It was a cold winter's night, probably the coldest he had ever been in his entire life. The light of the red exit sign that hung above the door to his right was blinking constantly, and the street lamps were barely able to do anything to illuminate the pavement. To his left was the road, and on the other side of it nothing but trees and darkness. It was snowing, and no matter where one looked at, they wouldn't be able to see anything.
He couldn't stand up from the shock. Right now, he was lying on all fours over the sidewalk, right by the hospital's emergency exit, where the nurse had just left them, telling them to wait ten minutes before they came looking for them to pick them up. That had been seven minutes ago, and three minutes before that, Connor had lost the ability to stand. He kept sobbing uncontrollably, and with every shed tear he found it harder and harder to breathe; up to the point of impossibility.
"C-Come b—back!", he cried loudly, giving in to despair. "Don't l-leave me! C—Come back! I-I'm s-s-sorry...!"
But he wouldn't come back. He had turned around and walked away, without looking back at the little boy lying on the ground, unable to stand up on his two feet.
"F-Forgive m-m-me..."
Connor cried inconsolably, without anyone in the world to help him.
He had never felt more alone.
It was dark, and it was impossible to see or hear anything besides the wind blowing. The hospital door was closed, but the lights on the other side were all on. Still, nobody bothered to peek through the window to see the small child there. Then, between the sobs and the gasps seeking air, Connor noticed something lying on the ground, not too far away from him. Something that glistened in the snow, reflecting the little light the street lamps provided.
He reached out and took it with his right hand, holding it close to his chest. He got on his knees, and upon further inspection, realized it was his father's silver wristwatch, completely intact.
Connor used his woolen gloves to clean up the snow that was covering the device. When his dad wore it, it had always looked polished and fancy.
And now, it was all but ruined...
-"... Connor?"—he heard from his left, leaving the trance he had gotten himself into a going back into the real world—"Connor, are you alright?"
After blinking a couple of times, he saw that he was at the exact same place he had been a few seconds ago, before he had started thinking back to old memories. Connor sat on the Grace's living room, on the largest couch. To his right was Mikey, on the same couch as him. To his left was Grace, who was looking at him, concerned. Behind him, Lilly and Oli had both pulled out chairs from the dining room for themselves, waiting quietly. And Troye was standing guard right next to them, too jumpy and tense to sit down. He stood with his arms crossed and an unreadable expression on his face.
And in front of him, across the living room's small table, on a one-person sofa chair that didn't match the rest of the room at all, sat Dustin, his older brother. The older brother he hadn't seen in ten years, and who appeared now, one day, out of fucking nowhere. He was rubbing his knuckles with his right hand, and looking directly at Connor as he bit his lip from time to time, nervous habit Connor recalled from their younger years.
Connor then realized he didn't know where Alexis was. He started looking around the room, until he spotted her, sitting on the staircase, watching the scene from behind the wooden bars that formed the railing, grasping one of them tightly with both her hands, her red beanie covering the most of her hair.
Connor looked back at Grace. She had been the one to ask him if he was doing alright. She had taken a major fright the minute she heard Dustin reveal his relation to Connor, when he and the rest of the kids arrived at the house. She was under the impression he was a social worker, or someone related to the foster care program to come discuss Connor's university education. Clearly she wasn't expecting the estranged older brother. Neither was Connor, of course.
Connor nodded slightly, not facing Grace, ignorant if he could speak or not. He tried to say something, but only a coarse groan resulted from his attempt. He then coughed slightly, and reassured her with another nod.
-"I'm fine."—he added dryly, and clearly having trouble with the speaking.
Grace didn't insist on it. Instead she looked at the visitor, who was yet to say anything else since his introduction. Everybody was waiting for him to talk, and nobody knew if it was right to say anything at all.
Connor looked directly at Dustin's eyes, and he looked back. Without his own knowledge, he was using his right hand to grab his left wrist, grasping the silver wristwatch on it harshly, like he did whenever he was nervous, or upset.
Or angry.
