Their Broken Angel

Chapter Five

We're in her car in less than ten minutes, headed to my house. I don't think a drive has ever been so short and yet so long. I can feel the thoughts racing through my mind like they're high on caffeine. Will he like me? What if he doesn't? What if he's just as bad? When are we leaving? The more I think, the more worried I get. It feels like the odds are stacked against me. 

"Ms. Mary?" I ask quietly, "What happens if he decides he doesn't want me?" I can practically feel the fear radiating from my question. 

"Don't worry dear. You are a bright young girl and I'm sure your brothers will love you. From the way Alessandro reacted to hearing about you on the phone, I think they will all be thrilled to be reunited with you. So, dry your tears child, and hold your head high. I know this is hard for you, but soon it will all be over." Her words put me at ease and I can feel a weight lifting slightly off my shoulders. 

She's right. They're my family. As long as they don't mind out what happened, they'll have no reason to hate me. I don't think they would anyway, but I can't take that risk. When we get to my house, Mary pulls out a paper with directions to the airport and my oldest brother's phone number. 

"Since Alessandro was already on the plane when I left, he doesn't know that you're coming to get him. So I would make sure to send him a text sooner rather than later if I were you. I'll see you tomorrow to sign all of the paperwork and to give you more details about the funeral. Call me if you need anything." Mary says with a smile before letting me out and driving away. 

Excitedly, I race into the house and try to find my best clothes. They all have holes, but I know I have at least one shirt without stains and a pair of jeans that aren't too short. It's not much, but it's better than the panda bear t-shirt I'm wearing now that's almost see-through.

Grabbing my trusty flip phone, I type in my older brother's number and try to write a message, but everything I type just seems wrong. "Hi! I'm Ember, you're little sister!" Nope, that's too excited. "Hi, this is Ember, I'll be picking you up." Too informal. "Yo yo yo" NO. I'm not even going to try to be that person. "Hi, this is Ember, I'm coming to pick you up from the airport but I don't know which door you'll be at. I know that you're in terminal five though, so just text or call me when you land and I'll come to find you?" That could work. Before I can overthink it, I just hit send.

I have a few minutes before I need to leave, so I head to the bathroom to try and fix that terrible concealer job I did this morning. Once that's taken care of, I work on my hair. My long red hair isn't super curly, but it has a lot of natural waves to it so I can't exactly brush it every day. Running my finger through to get the worst of the knots out, I grab some bobby pins and pull some strands back, leaving a couple to frame my face. Overall, I don't look half-bad. 

Checking the time again, I grab my keys and race downstairs. The wound in my leg screams in pain, but I don't care at this point. Soon enough, I'll be out of this life for good. Starting up my car, I turn on the radio and get going. I can feel the nerves getting worse the closer I get, but there's not much I can do about it at this point, so I just turn up the radio and push aside all of my doubts and fears. 

I get to the airport in record time, about five minutes before he's supposed to land, and head to terminal five. There doesn't seem to be any other cars waiting here for some reason, so I look back at Mary's note to make sure I'm in the right place. Yep. It says so right here, terminal five. Taking a deep breath, I park my car and look at my phone to see if he's texted yet. Nothing. 

There's not much for me to do while I wait, so I just sit there, imagining different scenarios and trying to figure out what he'll look like and what I'm going to say. What's going to happen when I bring him home? If the steps are there, they might say something or do something. What if he sees my room or my scars?