The Problem with the Player

Chapter 1

Hello! This story was originally on my old account, but I have transferred it onto this account :)

Hope you enjoy :)

Celebrities. I hate them. I stare down at a magazine plastered with breaking news on today’s hottest stars and roll my eyes. Why can’t the world pay attention to things like, I don’t know, cancer research? Feeding the poor? I’m sure there are others like me. Those who don’t care when an actor gets a haircut or a singer breaks up with their partner after a pitiful three months. 

‘Lydia.. hello?’ I snap out of my trance and remember I’m in the doctor’s waiting room. ‘Maybe you’re the one that needs a checkup. That’s the fourth time I’ve called you.’

‘Sorry, I was busy’.

‘Busy?’ My brother Dylan looks at me like I’m an idiot.

‘I was musing!’ I say.

‘Right.’ He stares at me, his eyes slightly droopy. I almost forgot he was sick.

‘Oh, how was your appointment?’ 

‘It was alright. I’ve got the flu.’ He shoves a note in my face. ‘Which means I get the week off school’. 

‘Well I never have to go back to school ever again’, I tease. 

‘Yeah well you’ve graduated, so it’s sort of different’. 

‘Whatever.’ I grab my handbag and we leave. I close the door of my car - alright, my dad’s crappy old car from twelve years ago that was passed to me - and blast the air conditioning. I look at Dylan and can’t help but question his sickness. He hands drum along to the beat of some grating song. Another thing I hate, today’s music. ‘You don’t seem very sick, Dylan’, I say, gesturing to his enthusiasm to the music. 

He eyes me. ‘I am sick. Dr Clement even said so.’ 

‘Ok but, are you happy to be sick?’

He pauses. ‘No.’

I sigh. ‘Look, I know about the guys at school. Are they still giving you a hard time?’

A look of shock sweeps over his face. ‘Oh my God! I’m just sick! That doesn’t mean I can’t dance along to my favourite music!’

I suppress a laugh. ‘You call that music?’ 

He looks away. ‘Chris and his friends are still being asses. So it’s good to have a break from them.’

A piece inside me feels like it’s been shattered. Dylan has had problems with Chris since he was seven. Ten years later it’s still going on. And Chris is a big guy. One swift hit would knock Dylan out and have him sent to hospital. On his first day of high school, Dylan ran home with a bruised arm, covered it up and begged me not to tell our mum about it. I can still see the look of sadness in his eyes. My parents have gone to the principal about it but nothing has helped.

‘Then I guess just, um, enjoy your time off.’ I give him a supportive smile but he stares out the window. I want to slap myself for such a stupid response.

When we get home, Dylan runs straight upstairs and into his room. I follow him with a bunch of medicine, a glass of water and some herbal stuff thats meant to ‘alleviate the nose of stressful buildup and blockage’, but he locked his door, so instead I’m staring into the face of Eminem. Dylan insisted in putting a life sized poster of him on his door for everyone to see. I almost have a heart attack when I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. I don’t know why I keep it on vibrate, it shocks me every time. My hands are full of sickness remedies so I dump the stuff at Dylan’s door and look at my phone. Crap. It’s my boss calling.