Dustin seemed to notice this motion, because he switched the focus of his eyes from Connor's face to his hands, observing at first, but later realizing what it was that he was seeing.
And then, he spoke.
-"... That's... dad's watch."—he said, pointing at Connor's wrist on his lap—"You kept it."
Connor wasn't sure if he was breathing anymore. It was like being back on that cold snowy night all those years ago, lying on the ground struggling for air.
-"... Yes."—he answered—"I picked it up."
Dusting nodded thoughtfully.
-"I never knew for certain, but I had the suspicion you had it."—he observed—"You wouldn't leave it lying on the ground."
"For certain?", Connor asked himself. "Does this mean there were things he did know?"
All of this was too puzzling. Connor hadn't heard a single thing from any of his siblings in years, yet here was the oldest child of the Frantas right in front of him, in Grace's house. It was discomforting to say the least. Something didn't add up.
-"... Dustin, what are you doing here?"—Connor asked, feeling Troye's gaze on his neck—"How... how did you find me?"
Dustin cracked his tongue, and rubbed his hands even more. His eyes wandered around the floor, walls and furniture of the house. He seemed to expect Connor's question.
-"... I... I have been... keeping track on you, for a while now."—he confessed.
Connor felt his fist clenching.
-"How long?"
-"A while."—Dustin answered, remained silent for a second, and then added—"Three years."
Lilly gasped, taking a hand to cover her mouth. Mikey could be seen physically very uncomfortable, not knowing what to do with his legs.
Suddenly, a memory that had been eating up Connor's insides rose back into his memory with answers.
-"... It was you."—Connor spoke up—"You were the one who mailed me that storybook for my birthday."
Dustin nodded silently. Connor still kept 'The Gingerbread Man' inside the dresser, locked under key.
-"I remembered it was your favorite when mom used to read it."—Dustin said—"It was one of the few things they let me keep after they dismantled the house."
So that was it.
He had known about Connor's whereabouts for three years. Three, and in all that time he hadn't done anything to make himself known. Only a children's book. Not even a note at the end.
-"Why now?"—Connor asked, trying to contain the burning sensation taking over his body.
-"... I had to wait until you were of age to contact you."—Dustin explained—"Or else I would have state on my back. When we were little, after we... got separated, I found myself into trouble and got sent right away into juvie. I was labeled as 'unfit' to remain in the program, so I got forbidden to see you..."
Oli frowned in confusion.
-"Wait, got separated? I don't get it."—he asked, earning a slap on his leg from Lilly, but Connor was too phased to get upset at Oli for something so innocent.
-"... After the car crash that killed my parents, I was in the hospital for a week, recovering. I had been the only one in the car with them."—Connor explained, as the memories from the white walled corridors and the toxic smell he had to endure every day brought back the darkest side of his childhood—"In the meantime, the state was trying to figure out what to do with us. With me, Dustin..."
-"... Nicola and Brandon."—Dustin finished for Connor.
Hearing him say their names was almost infuriating.
-"They kept telling Nicola and I that four children were too many, that we had to understand. That nobody would take us in. Not all at the same time."—Dustin said.
-"But."—Connor went on—"Two children, on the other hand, were manageable. So... Brandon, who was the youngest, got paired up with Nicola..."
-"... And Connor with me."
If it wasn't confusing before, it was confusing now. The only person who knew the full story asides from the two Frantas was Alexis, who watched from her spot, not daring to say a single word. She knew what was coming.
Mikey raised his eyebrows in confusion.
-"That makes no sense. If you two were meant to be paired up together... why did you get separated?"—he asked.
This was the part Connor didn't want to hear.
Dustin inhaled deeply and sighed, clearly knowing what he would get after what he was about to say.
-"... I ran away and left him behind."
The general reaction was chaotic, upsetting, and clearly outraged.
