Long Distance Lover

Chapter 1

 The days here start before the sun comes up- at 4:30 am, precisely, on the dot, every morning. At least for the last 3 years. That's when my little brother James wakes up screaming at the top of his lungs. Some days I get up- other days my mother. My father tried to help, once too, but the screams only got louder, more shrill.

It has to be either me or my mother.

As usual, at 4:30 am, about 10 seconds after James starts up, the old dog, Finn, joins in. It used to be after 6 seconds but now he's getting old or something, I think. My dad always takes care of Finn, now, but my mother and I take turns with James. Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday are my days because my mother works late at the hospital the nights before. My father used to work too, but not anymore, not since what happened 3 years ago.

Today is Tuesday- my mother's turn, but when the screaming doesn't stop by 4:32, I get up anyways, grabbing my bear from the end of my bed. My mother isn't in his room when I get there, and I'm far too tired to speak to him, to go through the routine the therapist told us to use about reminding him where he is, so I just click on the light and pull up the covers and crawl in next to him.

His screaming subsides into sobs within a few seconds of him grabbing my bear and me grabbing him. The three of us- my bear, James, and I, lay there in subsiding sobs and silence until I'm almost ready to fall back asleep.

That's when James is ready to talk, though. His voice is rough and scratchy and far too deep for a ten year old's. It's a side effect of the screaming, and although I know it will clear up by 7, as always, after breakfast, it still weirds me out.

"Do you still think about it, too?" He asks. This is our routine. My mother has a different one, I think, because she wasn't there. But this is ours.

"Yes."

"Do you dream about it like I do?"

"Yes, James." I kiss the back of his head.

"Why don't you scream, too?"

I'm too afraid. No one would come to help me. I'm supposed to be too old to be afraid, now. I'm supposed to be better.

"Because there's nothing to be afraid of anymore. That man can't hurt us anymore. The dreams aren't real Jamie." I use my pet name for him, trying, as always to hide the shakiness in my voice.

But the dreams are real. They're memories.

"They feel real."

"I know." It is the only comfort I can offer him, that I understand. I am not mom, who can tell him about how safe we are now, who can fill her mouth with promises no one believes about how no one will ever hurt any of us ever again. I am not his therapist, who encourages him to draw pictures of dinosaurs when he is sad and us together as a family when he is happy. I am not my father, whose warm embrace and large hands feel like safety.

I only have this. Some days, it's enough. Others it isn't.

"Where's mom?" he asks, quietly.

I gesture to the door, sighing, "Do you want to come with me to look for her?" I want to check my phone for the time, maybe I can talk to some of my friends before I have to get ready for school. Instead, I walk slowly down the hallway with James clinging to my leg, and push open the door into my parent's room. She's still on the bed and when we get within six feet of it, James deems it safe enough and he pushes off in a full sprint, dashing over and hurling himself into the bed to bury his head in mom's shoulder so forcefully she grunts.

I try not to admit it to myself, but I don't feel as safe without him pressed against me, so I fight to keep my slow pace steady before resting timidly at the end of the bed. I pull my legs up to me, curling in a ball there.