Standing Still

Chapter 20: They Just Know How You Feel

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Mostly unedited. Sry.

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When I was a year and a half, my baby brother was born into this world. Most older siblings, upon seeing their younger ones for the first time, feel excited. But that feeling only lasts until you realize that they're never leaving. Like, ever. As the older one, you're the one who has to do the leaving first. It seems unfair, now, that they get to take over those special rights of yours, the ones that are only in your possession until someone smaller, younger, gets to take them away. Like, for example, your favorite stuffed giraffe, or maybe your parents' attention.

Consequently, though, I'd never felt envious or hostile toward Sam. I mean, just ask my mom - we were inseparable from the day he was born onward. I didn't see him as someone who took away my special privileges, but rather, someone who gave me new ones: responsibility, the duty of oversight, the obligation to know his friends, walk with him to school, and pay for his lunch at the mall when he'd forgotten his money (which he never really had anyway). I viewed this just as it was: a promise. One to my mom, and to him, that it was my job to take care of him, always. Nobody ever tells you that there comes a point where they don't want your guidance or protection anymore.

He still wasn't answering my calls. I'd tried three more times with no results, other than the fact that the calls started going straight to voicemail instead of ringing, which meant that he must've turned his phone off. It was a good sign, on one hand. At least that meant he was alive and conscious, able to make decisions. Still angry, but alright. Or maybe his phone just died, and everything was still unknown.

I kept doing this: I would get on a positive streak, putting aside my worry to hope for the best, and then a negative thought would pop up and cancel everything else out. I was beginning to feel not only doubtful, but agitated, as well.

Aiden reached out and touched my arm, his fingers light on my wrist. "It'll all be okay," he said, the way he had outside my father's apartment. Hearing it over and over didn't make me believe it, necessarily, but it brought me comfort in the form of his voice, which was still calm and measured, reminding me that he was here, and he was solid, steady. He wasn't planning on going anywhere.

"Right," I breathed, chewing the inside corner of my mouth raw. Instinctively, I shifted my hand so that I could fold it into his. It was warm, and he didn't pull it away. My stomach settled a fraction's worth.

We'd been driving around town for the past twenty- five minutes. Aiden asked me about the usual places Sam spent his leisure time, and we'd scoped out two of them already, headed toward the third. We'd checked home, too, on our way from the first destination to the second. My mom's car wasn't at any of them.

Here he was, just barely turned sixteen, with a permit two weeks old. It was nearly 8 o'clock on a December night, practically pitch black outside. He didn't even know how to parallel park, for god's sake.

I started in on my lip again.

"Anna," Aiden said, turning the wheel, his fingers tight, "you're going to chew your lip right off."

With a sigh, I stopped gnawing. I managed to keep still for a few long minutes, busying myself with counting the street lamps as we passed by them. It wasn't until Aiden reached out with the hand that was still holding mine and nudged my free one that I realized I'd been biting my finger nails. And counting everything. My nervous habits were about as prevalent as it was that I wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight.

"Sorry," I sighed, looking down at my lap. I could feel Aiden constantly glancing at me, watching me, waiting until he needed to swoop in again. The thought made me feel safer, and more scrutinized, at the same time.  He squeezed my fingers, gently, and then I pulled them out of his grasp. I suddenly felt silly for reaching for him in the first place. I needed something to hold onto, but I was afraid that the thing I was holding on to wouldn't want me holding on to it any more. It was better you let go of things before they let go of you, wasn't it?