Both Troye and Lilly had stood up and started yelling profanities, Oli trying to calm them down separately, although he was fulminating Dustin with his eyes. Grace was rubbing her temples and whispering 'Oh God...' over and over, and Mikey was speechless from the shock. Connor remained still, as did Alexis, knowing neither of them could do anything about any of it.
Mikey was the first to speak up after the turmoil died down. He stood up from his seat, pointing at Dustin accusingly.
-"HOW COULD YOU DO THAT!?"—he questioned screaming, baffled by the sole idea—"HE WAS JUST A KID! AND YOUR LITTLE BROTHER! HE NEEDED YOU!"
-"Mikey! Mikey, sweetie, calm down...!"—Grace pleaded, as her eyes watered.
-"NO! DON'T ASK ME TO CALM DOWN! WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS!?"—he turned to Dustin again—"WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!?"
Connor knew how much abandonment struck Mikey, and he wasn't at all surprised that he was taking this so personally. He wasn't going to stop him either. There wasn't anything in him that wanted to defend Dustin.
Dustin didn't react to the accusations. He kept his eyes locked with Connor's. He had always been this way; he would only answer to those he had to, and nobody else. These people were all strangers to him, but the kid that shared their mother's green eyes.
-"... I tried asking them to let me see you."—Dustin said, almost whispering, to Connor, ignoring Mikey's furious semblance—"I requested it several times. But the minute I left you I started living off the streets. I robbed people and stole from shops. I lasted for almost a year and half on my own before they caught me and sent me to the correctional facility. I had a record on me. It took me... a long time, to leave that place. And even then, I was a problem child. Nobody wanted me in a foster house. I got sent to group homes, and was labeled as 'high risk'. . I even ran away from a couple of homes without a plan, without a clue on where you were, convinced I would find you. They caught me every time and sent me back. And they wouldn't let me see you..."
Connor found the tale hard to believe, even knowing he was probably telling the truth. What use could Dustin have in lying to him now? After all of what the two of them had been through separately, it would be nothing but pointless to come up with fake stories and lame excuses to make up for past mistakes—even those that changed their lives. So he just took in everything he was hearing, and accepted it.
But he couldn't stop thinking about when he was left sobbing on the ground of the hospital's back exit.
He still saw Dustin the way he was back then; a small, twelve year old boy turning thirteen, who was just as scared as he was, but a million times angrier. Angry at the driver for crashing his truck against theirs. Angry at the doctors for not doing anything to save their parents. Angry at the social workers who were forcing what was left of their family apart.
... Angry at Connor.
Dustin was twenty two now, turning twenty three. And still, Connor saw him the same way he did the day he left him behind; with his uneven haircut, a couple of zits here and there on his chin, with the blue snow jackets mom had given him last Christmas and he was already growing out of. And grasping their father's silver wristwatch on his right hand, so tightly it seemed he was about to break it into a thousand pieces.
-"... I am working now, as an intern, in a social security company."—Dustin said, bringing back Connor from his thoughts—"It doesn't pay much, but it's something. They are paying my night classes at the university. I'm studying Finance. I got into this program that helps out orphans all over the country, I heard of it from one of the kids in juvie. I have my own place; an apartment back in Minnesota. It's not much, and it's pretty small. But it's what I can afford, and Nicola and Brandon live nearby, too, and—"
-"Wait."—Connor said, cutting Dustin halfway through his speech—"Nicola and Brandon? You-you've seen them?"
Dustin had his mouth agape, realizing yet he had failed to mention that prior to that moment. Connor was almost out of breath, expectant. Troye tapped his foot nervously on the floor.
-"... Nicola visited me in juvie, little after I got sent in for the first time."—Dustin explained, choosing his words really carefully—"We kept in touch. She... they got lucky. A good man took them in. The two of them. A friend of mom and dad."
Connor didn't say anything. He felt Grace's hand resting on his back in sympathy.
-"He lived abroad, and it took him a while to get here, about two years before he found them. But he moved here and helped them. He let me go visit them from time to time. We never stopped speaking, and Nicola and I always tried to get the three of us together."
