BROKEN THINGS

18

Rahul slept most of the next two days away. When he was awake, he was unsettlingly silent, not speaking more than a couple of words if necessary. Sourav was worried. But there wasn't much he could do about it. The only time Rahul had made any conscious effort was when the team had stopped by in groups to check on him.

Somehow through the swollen jaw and generally beaten up appearance, Rahul drew himself up with confidence and told them steadily that everything was fine, just to look after themselves first. They were keeping the million questions of their back by using BCCI's name as a shield, but sooner or later they would have to talk with the team and reveal everything. Rahul just needed to give into it. Well, even if he didn't, Sourav was going to tell everyone the truth, he was just trying to give Rahul the grace to do it himself. 

And then there was the case of whatever Rahul was not telling them, being horribly uptight about it. Then after he had mentally checked out, it had become a moot point bothering him about it. All he was doing was gazing emptily and blinking. Their parents had called a couple more times, hoping Rahul would talk atleast once. He hadn't. If anything he seemed to lose a bit more of any energy he had.

Sourav sighed and checked his bag to see if it had everything again. They had to go for a follow up, mostly to check on the condition of his ribs. It would be a long time before they healed completely, but not aggravating the injury was just as important. Apparently they could pierce his lungs or something just as gruesome. It had terrified the shit out of Sourav and Rahul was forced to endure his million rules on even lying down.

Rahul came out of the washroom just then. He had cleaned up to the best of his ability, trying to not look like crap. This was the first time he was stepping out of the room since the match day. There were going to be eyes on him. He felt like fucking running to some isolated corner in the world. But he couldn't. He had a very important job today, a job that would cut him free of everything in the world, a job which would free the rest of them from him too.

His ... unfavory tendencies had increased exponentially as a result of the mental exhaustion he was feeling. He was constantly getting overstimulated to the point of wanting to throw himself off the nearest window. He had taken to letting the tip of his switchblades letting him give paper cuts on his fingers when it got too much. Because he couldn't risk another cut like the one he had given himself on his thigh. It had taken a long time to stop bleeding, weakening him considerably. He had had to be very clever to take care of its dressing and disposal under the watchful eyes of Sourav, Sachin and Anil. They rarely even let him be alone for five minutes. He had had to hide the used bandage in his old gloves. They didn't touch his cricket kit, it was the only safe place he had left.

After that he couldn't risk more bandages. So paper cuts it was.

"You good?" Sourav asked a little awkwardly. The only conversations so far between them were emotionally charged or devoid entirely. Concern without anger, just felt awkward.

Good? He was far from it. But he was ready atleast to barge through whatever obstacles remained in his way to peace, just quiet empty peace. It would soon be over, he only needed to be control for a little time more. Than he had no need. Maybe he was not good. But he was ready.

"I'm ready," he answered hoarsely, staring at his shoes.

Sourav didn't answer, carefully observing his brother. All he could see was some strange determination and a sense of foreboding. Rahul kept drawing himself up, he had no idea for what. It wasn't like the guy was sharing anything. Not a peep exitted his mouth. And Sourav had lost that blessed ease of reading him. Or maybe he still could, just his anger seemed to be clouding all else these days. There was this constantly simmering rage at the world inside him, it had been simmering for the past couple of years. But Chappel had broken the lid and now it was endlessly pouring out. And often it was ending up Rahul with his endless provocation and vagueness who kept being on the recieving end.

Rahul was standing with a straight back, eyes furrowed in concentration. Battle ready. But he was also struggling to keep himself upright for too long, his eyes would loose focus before he forcefully brought his mind back. Battle worn.

"Rahul," he was saying before he knew what he wanted to say.

Rahul looked at him.

Sourav opened his mouth. You are still my brother he wanted to say. You are still my other half. I got your back. Just talk to me please. All these words he wanted to say. But he couldn't. He no longer knew how to. He cleared his throat.

"Let's go," he said instead.

Rahul nodded and took those carefully controlled steps of his towards the door. Sourav slung the bag across his back and before he could overthink it too much, he put a careful supporting arm around his brother's mid-riff, taking some of his weight. Rahul jerked in surprise.

"It's a long walk to the car," he mumbled, "You will need help,".

Rahul didn't respond, Sourav didn't wait for him to. He rushed his brother to the car, taking as much of his weight as he could without carrying him. He would have but Rahul wasn't going to allow him to.

Concern. It was a funny emotion. Sourav had no idea anymore how to show it to his own brother.