Heavy Blood

15. Izuna

I held his hand, so cold in mine. Cold, but still soft. Still soft. Take this moment IN, Izuna, I told myself. Take it IN. Don't regret you didn't live it properly.

There was a wheezing sound from my brother as he breathed. He, who had been the air in my lungs, could hardly even breathe air into his own anymore. I fantasied about evaporating into water and then into gas so that I could go into and out of his lungs, making him breathe for him. I put my free hand on his cheek; it was clammy, cold. His brows were furrowed.

"Are you listening?" I asked, my voice wobbling. A tear found its way to the corner of my eye, rolled down my cheek. My sorrow drank it. "Are you listening to me?" He nodded weakly, the strain causing him to furrow his brows further. "You don't have to fight anymore", I whispered. "It's enough. You've done enough. You've fought enough. You don't have to anymore." He turned to me then, opening his eyes. His facial features smoothed out, his lips parted. That was all he could muster. "I will be fine. I promise you, I will be fine. I have always been fine. Besides, I have-" My voice cracked. "I have someone who takes care of me." I cried then. "I am so grateful for him, Madara. So, so grateful. So please, don't worry. Sleep now."

He turned his head back, looked up into the ceiling.

Then, the eyes of Madara, my beloved brother, closed for the last time.

In films, the ECG went from beating to zero when someone died. That was, of course, not the case in real life. First, the machines around him beeped as his blood pressure suddenly plummeted. The health care staff, led by Karen and Madara's doctor, went in. But all sound around me had died for me, and I existed in a bubble where there was only me and my dying big brother. As Madara was on palliative care, there was no attempt at resuscitation. Instead, Karen stood behind me, one hand on my shoulder.

"Would you like to be left alone?" I heard as through a tunnel.

"Yes, please", I didn't make my mouth say, but my mouth said it anyway, my brain going on autopilot.

And they left. His ECG slowed down then, the peaks and dips starting to smoothen out until they became a blur. His blood pressure was so low it barely existed, just as he barely existed. I sat down and held his hand. It didn't change; it was still clammy and cold and soft. I put it to my lips, kissed the back of it before I stood up. I leaned over him, placed my lips on his, kissed him, eyes closed, facial muscles relaxed. I left the room then, went to the bathroom. I locked myself into a stall.

Then, I screamed my heart out until I vomited.

"Hello, wait!"

I was panting, desperately trying to catch up with the rest of the children. As an eight-year-old boy, I was smaller than most, not good at sports and therefore not very popular. So they ran away. They ran away from me.

I stopped, leaned my hands on my knees, panting. In my panic, I'd left my backpack on the ground on the school yard to get some sort of advantage when running, but now I realised what a stupid mistake that had been. That had been ages ago! The thought of having to go back to the school yard when I was already halfway to the forest where we were going to play after school brought tears to my eyes.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Little brother..."  Madara, fifteen, was the coolest person I knew. "What happened?"

I dried my eyes. "They are playing after school. They-" I hiccupped. "They didn't ask me, but I thought I'd go anyway. But they are much faster than me so now they're gone. And now my backpack is gone!"

With a triumphant smile, Madara lifted my rucksack up. "I picked it up for you!"

I felt my heart shine up. I blushed and looked away. "Thank you, big brother..."

"Hey..." He put a hand underneath my chin. "Never look down. Keep your head up. Those other children would be very lucky to have you playing with them. THEY are the ones missing out. Not you. Okay?"

"Okay..."

"So... I'm fifteen now, and allowed to use the oven. Mum and dad won't be home for a few hours. How about we go home, just you and me, and make cookies?"

I could feel my entire face shine up. "What kind?"

"How about plain round shortbread but with a filling? We can stop and shop the filling on the way home." He took my hand. When I got older I would realise how much bravery it took for him to show affection to his little brother as a teenager in front of others. But right then, I was just happy. "What do you want?" he asked.

"How about some with milk chocolate and others with orange marmalade?" I said excitedly.

"Let's go get exactly that!"

It never went away. The memories.

Of the brightly lit kitchen covered in flour. Of how patient Madara was teaching me how to knead the dough. Of the smell of freshly baked shortbread cookies. Of the pain on my tongue as I ate one straight out of the oven. Of Madara's laugh as he handed me a glass of or milk to cool my tongue.

Of that time the police phoned me.

Of how I, somehow, drove home from university, not a teardrop shed.

Of how I unlocked the door to our villa, stepping into the hallway, where Madara stood, twenty-seven.

"They're dead", he said. "I can't believe it. They're dead."

Of how I ran to him, threw myself into his embrace, and we just hugged each other and cried over the death of our parents.

Of how he took care of everything; the finances, the funeral, the sale of our childhood home.

Of how he, three years later, had phoned me in panic, still out of breath from his run.

"Izuna, there's blood... I'm coughing up blood..."

Of how I had driven to him immediately, followed him to the hospital.

I would never forget his face when they told him he had a lung tumour, and the prognosis was bad.

I had held him, let him cry.

"There's a different medication. There's a different medication we can try. A monoclonal antibody. It's on trial, but it has shown promising results in young people with cancer."

Our kitchen smelled of warm shortbread and orange marmalade.

Tears were streaming down my face. "I can't afford it. I just can't. I've reached my limit."

There was flour everywhere.

Madara was crying.

"Mum and dad will be home soon!"

I burned my tongue.