-"Oh my God..."—Lilly whispered in disdain from behind Connor's back.
-"... They don't know that I'm here."—Dustin revealed, making Mikey whisper some more insults—"I didn't tell them I would try to come and find you. They have no idea where you live; all they know is that you are still in the foster system, and that you had been paired up with..."
Dustin's eyes traveled to Alexis, who was still hidden behind the staircase bars.
-"... A little girl."—he concluded.
Connor's throat was clenching, and Alexis' face had turned pale. He turned his head to look at her, and the two exchanged a worry look. She was probably a lot more scared than he was now, even if she shouldn't be. Still, there was absolutely nothing she could do. And that terrified her.
Connor turned again and faced Dustin, his nostrils flailing as they breathed in and out exasperatedly.
-"Why did you come here?"
Nobody dared say a word. Lilly stopped her loud breathing, Grace raised her gaze from her lap. Mikey and Oli both stared at Dustin. Troye had stopped tapping his feet, and was now waiting to hear whatever he had to say.
Dustin looked at Connor melancholically, with glassy eyes.
-"I want you to come with me."
Connor shook his head slowly, as he felt his own eyes watering and his fists clenching to the point of physical pain.
-"You have no right..."—he whispered to himself.
-"I know you haven't forgiven me; I wouldn't. I haven't. But this life you've been living—these, people, they can't do anything else for you, Connor, despite how much they could have helped you. But I have a responsibility to mom and dad, Connor. A responsibility to take care of you!"
Connor couldn't believe what he was hearing. He kept shaking his head. He had to be joking.
-"No..."
-"I understand if you don't want to come right away—but in a couple of years you'll have to study to get a job and who will help you then? Maybe at first you can come from time to time, to see if you get used to it, and little by little we can..."
-"No."
-"Then, then maybe you can visit on some weekends. They can't keep you from going, you're of age now! You can take a bus and come to Minnesota every now and then, and we can see where we go from there..."
-"No."
-"Connor, Connor at least hear him out...!"—he heard Oli beg.
-"I was thinking of buying a car! I've been saving up! I came in one that I borrowed, but I'm getting one of my own, hopefully soon! I can give it to you! You can learn how to drive and come over whenever you feel like it...!"
-"NO!"
-"CONNOR PLEASE, I'M BEGGING YOU!"
-"HOW CAN YOU COME HERE AND ASK ME THIS!? AFTER ALL THE THINGS YOU SAID TO ME THAT NIGHT!?"
Connor wasn't sure at what point the two of them had stood up, but now they were facing each other on foot. Dustin was on the verge of breaking down. Connor was red from anger, trying his best to blur out the words that rang inside his head mercilessly.
"It's all your fault...! It's all your fucking fault...!"
Usually, those words would make him cry. But now, his hatred was much stronger than his sorrow.
-"I'm sorry...!"—Dustin pleaded, not caring that all those strangers were watching.
Connor took a minute to calm down. He inhaled and exhaled three times before he was certain he could speak again. He had taken off his father's silver wristwatch, and now held it in his right fist.
-"... I want you to go."—Connor said, as calmly as he could—"I don't want to see you, or hear from you, or get anything from you."
Dustin composed himself, taking in the stern aspect he had arrived with at first to Grace's house. Now they did look like siblings, both made of stone carved into manhood by the hardships they had faced.
-"I am your older brother, Connor. We are all we have left. Like it or not, that's the way it is. I am your family."
At that moment, something dropped inside Connor. Something so dark, so cold, it took with it what little good Yule town, his new friends, the people at the Andrew Graham foundation and even Grace's house had done for him. And it froze his insides, back to the same way they had been for the past ten years.
-"My parents died in a car accident when I was eight years old."—he said, so dry and so cold that it burned when he spoke—"I've been on my own ever since. I am an orphan. I have no family."
It didn't take genius to know that Connor's words hat hit more than one person hard.
But all he was focused on was Dustin, who grimaced and sighed, giving up on the cause he was destined to lose the minute he stepped into that house. He raised his arms and shook his head in defeat. But he didn't move.
