Bitter Affectionate

Chapter 20

I sunk into the passenger seat of Brents mom's car like it was quick sand. The strong perfume smell from her air fresheners made me feel even more nauseous than I already did.

I let my head turn lazily in Brents direction. Even though the car was fully parked, he still had two hands on the wheel, white knuckled from his strong grip. I felt bad for making him pick me up.

"Are you okay?" He asked, his gaze resting on me cautiously. "You look like hell."

"I just got back," I retorted.

"What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

His face was flushed. He was wearing a pair of blue plaid pyjama pants and a t-shirt with our teams mascot on the front. I raised a brow at him. "Did you just wake up?"

"No, I was trying to take a nap," He told me. "I didn't sleep last night."

I felt the weight in my chest subside as I sat up to take in his appearance. He did look tired. Maybe he was sick. My autopilot kicked in and I reached up to press a hand to his forehead. It was a little warm.

"I'll drive us back," I said, already opening my door and climbing out of the car, "I'll take you home so you can sleep. I'm sorry to make you come out here."

"Don't be." He took the genius route of climbing across the centre console, his clumsiness leaving shoe prints on the seats. I took my riteful place in the driver's seat. "But can we go to your place instead? My parents are driving me crazy."

"Sure. Fighting again?" I strapped on my seatbelt and pulled away from Calvin's house, swallowing the rock in my throat as we got farther away.

Brents presence was exactly what I needed. It muted the vibrations in my brain and allowed me to be myself, at my most basic level: his brother. He allowed me to get out of my own head and focus on something more important. It almost felt like escaping my body when I was with him. Being something outside of myself.

Brent made himself comfortable, adjusting the passenger seat until he was laying back with his legs stretched out under the dash. "Big time."

"What is it this time?"

"What it always is. Me."

I glanced at him, but his eyes were fixated out the window. I continued watching the road as I said, "It's not your fault. They're just... confused. That's all."

Brent huffed. "Whatever. I'm confused, too. I don't know what's wrong with my dumb brain. They're not making it any easier for me."

His parents were caught in a constant loop. Everytime they took him to a new doctor, or got him a new prescription, they saw no desirable results, and it put stress on everyone. It put stress on his mom, who had a family history of mental illnesses and disorders that caused her to blame her genes. It put stress on his dad, who was coming to terms (much too late) with the fact that he never made an effort to understand his son. It put stress on their marriage, because as much as they blamed themselves, they blamed each other way more. But mostly it put stress on Brent, because he did everything to get better for them, and nothing was working. The only thing that did help him was me, but his therapist was ruining that as well by calling our relationship "codependent" and "enabling."

The bottom line was, everyone was scared and angry and sad about what he was going through, but no one knew how to fix it.

When I didn't reply, Brent sheepishly muttered, "I would never forgive myself if they got divorced because of me."

I felt a pain in my heart. We came to a stop sign at the perfect time. I turned to face him and reached out, clamping a hand under his chin to turn his head toward me. He begrudgingly looked at me.

"They're not getting divorced," I said firmly. "Their marital problems aren't your fault. It's not fair that you're caught up in the middle, but none of it was your doing. You're going through this just as much as they are. More even, because its actually happening to you. They're upset at each other because they both want to help you but neither of them know how."

He stared at me for a long moment before his features softened and he pushed my hand off him gently. "You should probably drive now, idiot," He muttered, the small smile forming on his lips enough for me to count myself successful. As instructed, I kept driving toward my place.

"I'm sorry. I made this totally about myself," He said, laying his head on the dash with a small thud. I chuckled and waved him off.

"It's fine. Don't worry."

He turned his head, so his temple laid on the dash and his puppy dog eyes were boring into my flesh. "Did something happen? I mean, obviously something did but... was it bad?"

I bit my lip, eyes focused on the empty road like I needed full concentration. I gave no indication whether he was right or not, which was in itself a confirmation that he was.

"I figured," He said. "Your eyes are all puffy. You don't have to tell me, but if you want to, I might be able to help."

I took a breath. Moments like these, I appreciated him the most. When he would let me simmer in silence without pressure.

"I just need to breathe right now," I told him honestly. "Breathe and think. Is that okay?"

"Of course." He took a final moment to examine my face before picking his head back up to look out the window again. The air felt light enough to reach my lungs by now.

"By the way," He continued, when I thought the conversation was over. "You're taking your meds right? Are they working out okay?"

I remembered the sound of a small splash and nodded. You know, like a liar.