"We fought an uphill battle. One we had no hope of winning."
~~~
Felicity-Flick as most call her-Carter, has learned a thing or two in her 12 years of life. How to deal with drunk parents without waking the neighbors, how to smoke a cigarette withou...
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"Don't say a word," I whispered to Jackson when I heard the creaking of the ladder underneath his feet. He sat down next to me and wiped away a tear with the pad of his thumb.
"Wasn't gonna." He whispered back. My shoulders shook with another suppressed sob. He sighed and pulled me into him. "I'm so sorry Flick. I'm so sorry," He whispered over and over as he rocked the two of us back and forth. "I'm so sorry. I wish I knew how to make it better. How to make them better for you." He buried his nose in my hair, and I leaned my head on his chest as I sniffled.
"Why don't they get it Jacks? They act like I have no right to be mad at them. As if I'm the one in the wrong."
He sighed again. "I don't know, Flick. I don't know why they don't get it."
I had come up here minutes after I shut my door. I couldn't sit there, knowing who was just outside, in my apartment. I hated that they had driven me out of my own home. It was mine, not theirs, yet I was the one always leaving. It wasn't right. Nothing about this situation was right.
Sure I was in the wrong to say that about Emmett's wife as I walked past him, but in what world is it okay for him to grab me like that? The answer is it wasn't. It wasn't okay, and even though Emil told him off, it didn't matter. It didn't make what Emmett did or what any of them were doing, even remotely okay. But I felt so helpless now. Nothing I do or say seems to be getting through to them. They don't get it. I don't want them here. I don't want reconciliation or reunion. I wanted to be left the fuck alone.
They left. They moved on, but now they're denying me the chance to do that same. I didn't want to make things better or fix what they broke. But they don't get that. Or they don't care. I'm starting to think this whole thing is more about making themselves feel better than making it better with me. I'm starting to see that they don't care. And that fucking hurts. That they very simply, do not care about anyone but themselves. And each other. They care about each other, but not me. I was always the odd man out. Seven years younger than the youngest of the boys, I was never involved in their lives even when they are teenagers. I was always forgotten, I just didn't always see that, or want to see that. But now I do. Now I see they don't know and never have given a fuck about me. And it hurt. God, it hurt so bad.
"They don't care." It was the best, and the only way to sum up all of that for Jackson. He would understand all the unspoken words behind that anyway. "They don't care, Jackson. They just don't care."
He pulled away a little to look at my, probably red splotchy face, wiping away another tear. "They do Flick. They do, I swear. They just don't care enough, and for that, I'm so sorry," He had tears in his own eyes.
"Your brothers, are selfish, entitled, grade A assholes, but fuck they love you. I know they do."
I blinked hard and looked at him quizzically. "What do you mean?"