-"You can't close me off forever."
At his words, it was Grace who stood up. She stepped in front of Connor, and stood her ground.
-"I'm going to have to ask you to leave."—she commanded.
Dustin still wouldn't look at anyone but Connor. After not seeing him for so many years, he seemed to be trying to take in the face of his brother again, even if he had never forgotten it in the first place. And Connor knew that now it was going to be impossible to remember the child Dustin that was still alive in his head. That child was gone. This was him now.
Dustin took his hand into his pocket, and from it picked out a piece of paper. A card of sorts. He left it on top of the coffee table in front of him.
-"... My phone number."
Connor stared at the piece of paper, as Dustin turned around and walked towards the door, without anyone to walk besides him. He stopped before turning the knob open, and turned around one last time.
-"I won't come back here unless you want me to."—he said—"And I won't call, either. But you can. And nobody can stop you from it anymore... It's up to you now."
Connor kept staring at the piece of paper. Before exiting, Dustin looked towards the stairs one last time, and crossed eyes with the small girl who still had her red beanie on. The two of them took a second to examine each other without saying anything, but the message they were sending one another was loud and clear just so.
Next thing Connor knew, the door was shut with a loud thud. The car that had been parked outside got started, and the only person who had moved was Oli, who seemed extremely distraught that he was the only one who didn't agree with what was going on.
-"Isn't anyone going to do anything!?"—he asked, baffled—"He's going to get away!"
At the apparent lack of response, Oli huffed in frustration and exited the house as well. Connor could hear him calling Dustin out, yelling at him to get his attention, but the sound of the car driving away made him suspect it had been futile.
Alexis stood up from her seat at the staircase, walking upstairs hastily and locking herself in her room. Grace snapped her head in her direction, realizing she had left.
-"Oh, no... Alexis?"—she asked, full of worry, walking upstairs to look for her—"Alexis, sweetie? Please, come talk to me...! Alexis...!?"
Grace could be heard knocking on Alexis' wooden door time and time again, trying to get her to say anything. She kept asking her if she was ok, and got nothing but quiet.
Connor just looked at the piece of paper in front of him, and the series of numbers written on it. Right now, they seemed so messy, unintelligible. If he had tried to read them, chances are he wouldn't have been able to. Grace came down looking defeated, shaking her head and sighing in exhaustion.
-"She won't open her door..."
Lilly reacted, for the first time since Dustin had left, blinking rapidly and then turning to Grace.
-"I'll go see if she will talk to me."
Grace nodded and gave Lilly room for her to walk upstairs and try to reach out to Alexis. Nobody else spoke, nobody said anything. Mikey was staring at the phone number as well, with a mixture of utter despise and regret on his face.
And then, it was Troye who approached Connor, and asked.
-"... Are you... are you ok?"
-"... No."—Connor answered, not looking at him directly—"I'm not."
Connor felt how Troye tried to place his hand on his shoulder to comfort him, but he shrugged it off rapidly. Before anyone else could call him out or say anything, he walked decisively towards the main door, exiting the house and walking right past Oli on his way.
He still had the silver wristwatch locked on his fist, and he walked rapidly, even so that it eventually turned to jogging, and then to running at full speed. The tears and the rage were clear on his face.
He was furious.
---
Connor knocked harshly on the door, wet from the snow that had landed on him on his way there, and desperate, without knowledge of why, for a response from the other side.
-"Red! Red! RED!"—he called out, knocking the door to her private suite repetitively—"Red, open up! I know you're here...!"
He must have been making quite a ruckus. From the other rooms, several guests peeked into the corridor, looking at him without leaving their doors. Most of them too scared to dare go out. He probably looked like a madman.
Red, like always, did not answer her cell. So naturally he had gone running to 'Losey's Inn', expecting to find her at her usual abode.
He knew his breath was weary, as were his eyes. His hair was messy and stinking of sweat; yet he didn't care. He needed to see her. He wanted to see her now.
