INIQUITOUS

CHAPTER XIX

"I wish I could give her a Columbian necktie. I'd slit her throat horizontally with a dull blade so it would give me the chance to saw at her throat back and forth for a while until the wound was deep enough to pull her tongue out and let it hang. It would be messy. Her hair would be matted with blood. She'd gaze at me lifelessly and then I'd stroke her cheek and tell her 'this is what happens when you fucking ignore me, you stupid fucking BITCH.'" Eton's voice, once cheery, became vicious and hateful. He curled his hands up into fists, angry brows lowered over a storming glower.

Despite his attempts to rouse her from her deep sleep, Mom lay dead to the world upstairs. I tried too and managed to get a jumbled mumble from her mouth. She yanked the covers over her head and turned her back on me. I told her we could have dinner as a family at long last which is what she's always wanted and received soft snores as a response. I noticed her empty pill box by her bedside and a half-empty plastic bottle of water. It was citalopram. I pulled her drawer open and sifted through the opened boxes. She was all out.

Eton's hopes for family bonding was crushed. His reaction was extreme. I admonished him. "Shut your mouth, Eton. She's having a difficult time right now. You can try again tomorrow." My heart wasn't in it. It was half-assed. I felt lethargic. Some part of me mimicked his emotions: I was disappointed and slightly dejected but not as much as Eton. He acted as if Mom had thrown him to the gutter and spat on him.

He picked up her box of hot and spicy pizza and tossed it furiously at the fireplace, the box caught on fire, slow flames devoured the cardboard and he spat. "She can fucking starve. Fuck her." He took in a large lungful of air, motionless in time for a dragged-out moment, emotions flurrying past his face and then he deflated like a balloon, mouth twisted into a sad sulk. His rage disappeared. "I wanted us to be together again." He sounded like a child. The expression on his face was vulnerable and his eyes gleamed with unshed tears. "Why am I not allowed to be happy?"

I thought of dad in my closet. It's been a year and a month since he was killed. I missed him more than I could admit. It ached so bad the pain felt physical. I wished I could mourn but anytime I tried to I surrendered to defeat: It hurt too much to think of him. I tended to push him to the back of my mind and distract myself with pointless thinking of other insignificant ideas. A late showing of Girl, Interrupted was playing on the TV. Angelina Jolie was playing with a hand-puppet, waving it mockingly. I focussed on her face; her plump dry lips, wide manic eyes, her sharp jawline.

I drew my legs to my chest, crossed my arms on top of my knees and then set my chin down on the intersection of my arms. I should probably comfort Eton... I couldn't find it in myself to do so. My heart wasn't entirely made out of stone, I did feel sorry for him but not enough to offer a shoulder for him to cry on. I heaved a heavy sigh and opened my mouth to say...something. I don't know. What could I say? Finally I settled on. "Everything's different." I chose the latter at the last second, I had intended to say ruined but Eton already felt bad enough without me rubbing salt onto his wounds.

"Because of me," he owned up quietly. My gaze raised to meet his. He was a ruined man. I didn't lie to console him: my silence was my agreement. The first tear slid down his cheek, grey eyes burning in the darkening room, the sun sinking in the horizon behind him. The colour faded from the sky and the life faded from my brother. And still, I didn't rise to console him. I couldn't.

**

The mall was packed with people. With it being the weekend, teenagers came in hordes to occupy the spaces outside the stores, the food court and the movies. Eton and I strolled around for the first hour or so, accepting the offerings of pretzels from a girl with JOHNNY'S DOUGH plastered on her chest. We went for ice cream soon after. "Chocolate is still your favourite, right?" Eton glanced over at me from where he leaned on the glass. "Bet you won't remember what's mine."