𝑩𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝑵𝒆𝒘 𝒀𝒐𝒓𝒌 { PREQUEL}

Eight

My life began to take a turn for the worse halfway through my sophomore year.

I remember a specific Wednesday morning from sunrise to sunset. That morning consisted of it's usual routine. I arrived to school right on time and managed to make it through my first four classes without having a mental breakdown, which was a true blessing now that midterms were right around the corner. It was the middle of the week and my life was the most typical one that any teenager could possibly have.

It wasn't until evening time when I started noticing the familiar signs in Aiden. He sat in the passenger seat-sulking. He had been having a rough couple of weeks and I would be lying if I said that it wasn't affecting my mood. By his gaunt physique, pale skin, and red-rimmed chocolate eyes, I could tell that there was a storm brewing in his mind. A part of me wanted to confront him about it-considering his track record, anyone else would have. But when I confronted my brother about his relapses, it only seemed to push him over the edge even more.

Therefore, our ride home was silent. He was staring out of the window incessantly, looking nowhere in particular. Deep lines were etched in his forehead and his hands shook slightly, clenching into fists every now and again before slowly relaxing. It unnerved me.

Aiden had gotten out of the car much faster than me. By the time I was making my way up the driveway, he had crossed our lawn in long, hurried strides. He looked like a mad man with hair sticking up from the countless times he pulled at it. His backpack hung off of his shoulders loosely, clothes swallowing his small frame due to his excessive weight loss. I frowned as concern began to gnaw at my consciousness.

This wasn't something that I could go through again. I knew that it was selfish of me. In a way, I hated myself for it. But who wanted to see someone that they loved suffer so much? I was tired of it-every single minute of his pain left me drained. Always hiding the scales, not leaving the dinner table until he ate; scared that he would lock me out of his room again as he puked up the dinner he just ingested. What made it worse, was the stares at school we received. As his sister, I would always defend him. If someone was staring too long, or whispered a snide comment, I made it a point to stand up for Aiden.

I would always protect him.

But it was still exhausting nonetheless. If I wasn't constantly watching him, then I was worrying about what he could possibly be doing when he wasn't in my presence.

I didn't want to do this anymore.

Not a single bit of it.

But as I stood in the driveway, watching as my frail skeleton of a brother stormed into our home, I knew that he had all the energy in the world. He could run on an empty stomach for hours, overworking his heart and planning the next time he would measure himself. Even in his grave, I wouldn't be surprised if his spirit somehow boasted that it was now able to starve for eternity. Recovery was only a temporary thing in Aiden's dictionary. It was the relapses that were permanent.

With a sigh, I closed the front door behind me. The smell of food filled my nostrils and it made my stomach growl. I walked further into my home, spotting my parents in the kitchen.

Physically, I was fine. Today had been a review day for midterms, so my school load was fairly light. Emotionally, however, I felt as if I was carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. Constantly, my mind was in overdrive, worrying itself about my brother. I cared about his wellbeing, more than he did. That, within itself, could trigger a nervous breakdown.

"Hi honey," Mom coo'd, flashing me a smile. She grabbed my cheeks, smothering my face with kisses.

I grimaced at her display of affection, wanting nothing more than to take a well-deserved nap. But my mom was in a good mood and I didn't have the heart, or energy, to ruin it. So I simply smiled at her.

"Hey," I greeted lazily.

Dad ruffled my hair, sending me a small grin before continuing back to the task at hand-chopping vegetables.

"Where's your brother?" My mom asked.

It was a simple question, but I felt my stomach drop the moment she brought it up. His sickly appearance flashed before my eyes, and I couldn't help but shudder, chewing on my lip anxiously.

Just when I was able to stop thinking about him...

"Don't know," I mumbled.

"Well, can you go find him?"

Reluctantly, I walked out of the kitchen. The living room showed no signs of life, so I willed myself to continue down the hallway. We had a ranch-styled home which consisted of one story. Aiden's room was all the way in the back.

His door was closed when I approached it. To any other person, the action usually signified privacy. But with Aiden, it meant so much more. Years ago, his door would always be open. We could walk in and out of his room, with no fear of what he might be doing. I would be able to sit in my bed, look straight across the hall, and see him engrossed in his sketchbook.

Now, whenever I looked outside of my room, I was only met with a closed door. Sometimes, I would hear the sound of his bathtub running or loud music playing. The reason behind the noise always made me want to burst into tears. It was a distraction to cloak the sound of his induced puking. I didn't understand why he continued to do it-I knew what it truly meant, and it didn't stop me from practically tearing his door down so I could prevent it. But like I said, Aiden was relentless.

He would find a way to empty his stomach even if I force fed him. He didn't seem to care as much as I did.

The door swung open, pulling me out of my thoughts. My brother glowered down at me, eyes dark and lips fixed into a grim line.

"Why are you standing outside my room like a freak?" He grumbled, pushing past me.

He wasn't able to move much of me, due to the lack of muscles on his bone. I took a deep breath, trying to control the anger that he ignited.

"Mom wants to see you." I answered. But he didn't reply, already walking away and down the hall.