A Person I Used To Know

Chapter eleven

Azael's POV

I got home. The laughter of my friends voices had died out quickly as the silence replaced it when the front door shut.

I had dropped them all home but it was only now that I had realised how utterly alone I now was, and how my one distraction had dispersed.

I walked in, alcohol bottles were scattered on the usually clean counter tops as well as empty cigarette boxes, some smashed onto the floor, on the table.

I placed my elbows onto the marble as I tugged at my hair.

Today marked 4 years since Charlie's passing.

I never knew how to feel. It didn't get easier, every year it in fact, got harder, more unbearable. I had longer to think of the things I could of done, longer for the guilt to consume me from the inside out. The guilt of living to 18, knowing he never made it to 6, to 10, 13, he would never make it to my age.

His life was brutally ripped away before he even got a chance to hold it. It was too soon, too tragically, too painfully.

I placed my palms on the cooling surface of the counter and slightly rotated my head when I heard the faint sounds of footsteps on the floor.

Isabella stood before me, face drained and eyes that heavily hung, I assumed I was the mirror image.

Mascara had dribbled from her eyes to her cheeks and chin as she stood still in the door way, eyes glossy.

Silently, I walked up to her and pulled her into a hug, wrapping my hands tightly around her back.

She was cold, so cold.

She wept into my shoulder as I brushed my hand through her hair in comforting strokes.

It was hard. It was really fucking hard.

I knew it got harder for Isabella every year, too. Our mother just drank and smoked her worries away until she felt better.

"I know," I whispered to her, as her crying became more painfully silent, the only sound was the rustle of her head moving in silent sobs against my shirt.

Tears slipped down my face as I blankly stared forward, still hugging my grieving sister. "I know."

*****

"I miss Charlie," Izzie whispered to me, as we sat watching TV.

"I can't believe dad took him." I replied.

Our father had, had one too many arguments with our mother and had fled. Taking my brother with him.

"Maybe he'll bring him back? I can't stand to not see him for years," Tears fell from her saddened face, the complete opposite to her usual happy and joyful complexion, I hated seeing my little sister like that, especially when it was my father who was the one who had caused such pain.

Charlie was always dads favourite, sometimes I was resentful towards him for that, for stealing up all of dads goodness and leaving just the bad parts to be directed towards Izzie and I, but he was only 5, he didn't know, didn't understand. I knew I couldn't blame him, I just couldn't help it.

A loud noise erupted from behind us, we both instantly shot up and looked towards each other, before running down the stairs to see our mother with smashed glasses and cups, bowls and plates and vases around her that she must of swiped off of the table before out of... anger? Why was she angry?

I released it, then, her shoulders were slouched in front of her with her legs messily bent beneath her body, as if her legs had gave way and she just...collapsed.