-"Red...! Red, please...!"
Eventually, he stopped knocking, instead banging his head against the wall, not with enough force to get hurt, but loud enough to call forth the attention of one of the cleaning maids, who looked quite distressed and not at all comfortable with the sight before her.
-"Eh... excuse me? Mister?"—the lady asked, with a strong Californian accent—"Are you feeling alright...?"
-"... Where... is... she?"—Connor asked between gasps of air, finally calming down.
-"If it's Ms. Alexa you're looking for, she is currently not home; are you ok? Do need me to call an ambulance?"
Connor stopped pressing his body against the wall, and made his way towards the maid, careful not to frighten her, but clearly failing at it. She looked like she was about to scream out for help.
-"Is she at the clinic?"—Connor asked, huffing and puffing, but keeping his distance—"Did she go there today?"
-"I-I'm not sure I understand the question, mister—?"
-"Don't bullshit me. Is. She. At. The. Clinic."
If he had heard himself, Connor would have gotten frightened at his own voice. The maid's eyes were widening as plates as she backed off slowly, careful not to hit the wall in the process.
-"I don't know."—she confessed—"Ms. Alexa does not like to tell us where she goes, or if she's at the clinic for her therapy."
Connor nodded, deciding the lady was too scared to be lying.
-"Thank you..."—he said, then turning around and heading towards the stairs that would lead him to the exit.
He didn't know if she was intending to call the police or not. He would if he were her. Without giving her any time to call him out again, and doing extremely well at ignoring the peeking motel guests, Connor left the building and found himself alone in the snowy streets of Yule, yet once again.
He pressed both hands against his eyes, frustrated, exhausted. He started walking with no direction at all, not caring where he would eventually end up at. His phone had been ringing for the past hour, ever since he left the house. He had stopped by a grocery shop at some point, and bought himself a beer. There wasn't anyone at the store but him, and the cashier was a girl who frankly couldn't care less if he was of age or not. She sorts of reminded him of Mr. Hartman. He wasn't drunk by a longshot, but he was dizzy enough to walk funny and to scream when talking.
Dustin's face had become impregnated on his mind. He saw it on every passerby, every man who seemed around his age, or even the older ones. And every child he saw was also him, when younger. He saw them as he when he was twelve, with the oversized shorts and the Nike sneakers he always loved to wear, even in winter. And seeing him like that kept bringing back the same memory he had fought so hard to block out for many years.
He saw the four of them; Brandon, Nicola, Dustin and him, all gathered around in the same tiny white hospital room. Connor was still wearing the gown they had given him to stay at the hospital while he recovered from the accident. He had been sleeping for two days straight, and wasn't aware that his parents had passed away until after he woke up. But, even unconscious, Connor remembered the minute he saw the truck hit them, and he remembered passing out inside the car crash, seeing the motionless bodies on the front row of the car. So, when he came to, he didn't need to hear the doctors telling him what happened. He already knew.
Only Dustin and Nicola had gone to the funeral. Brandon hadn't been allowed because he was too young. Connor couldn't remember the man's face, the one who was talking with them, all he remembered was that he wasn't a doctor, and that the room felt so, so tiny.
His words were unintelligible, something about having to split their ways, and the importance of keeping in touch, and how there are means for it. Connor didn't listen to any of it.
Next, he remembers watching Nicola and Brandon walk away, he holding on to her hand, and she looking back at Connor as she headed down the hospital's white corridor, following a group of men in white suits. He could barely remember her face anymore. But he would never forget the look on her eyes that last time he ever saw them.
Then there were the two of them, Dustin and him, waiting under the dark night sky and the falling snow for the people who were supposed to pick them up. It was so cold, and Connor was shivering, despite now being changed into his normal clothes. He remembered Dustin standing still, looking up at the darkening clouds above them.
"Dustin... Dustin, why are you so quiet?", he remembered asking, "Dustin... what is going to happen to us?"
