One for the Team

31 | before

I have become a bad brother, haven't I? You don't need to answer that, I know I have.

Today I wake up with him jumping on top of me. He wants me to wake up. Needs me to wake up. In truth, I've been up for a while. In truth, I never really fell asleep in the first place. It has become hard for me to do so. My mind never settles down enough for unconsciousness to sweep in, no matter how hard I try, and so I've stopped trying.

"I'm gonna be late if you don't get up," Archie tells me, shaking my shoulders when I don't open my eyes. "You're gonna be late too, you know?"

I don't care. I haven't cared for days. I don't tell him this, of course. Instead, I open my eyes slowly, wrap my arms around him and push him down to where I've been for the past few days. Bed.

"You could skip school today," I tell him. "Skip school and just stay here with me."

I'm being selfish, you don't need to tell me that either. Archie squirms in my arms in response. Tries to wiggle himself out. I wish he wouldn't.

"You said that yesterday. And the day before that." He argues. Archie doesn't like this. He has told me that much. He says he doesn't like this Finn, whoever he is. Says he wants the old Finn back. I told him I didn't like the old Finn or the new one for that matter, and he frowned like I was stupid, and said, "Don't be silly."

I don't think I'm being silly, but I let him go, and he rolls off the bed as I do. He's already dressed, terribly, but he is. Usually, I do the dressing for him, but lately not so much. I guess it's for the better. I've convinced myself it is. He had to learn one way or another, didn't he? Today he has his sweater inside out, the undershirt's tale is peeking out of his jeans, and his shoelaces are untied. Not too bad.

"Have you brushed your teeth?"

"Yes," he nods as he grabs his backpack.

"Right," I say, sitting up in bed. "Come here."

He does. I take off his sweater and put it on again in the right way, tuck in his undershirt, tie his shoelaces. We walk to school in silence. Archie doesn't like that. He's also told me that much. Says he likes it when I talk. Doesn't like it when I don't. I don't answer.

What can I say? I'm scared I'll open my mouth, and everything will come out. Everything I've done. Because it would come out, I know it would.

What else? I can't really talk because this thing doesn't let me. Because it demands my attention. All of it. It doesn't want me occupied with anything else. And so I drop Archie off to school, and then walk back home, back to bed, where I lay for the rest of the day, because I can't do anything else. I don't want to, and this thing doesn't want me to either. I don't tell him this, of course. I don't tell him anything. Don't tell anyone anything. My phone vibrates with notifications more times than it doesn't, and I don't touch it. I don't. None of them comes from you, and so none of them matters to me.

It's been a week since I've been cutting classes when mom notices. She doesn't notice really. Other people do – teachers, classmates, Coach Hawk – and so on Friday, the school calls my mom. I'm not there to hear it but I suppose it goes something like this.

They ask her if she's aware of her son's absence in school. She says yes because what would it say about her if the answer was any other? She makes up a lie. Maybe I'm sick. Maybe I'm away. I guess I'm both.

When she confronts me about it, I'm on my way to the front door. On my way to you.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asks. It's Saturday morning and she'll be off to work soon.

"I– I'm going for a run." This is a bad lie because I'm not wearing my running shoes, but I don't think it matters.

"The school called." She's on the brink of tears already. "They said you haven't been showing up. I don't know what to do with you, Finn. Why are you skipping classes? What, you decided you're too good for school, is that it?"