Siblings should fight all the time. They should hassle each other and pull at one another's hair until they are both blinded by their own stupidity. They should call each other remarkably rude nicknames until both are sent screaming to their rooms. Brothers and sisters especially! Gender equality often pushes and shoves at a balanced relationship between two siblings, until one is pushed off of the edge.
Don't asks me why Marc-André and I never really fought. I mean, him and I always had so much in common that there was never anything to fight over. We always agreed on almost everything. We fought maybe once every four weeks, once a month, twelve times a year, whatever floats your boat. And I'm telling you, when we fought, it was goddamn violent. But normally, him and I really liked each other! We enjoyed each others presence, and that's what I loved about our brotherly relationship. Sisterly. Siblingly. Yes. That would be the word if it was a word.
We have another sister too. Danalia Alexis Fleury. Dana. She is a fighter jet pilot, working in Japan as of now. Dana was my everything until she joined the Royal Canadian Air Force. I was about eight years old when she left, and her absence tore me apart like a meat grinder. I desperately missed my big sister, my favourite person in the whole wide world. Keep in mind that this was all before I really forged a relationship with Marc-André.
Before I really considered him as a big brother.
Marc-André had always been involved in hockey, it was an efficient part of his life! And don't get me wrong, I absolutely adore hockey. Chicago Blackhawks all the way! But it was almost like he forgot that he had a younger sister sometimes. A younger sister that constantly looked up to him, wanting and needing more than anything to be like him one day.
Dana, Marc-André and I all attended the same country school, Sorel-Tracy High. Though I was eight years younger than my siblings, and I never really fit in. Of course, I wasn't in the same end of the school as they were, so I never really saw them a lot. I really wanted to be with them though, all the time. You see, I got bullied endlessly because of my hairless head, and I grew to hate school. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I was always the smart student in my class, the one with good grades and a quick mind. I merely hated spending six hours in a plain bland classroom that smelled of pencil shavings and unclean diapers with the children I hated.
"Bald girl!"
"Dumb girl!"
"Skinny girl!"
"Quiet girl!"
"Way too serious, way too mature girl!"
And one day I couldn't take it anymore. I merely stood up and dashed out of the tiny room, tears and anger engulfing me.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"Ayra, please!" Mrs. Lachance cried pleadingly down the hallway, her voice echoing off of the high ceilings. I kept running, hugging my arms around my chest and allowing the tears to drip from my puffy brown orbs.
I was simply done with the hate and tears. I was eight years old, much too young to be feeling this way. I ran and ran, until I found an empty storage closet. I swiftly pulled the door handle, and flicked the lights on.
Sliding down to the floor, I buried my head in my hands, and cried. I released the feelings that I had bottled up since kindergarten. I was so engulfed in sadness and anguish that I didn't notice the person sitting next to me, with a hand upon my shoulder. When I calmed down enough to acknowledge there was another human being in the closet with me, I jumped and covered my mouth with my hand to prevent me from screaming. He had startled me, my older brother. Marc-André tipped his head to the side, and smiled toothily, before pulling me in, and hugging me. I was shocked of course! My brother had never shown affection like that towards me before, and I was astonished.
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A few years after that, my brother became my world. He would always pick me up and dust me off when things were not going my way. I always "forced" him to play dolls with me, though he didn't seem to mind the smallest bit. We became best friends, and I didn't want that to change. Even though Marc-André was gone playing hockey most of the time, I still called him on his cellphone at 9:45 every night to to talk. We didn't talk about much, normally hockey or horses, or something that interested both of us. It was a way to pass time, and a very efficient one as well.
The turning point was the hospital. At the age of twelve, I began experiencing more and more symptoms of my leukaemia cancer, to the extent where I wasn't able to leave my bed without becoming faint and dizzy. I was admitted into the closest hospital, where tests were run and blood was taken. I was forced to stay nights on end, crying myself to sleep and attempting to sneak out. Finally, the test results returned. I was ecstatic the day they arrived, because I was sure that the staff would discharge me at some point that week. But they were less than enjoyable.
My cancer had grown, and I was now entering the third stage of Acute Leukaemia Cancer. My mother cried and cried, praying night after night that I would be alright. My father was not emotionally challenged, yet I could tell he was holding it all back in fear of losing his manliness. Dana convinced her army base to allow her time off to come and visit me at the hospital. And Marc-André called me nearly every single hour of the day, asking how I felt and if I was alright. I answered the same every time.
"I'll be fine, if I'm discharged soon."
The truth was, I was not ideal. I absolutely loathed the hospital, the smell, the people, and the atmosphere. It was much too dull and somber for my tastes and I wanted so badly to escape and return home. I hated that place...
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Now, let's fast forward about ten years. I'm now twenty two! Instant changes. Boom! Long platinum blonde wig, big blue eyes, and an oxygen tank. Life was amazing, aside from my cancer. It was recommended by my doctor that I moved to Pittsburgh, in order to receive better health care and to be closer to my older brother, who was the star goaltender for the Pittsburgh Penguins. So I packed my bags, and managed to snag a beautiful home in the nicer part of Pittsburgh, where I was reasonably close to the UPMC and CONSOL Energy Centre. I had everything I wanted. My brother, a home away from the hospital, and many friends.
I was living life to its fullest extent...
A/N: Hey! I am so excited to start writing this story! 😜 It is going to be great! I'm planning on writing a sequel, and then an smaller book at the very end. So please please stick with this story! I know it doesn't involve much romance, but I know that there are little to no hockey fan fictions that are romance-less. But don't get me wrong! There will be a TON of brotherly sisterly love! ❤️ So buckle up baby! (Sorry, no talking about last years playoff run? Okay...)
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The NHL Project
Fanfiction*HIATUS* Ayra Fleury is the younger sister of the Pittsburgh Penguins star goaltender, Marc-André Fleury. Since the two siblings were young, they have been attached at the hip. Ayra, more than anything loves watching her older brother (And Idol) pla...
