Chasing the Browns

Chapter Twenty Six - Part Four

Chapter Twenty Six - Part Four (it's long, but I hope the length made it worth the wait :)

I didn’t need to call his name to know that he wasn’t in the room, because it was quiet.

Too quiet.

And, even from my place in the bed – sitting bolt up right, swathed in sheets that clung to my sweaty body – I could tell that the house was empty.

Too empty.

But, I dressed up and searched for him, anyway. As I approached the end of my search, resorting to places as small and ridiculous as the cupboard under the sink in the bathroom – like I could ever fit in there, let alone Nick – I drastically slowed down, trying to push away the dread that I would find what I didn’t want to:

Nothing.

Closing my eyes and taking in deep breaths, I leaned against the wall, sinking down into a crouch.

The last time an atmosphere had felt so empty and so devoid of feeling had been at my grandmother’s funeral.

No, he couldn’t be d—

I refused to believe that he was.

‘I’ll wait for you,’ he’d said.

But where was he now?

‘It’s always been you,’ he’d said.

If it was, then why was he gone?

‘Lea, I love you,’ he’d said.

If he truly did, why wasn’t he here?

‘I won’t leave you, Lea. Not again,’ he’d said.

But he was wrong, because he had.

And, like many times before, I’d been stupid enough to believe that he loved me.

What you had was real, Lea.

The way I touched on the past tense in that statement was painful.

If it was real, why had he left?

I clenched my fists.

What if he hadn’t wanted to leave?

He would have stayed, anyway, right?

What if Jack had made him leave?

If Jack had made him leave, then, surely, he would have come and told me first instead of just disappearing into thin air the way he had, right?

And then a thought came to me.

Everything Nick had done, he hadn’t done because he’d wanted to; he’d done because he’d been given no other choice. It had either been that, or a gun to my head. And, he’d never wanted to be involved in the first place; he’d been forced into association with the matters.

I remembered the horrible way his brother had treated him, the way he’d looked at him, the way he’d mercilessly wielded the knife and hadn’t given the mere notion of shooting his brother a second thought. I remembered the way he’d spoken to him in that low, snarling voice, and the way he’d screamed at him…

The way his eyes had flashed when he’d warned Nick about there being repercussions, and the horrible, horrible things he’d said:

‘Look at you. Look at what you’ve become. Weak.’

‘You’re sick, you know that? I’m ashamed to have you as my brother!’

‘You know what the consequences are.’