My Patchwork Child

Chapter Twenty-Five

That moment of silence between my words and his was a long and painful one. I tensed my fists, waiting impatiently for his reply.

After a long pause of deep thought, he said in a blunt voice without looking at me, 'Okay. Go ahead. What do you want to know?'

Shocked by his openness, I gaped for a moment. 'Uh...'

He looked at me, 'Yeah?'

Regaining my thoughts, I formed a question, 'Why were you upset, the first day I met you, and I said 'Then what's the point in living?'? You were so mad.'

He raised his eyebrows at me, 'Of course I was upset. I don't want to hear anyone say that.' He put calmly.

'No, Alden.' I said sternly, 'I'm sick of you dodging questions. I want a full answer. Why – why did you react like you'd heard it before?' I demanded.

He turned his barred, brown gaze back to the warm scenery in front of him, lips pursed.

'We aren't leaving till I have answers, Alden. It's been over five years! I've been patient enough.' I cried, keeping the anger from my voice.

He nodded and I realized he planned on answering, just taking his sweet time – which I was bored of.

Alden pulled a locket from underneath his shirt. I'd noticed the necklace before but didn't pay much mind to it. He'd never once removed it, either.

Opening it, he showed me a beautiful, young girl's picture inside. 'This is Althia.' He said, his voice shaking. She almost looked like me – long, blonde hair and bright, turquoise eyes.

'She was my sister.' He said, then he took a long, deep breath. I could tell he was collecting his – probably scary – thoughts. Then, he continued, 'Althia was a wonderful person, and an even better sister. Everyone...loved...her, they respected her. She was my foundation, my support. She picked me up when I fell down – literally and metaphorically. Without her, I wouldn't even be half the person I am.'

I was confused. She sounded perfect. 'Where is she now?'

'Dead.'

Wind battered at his hair as he spoke the word so easily, so bluntly – it was hard to believe he cared for her. But then again, perhaps it was easier to say without emotion than with. Silence plunged into the air; nothing, no one moved.

'Dead?' I repeated quietly.

Alden nodded, 'She was perfectly imperfect. Althia was beautiful towards others. She fixed their problems. But she couldn't fix her own – she could only hide them. She was too strong-headed to ask for help and no one helped her. She took the weight of everyone else's issues, whilst dealing with her own – alone.'

I stared at him in stillness before asking, 'What...what were her problems?' I asked slowly. I was glad he was being more open with me, so I stole the opportunity to ask.

'Anxiety and depression. She self-harmed a lot.' He spoke at barely a whisper, his voice shaking at the memory. 'About three weeks before she...died...I caught her cutting her arm. I screamed at her not to, terrified of why she was doing this. She told me about how much pressure Mother was putting on her. I told her she shouldn't resort to this and she told me exactly what you said that day I met you.'

'Then, she was gone and I promised myself I'd never let that happen to anyone again. I'd do as much as I could to prevent it.'

I smiled at him. 'Well, you've kept that promise so far. You've saved me.'

More time passes us by and those questions were lessening. I felt more content, yet uncomfortable. He was complying, I wasn't forcing answers from him. But it felt off. I wasn't used to him opening up to me.