Salt

The Bathing Spot

A look was worth a million words, people liked to point out. Or something along those lines. Whichever, I guess they weren't exaggerating.

        Because, as I stood there, inert, Ambrose's clenched jaw was unsettling. Not just because I hadn't seen him in over two weeks, and he'd grown a small beard in that time. But because he refused to drop my gaze, even when I blinked, I couldn't believe he'd done the same.

        I swallowed.

        I approached, even if my heart was causing a frightening amount of palpitations. I wasn't scared of him, or whatever he might want to talk about, but I wasn't an idiot, either.

        "Hey, um, can we walk?"

        I didn't expect an answer. He twisted so sharply I fretted his cane might split in half.

        The outside had brightened in little over an hour. The sun was scorching and beaming with misplaced pride over the snow mountain tops. Picturesque as always, it wouldn't dare step out of line and risk losing a captivating audience.

        Our pace wasn't a typical speed and as a result, I could pin down on every crunch of road salt we stepped on, the squeak of his shoe, and ragged breathing. Although, that wasn't much of a surprise. I guess the agony from being stabbed in the gut didn't vary person to person.

        The truth was, I hadn't kept track on who was avoiding who. If it wasn't for the state of him, I'd have greeted him more friendlily.

        I, however, hadn't been on the receiving end of his anger or discomfort before, so this was brand new territory. My mood swings were a different story, I'm sure he would agree.

        More signs of my selfishness, I duly noted. Got it.

        "You look like you're healing okay. Walking, at least. It's an improvement."

        "It fucking hurts."

        Okay, yeah. That was understandable.

        I didn't say it out loud, but he turned to look at me as we crossed the library. From here, I could see The Shell Shack in its royal blue and yellow glory.

        "But it's nothing in comparison to what I watched you go through," When I sighed, his voice only got softer. As if the words were so harsh I needed him to do it. "Dragging myself to the lake and seeing them hold you under the water, I almost lost it. In fact, I actually did. I killed a man, Ashley. For you. I'm so in love with you I lost myself, even if for a minute."

        I squeezed my eyes shut. The rush of the wind and the memory of it all wasn't pleasant for my digestion. Those three bites of pancakes sat heavy.

        "Ambrose, we–"

        "I know. My dad kicked mom out a couple of days ago since the house is in his name, but none of that automatically makes those feelings go away, regardless of how I wish it did. I feel dirty every time I think it. I can't... I mean, I don't think of you like a sister. I don't know if it will ever be possible."

        Fuck. This would be an ample opportunity to show my mom exactly what her decisions had led to. Ambrose, my half-brother, was so far gone he couldn't climb back out. At least, for now.

        His hand intertwined with mine. A color of the skin that we shared. Fingernails that were made of flesh and hair, splices that were split into two to combine the one. The DNA that powered my every vein and artery also pumped his on the daily. We were together; alive.

        On a positive note: I may have lost a sister, but in the end, waiting for me, was something better. A brother, a best friend, a champion I'd cheer on the sidelines of.