fight this battle. There's nothing comfortable and homey about this apartment, but maybe I'm just way too spoilt as if I could be satisfied with something like this.

It's raining like a son of a bitch and my little brother is somewhere out here, without proper clothing. I can already tell where this is going to end. I arrive at the campus. He's sitting on a wall – in the middle of this fucking pouring rain and smokes a cigarette. I know that I'm not smart, but I don't need a fucking medical degree to know that my brother's behaviour is everything other then good for his condition. Rage is welling up in my guts. I stop the car sharply. I get out and walk straight to my brother, slapping the cigarette out of his hand.

"What the fuck are you thinking, huh? Do you think at all? We only want to help you. Do you know that you can ruin everything with such actions?" I scream into his face. No, I don't tell him that these actions might mean his death. I'm too afraid of saying these words. I'm too afraid that this might be the truth one day. I grab him by his arm and drag him up from his seating position. His breath smells after alcohol.

"You're so fucking stupid, do you know that?" I scream at him. He doesn't react. He of all people has to rely on alcohol in his frustration.

I know my brother is right. There's nothing to counter. I know that he doesn't want to say that such behaviour might mean my death one day. He's too afraid of this topic, that's why he's walking around me on egg-shells. And I'm quite sure that his second thought is: just like Mom. I could kick my ass for that, but right now I'm tired of being the good example for everyone. In a fucking addition I'm freezing and I have a headache. I only want to go to bed, close my eyes and this for just being over – no matter how. I don't even care that my brother's grip is too tight. He pushes me into the car and then turns the heating on. He doesn't talk to me while he's driving. I don't dare ask him whether Kirsten's still there. I don't want to face her. He stops the car in a sharp way and violently slams the door shut when he got out of the car. I get out too. Only now I realise how cold I am and that I'm shivering. I have to clench my jaw to stop it from chattering against my teeth. It would be too embarrassing. We walk upstairs. I can't catch up on my brother's speed. He's waiting for me in front of the door. His eyes tell me that he doesn't know whether to kill me or protect me. I enter the apartment. Trey is close behind me. She's still there. Shit. I feel trapped and I can't say that I like this feeling a lot.

I see both of the boys or better men – Ryan has lost every mark that could make him seem like a boy through his sickness – enter the apartment. I can tell that Ryan feels uncomfortable. I want to take him into a hug, but he wouldn't allow me to. His brother is angry, but it's not the violent kind of anger. It's the concerned anger that can be so much worse at times.

"Go take a shower." My brother commands. Oh yeah, this time he's really angry and I'm not actually in a position in which I can allow my brother being angry at me.

"Can I first get some cloths?" I ask him, I don't want to step out naked, especially not in front of Kirsten.

"I'll bring you some dry ones." Oh no! I open my mouth to intervene. I won't allow him to…

"You gambled away any right of privacy my friend." He says and then pushes me into the direction of the bathroom.

I watch his brother fetching some of his cloths and taking them into the bathroom.

"I'm sorry for that." He apologises.

"Nothing to be sorry for." I tell him. I watch him placing two thick blankets about the one which is already lying on the bed. Then he prepares a hot-water bottle and places under the blankets. He really seems to be worried about his brother. Ryan steps out of the bathroom, wearing a thick pullover and thick sweatpants.

"To bed, now!" Trey commands me again and yes, I start to feel pissed. Not only had he gotten Kirsten in here, he even treats me like an invalid.

"Don't you think you're exaggerating?" I ask him when I see the blankets on the bed.

This doesn't suit Ryan. He never was like that…like…ungrateful and just an annoying person. I can't imagine him behaving like that only once when he'd been living with us.

"You don't want to discuss with me right now, or?" Trey asks me and I know it's time to pipe down. I climb into the bed. I didn't notice how sore my body feels. I feel the weight of the thick blankets fall onto my body and I feel the hot-water bottle in my back.

"Okay and now you're listening to what Mrs. Cohen has to suggest!" He commands. I think it's enough by now. I know that I messed it up. He can stop running riot on me.

"Trey, don't you think…"

"I'm already so damn close to kick your ass and I swear only one word more and I won't even care about how sick you are. Got it?" Oh shit. This sounds bad. I thought the angry part was my one. I decide it's better to pipe down now but hell I don't want to listen to this woman. When I left, I left on purpose. I don't want to have anything to do with her or her husband. I'm just tired of them.

I can see his uneasiness and it's not easy for me. I can only sense how badly I must have hurt him. He never told me, and I doubt he ever will. I can feel the thick brick wall he had built up around himself. And of course I don't know what has happened between him and my husband. The only thing I know about this is that it must be something initial.

I watch Trey walking towards the door.

"Where the fuck are you going?" I ask him. He can't just demand that I talk to this woman and then piss off. That's not fair. He at least has to stay and to realise that his idea was just ridiculous.

"I leave you two here to sort things out."

"What the fu…"

"Ryan, don't!" He hisses and then leaves.

It's painful to realise how much he has changed. He'd once been such a calm and polite boy. Now he seems to be aggressive and way too hot tempered. I feel bad, because I know it was my fault, which made him change like that. We've let him down and forced him to get along on his own – once again he was left alone on his own, although we had been supposed to make things easier and better for him. We were his damn foster parents. We had the obligation to be better than his family, but we failed, just like them. We only made things worse and added some more scars on his soul which will never leave.