𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵 𝗺𝗲 𝗶𝗳 𝗜 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝟮 ⁑ t.holland

17. can't fix this with Band-Aids and kisses

Monica opened the door and looked over her shoulder to me again, instead of rushing into the empty office, I stood silently behind her. She knew from the look in my eyes that I was petrified of walking inside and finding out what was so urgent it brought Chelsea, my little sister who I haven't spoken to in years, here. 

I couldn't even look Monica in the eyes at this point. I was just so scared of seeing Chelsea again it basically paralyzed me. My legs were moments away from giving out, my hands were shaking uncontrollably and my mind was empty of any and all thoughts. Nick, Tom, Lea-- it was all completely blank to me now. 

Slowly, I made my way inside, not really knowing what to expect from seeing my baby sister again. I look to my right, only to see an empty desk. Then, I turn to my right and watch as Chelsea sat up from the chair in the back corner next to the big window. 
She still had her light brown hair, instead it was now straight and a lot shorter. It looked nice on her. Back when I was still in Portland, Chelsea was pretty short, now, she's almost taller than me. Her clothes weren't as bright and exciting as they used to be. 

All in all, Chelsea didn't look like my baby sister anymore. She looked like a grown woman who has her shit together. That's good. All of it, it's good.

"Took you long enough" She muttered out, fixing her top. 

Monica shut the door behind me and I stood helplessly in the middle of the room, not knowing how to act. "Chelsea..." I breathe out, biting the inside of my cheek almost immediately after. "How are- How are you...?"

Chelsea scoffed and shook her head. She looked out the window to her left and back over to me. "Don't do that." 
I expected a bitter response from her. I deserved it in all honesty. 
Chelsea had every right to hate my gut but for some reason, it still stung. Hearing her once joyful voice become so stern and emotionally exhausted.

"Wh..."

"You can't dip for six years with little to no contact and then ask me how I'm doing as if it'll make it all better" She snapped, catching me off-guard. 

I stood there silently, knowing she probably wouldn't want to hear what was on my mind right about now. So, I dug my hands in my pockets and swallowed anxiously, not knowing what to expect. 

"Dad's sick, Brooklyn" Chelsea's voice was softer, as if the thought of our father being ill was still hard to comprehend. 
Not quite processing the information just yet, I look up at her and frown. For some odd reason, the news didn't hit me yet, it was as though I didn't really believe her at first.
"Don't act dumb, you knew it was bad"

"No" I counter, shaking my head.

"Of course you did" She raised her voice again, brows furrowed in frustration. "You were at the doctor's appointment."

"It wasn't bad when I left!" I shout, looking away from her.
I had no right to get mad at her like this. 

She took a few steps closer, raising her index finger to point at me. "You could've been a plane ticket away from helping me!" Chelsea shouted, tears in her eyes. "You sent, what, a few checks before cutting all contact from us, your family? I was nineteen, Brooklyn."

I lower my head, feeling an unbearable pain in the back of my head at the thought of her having to deal with all of it on her own. I remember sending the checks thinking I was actually helping. I wasn't even that far, I could've driven to Portland from New York if I really wanted to.
I was too busy partying and getting drunk in the back of people's cars. Fucking hell, Brooklyn, they're your family, and you couldn't even bring yourself to go back for a little while? 

She clears her throat, quickly wiping away the tears underneath her eyes. "I knew you wouldn't answer my messages since you have better things to do--"