Hearts Without Chains

27.

~The real man smiles in trouble, gathers strength from distress, and grows brave by reflection~ Thomas Paine

Harry-

She's sleeping. Eyes closed, face peaceful and relaxed. Her glasses are crooked on her face but I don't take them off, because I know it will wake her up. Her legs are curled to her chest, her feet by my lap, her right arm dangling limply beside her.

The movie ended soon after she fell asleep, and now I sit in silence. Yesterday my mother told me that Jess called, and that she is planning to come and visit at some point. I wanted to ask her, so it's only once you get cancer that she will come and visit?

It's been two years since I've seen my sister. Well, scratch that. I saw her for one day for both Christmases back when we were in England. But that's all. I suppose my mother talked to her more than I did, but the less we both talked the more I didn't care about speaking with her. She left us when things were at its worst, and that's what makes me hate her the most.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, wetting my lips before I stand up. I walk into my kitchen, rummaging through the high cupboards where my mum probably keeps her wine bottles. When I don't find them there, I search the low ones that I've never had to get into before to find daily dishes. When I finally find a wine bottle I pop the cork, and grab a cup and stop myself from filling it to the rim.

But I take a drink instantly, the fruitiness but bitterness to it something new. Completely different then beer and vodka. Girly. But if it will get me drunk, it will do. I go outside with my cup and take a smoke, still baffled at how I still haven't smoked any marjiuana. So I fill my lungs with smoke until the cigarette is to a nub, smashing it under my boot before going back inside. Joey is still sleeping, and I am still thinking, so I drink some more girly wine.

I sit back down on the couch with my second cup, my eyes locking onto Joeys little feet that are curled next to me. Her socks are pink with white polka dots on them, but one is inside out. I continue to look at her as I take a drink, eyes peering over the rim to do so. It's like you could look at her all day and always find something new about her. There is a scar on the inside of her ring finger on her right hand. The hairs at the bottom of her head are curlier and wavier than the ones on top, and I guess it just dries that way naturally.

While creepily staring at her, she begins to wake up, and her right arm which was laid limp next to her lifts, both of her hands running over her face. She releases a tired breath, and tilts her head up on the throw pillow she was lying on before opening her eyes. She looks over to me, and smiles.

"I fell asleep, sorry." She mutters.

She looks to the tv and realizes that the movie is over, and sits up so that her arm is pressed to mine.

"Your sock is inside out." I tell her.

She lifts a foot, shrugging her shoulders when she sees it. I take a drink from my cup, and that causes her to look at it.

"What's that?" She asks me.

"It's wine." I tell her.

She doesn't say anything, and I can tell she's disapproving of the fact that I'm drinking at four o'clock. She is about to say something, but her phone rings from her purse by the door, making her hop up to get it. All I'm thinking is that if its Tyler, she better not answer it. Her ringtone is some piano melody, and I wonder if she could play it herself before she answers it and it stops.

"Hi mom." I hear her say instead of Tyler, and gulp down another drink.

I can hear a little panic in her voice, as if she would get caught at my house when her mother is only on the phone.