Misfits

P R O L O G U E

I looked at the picture of what once used to be my family.

I hadn't even noticed my clenched jaw and my hands tightening their grasp around my glass of water, causing my knuckles to pale.

"Sissy? Are you alright?" My little brother, Ethan voiced his concern next to me.

He was the only thing I had left.

That, and my job.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry, Ethan." I sent him a weary smile as I tried to act strong for the sake of my little brother.

"No, Emmy, you're lying." He frowned up at me, grabbing my hand to squeeze it.

It was odd that he was comforting me. I should have been the one comforting him.

But I'm not. I'm too weak for that.

Ethan... he has absolutely nothing left, but me. Yet, this little six year old boy still smiles as if everyday he's getting ready to go on an adventure. The tough adventures of life.

Cue the waterworks.

I sniff, willing myself not to cry as I swallowed harshly to clear my throat.

"Emmaline." He placed his hands on his hips, giving me a disapproving look.

"Lying, is bad. You told me that," he stated, chin held up high.

Using my own words against me, huh?

"Now, what would mom say?" He put a finger to his chin in deep thought.

I couldn't help but let out a chuckle. He looked too wise when he did that.

I don't know. What would you say, mum?

"Ooh! I know now." He exclaimed excitedly, clearing his throat and fixing his posture to look like an ultra disturbed version of mom's.

"Lying is not acceptable in this household! Go to your room and think about what you have done, and once you have admitted you're wrong... lie, you are ready to come back and apologize for your behavior!" He huffed out, in a mock voice of a lady.

He was trying to match mum's.

He was so young, that when we moved here, New York, he was able to pick up the American accent, and always teased me for my British lisp. So as much as he could try, he couldn't possibly come off as our British mother.

I chuckled, ruffling his hair in response.

How could he take such regards to memories of our parents so cheerfully? I wished it was that way for me, sadly, but it wasn't.

I don't know when I'll be able to be done grieving.

I almost felt that if I stopped, I would be a horrible person for letting go of them so quickly, or really, ever. And if I continued, I'd feel as if I'm selfishly taking in acts of self pity because I believed my parents would always be with us.

Was I selfish?

I envy the kid.

"No, Emmy! This isn't funny business. Go to your room until you are ready to talk with me about what's troubling you," he scolded me in a tone that is not to harsh, nor too soft, and I felt my blood bubbling up in my stomach.

He definitely had mum's attitude.

The little miscreant was too smart for his own good.

I giggled, attempting to cover up my remorse. Apparently it worked, because he gave me a satisfied grin.

"See, Emma? I always can make you smile!" He cheerfully exclaimed. "Just don't lie," his voice grew darker, as his face displayed a solemn expression, jabbing his forefinger in my direction. I couldn't help but let out a small laugh at how hilarious such a look was on him.

That four year old, believe it or not, could be intimidating.

"Okay, Ethan. Now go, go get ready for bed." I kneeled down to his height, patting him on the head and shooing him out of the open living room.

I silently surveyed all that I had, still unpacked after endless months. I couldn't help but feel as if this move wouldn't last long. That some disaster was soon to come.

And it did. But only when I least expected it.

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3/14/17