Accolade

chapitre síx

Destroy. 

"You deserve to be happy, Aida." 

"I was." 

"Well, we're going to have to fix that, aren't we?" 

"Fix what?" Auden's voice was like honey, smooth, and completely different than it had been. Even his skin had regained its healthy, tan complexion, and he no longer looked like he had lost his soul. "If it's clothing we're fixing, then I have all the expertise we need. By the way, Aida, I need to redesign your closet."

My eyes widened. "You've been in my closet?" 

"No, but I just get the impression I already know what's in it." 

I glanced down at my attire. I wasn't planning on leaving my apartment at all. The paparazzi were like vultures, circling and ready to swoop down on me when I wasn't able to defend myself. One show of my face in public, especially after all the unanswered questions, and I'd be done. However, I knew that I would have to leave my apartment in a few days to start chemotherapy. Dr. Welch had recommended it, even though the probability of it helping was low.  

I didn't realize that Auden had paid so close attention to the minor details of my clothing. Perhaps I should have because he was a professional fashion designer with his own brand, and international fashion shows, his entire career was about paying attention to little details. 

"I didn't say it to offend you," Auden said, and I looked at him. "I was trying to distract you but I didn't think before I said it. Forget what I said. Your clothes are fine, and they suit you."

Guilt washed over me, so I quickly said, "No, no I'd love if you would design something for me." 

His eyes lit up. "Really?" 

"Of course." 

His smile that followed was gentle. He didn't look like he had just been sobbing on my kitchen floor an hour ago. I saw the genuine soul that rested behind his eyes as clear as day, it was like reaching out into dappled sunlight while riding in a car. It didn't matter how fast the world moved, that golden feeling of a sun kiss was rapture.

As compared to when I broke the news to them, Auden must have decided to pretend everything was fine. Perhaps, not to dwell on it. Something I would need to learn. River's earlier words resonated in my mind. He was offering wisdom. Still, I felt like crying every hour of the day until my tears could drown the world. 

Although River had given me a sliver of hope. 

Maybe I could beat this. 

Auden joined me on the couch without invitation but I didn't protest. He was like a golden retriever that made everything better. His very presence comforted me. I lost track of time once more as he watched my show with me, and we discussed my favorite characters. River had retreated to the opposite armchair and resumed his work on his laptop, but I was aware of his attention every so often. 

By late afternoon, Warren returned. 

He entered my apartment like a brewing storm ready to wreak even more havoc over the earth. I had to give him credit, he didn't slam my door despite how angry he looked. Since he had stormed out earlier, his hair was disheveled, his eyes were slightly red, and I noted the faint scent of cigarette smoke that clung to his clothes.

His footsteps stopped, as if he had hit a brick wall, and I felt the burn of his stare, though I had looked away. I didn't think I could muster meeting his gaze. I didn't know what I would see. 

"Don't." 

I jumped when Auden's voice rumbled beside me with so much warning that it was terrifyingly silent. Auden's jaw was clenched, his eye contact with Warren unbreakable. They seemed like two warriors ready to go to war. 

"Or what?" Warren challenged. 

I was confused as to what was even happening. I glanced at River, hoping to gain some sort of insight, but he just silently observed the two of them. He didn't seem concerned enough to stop them if a fist flew. No one gave me any indication of why there was a challenge, only Auden sliding his arm around my shoulders. An inkling of protection. 

"Go be a moody cunt somewhere else." 

Warren scoffed at Auden. His dark eyes trailed to me and then he promptly exited the space, disappearing down the hallway on quick feet. If I was being honest, he moved like a shadow. Not a moment later, his door clicked shut. 

"What just happened?" I asked, slightly dumbfounded. 

Auden sighed. "Remember when we were little and Mom would send Warren to the treehouse until he learned to control his temper?" 

I nodded.

"Same thing," he said dismissively. 

Vivid memories filled my mind of our childhood home. Mom had worked two jobs after Dad decided to leave us, but she still made time for us. We had a beautiful house on the most popular street in our hometown. It had a paved driveway and a giant basketball hoop that the boys broke at least once a week from their rough-housing. There was a white picket fence and an inground pool in the backyard. Even the giant oak was occupied by our treehouse that had been nestled into its giant limbs. 

We lived every kids dream, and we almost always had friends over after school. I had since lost contact with those friends but they were merely temporary as we all grew into adults. I think that was the hardest part about growing up, accepting that nothing is going to be the same. Nobody will be in your life forever. 

Forever is just an illusion. 

I remembered when Warren would get angry, as Dad leaving had affected him the most. Mom would come home from a long day at work, take a deep breath, and grab Warren's little clenched fists. 

Master your anger, she had told him, then come back and reason. 

He would go to the treehouse for hours. 

One day, I climbed up to see what he was doing. I even had some cookies stashed in my pocket for him. I expected him to be napping but I found him propped up in the corner, sketching his heart out. Those movements of his left hand were violent and beautiful all the same as the lead of his pencil smeared across the paper. He never let me see the sketches, though I assumed his tattoos were the product of his own imagination. 

He had grown quiet around people after that. Perhaps the time-out sessions had taught him patience. Perhaps it taught him that drawing was his release. Maybe he had learned to master his anger in the moments he needed most. 

Perhaps that's why he left earlier. 

It still hurt. Even if I unconsciously knew that the distance was his coping mechanism, how he had learned to deal with life, the way he managed his internal struggles--even if the weight of the world was pressing down on his shoulders. He might even be drawing now, but I didn't want him to distance himself. 

I wanted us to be close, as siblings could be when it's just us against the world.

☼ ☼ ☼

Favorite brother? And why?

Okay, I'm not going to take this book down... but just know that the hardest chapters are still yet to come. I don't even know how I'll get through them. Sobbing, most likely, for days.