His brother's silence had never hurt him so. Dustin had always been the quietest of the four, which was strange, since he was the eldest. And then, he remembered the screams, a stinging pain on his face, the sight of their father's silver wristwatch falling on the snow...
"I'm sorry...! I'm sorry...! Don't leave me...! Please...!"
-"Please... please, don't leave me alone..."—Connor whispered to himself, lost in the trance.
He kept on walking for God knows how long, until he reached the end of the street. And when he did, he came across a small park with a balcony that overlooked some of the streets that led to Lake Yule all the way downhill. He had nowhere else to run. He could go all the way to the Andrew Graham foundation in the middle of the night, with only the slight suspicion that he would find Red there. And even if he did find her, he had no idea what he would do. What did he want to find her for anyway? To have sex? To talk about Dustin? Nicola, Brandon? To cry himself to sleep?
None of it made sense.
In the middle of the park, there was a whitened willow tree. The snow had settled on its leaves and pines, and they coated the greenery like cotton. It sorts of glistened, reflecting the bits of moon and streetlight that fell upon it. It was impossible not to feel beckoned to approach it; it really was that pretty. Though Connor just wanted a place to sit down, really, and that was the only spot with a cover from the falling snow.
Quite exhausted, Connor sat down, and finally allowed himself to breathe.
It's amazing how fast your life can change from one second to another. One day, you live in your parent's house, with your three siblings, and a loving mother and father. The next day, said loving parents hate each other to the bone.
Then they die in a car accident, with you being the only one with them at the moment.
But you live.
You live, and you spend every second of your remaining life wondering: why? Why did you survive when they didn't? What makes you so special? These are the sort of questions that Connor dreaded to make himself, but that he couldn't help.
Ever since the night that Connor saw Dustin walk away from the hospital grounds, and was left alone with nothing but his father's old watch, Connor had asked himself if, perhaps, the true accident was that he survived the car crash.
And that's the one thing he never told anyone.
Connor didn't notice he was sobbing, all on his own in the middle of the small park. But he did notice the growing pain in his right hand; he looked at it, and saw that all this time he had been grasping unto the silver wristwatch with such force it had given him a couple of cuts, and his fingers were bleeding slightly. Ten years had he kept holding on to that wretched thing. Ten years, hoping that perhaps someday, he would be able to hand it back over to his older brother, Dustin.
Now he hated the sole sight of it.
Without a second thought, Connor tossed the damn thing away in no apparent direction, refusing to even look where it fell, the same way Dustin had done with it back then. It was broken anyway; it wasn't like he could actually use it to tell time.
Connor remained sitting there, alone, without a single thought in his mind. He saw how the snow fell on the ground, and thought about how he had really fucked up this time. Alexis had run off crying to her room, after all. Connor scoffed, knowing that the things he said did say a lot about him after all.
-"... Lisbug will be disappointed."—he said to himself—"There's a lot of shit I will have to explain next time I see her..."
The irony of all thus far was more than enough to make Connor laugh at himself. It wasn't every day you meet face to face to your long-estranged older brother and then basically tell him to fuck off.
Eventually, the silence turned almost eternal, the snow stopped falling and the cold air settled around his body. A figure that he recognized instantly appeared in the vicinity, approaching him at a steady pace. Not hasty or desperate, just slowly, the same way he would walk any other day, like everything was perfectly normal and nothing had happened. Midway towards Connor, he crouched down and picked up something lying on the ground, something that glistened. It didn't take much brains to know it was the watch.
When Troye sat down next to Connor, he didn't say anything, nor looked at him directly. He just stared into space, the same way Connor did. He didn't need to say anything, because there wasn't anything he could say that would make this any different.
Connor was a different case. He originally thought that it wasn't like that, but now he felt like if he didn't get his thoughts off his chest he would go totally insane. After deciding to talk before he could regret it, Connor began to speak.
-"... That watch you have there, it was my dad's. It wasn't mine, never was. They gave it to Dustin after he died. Said it was the only thing that didn't get ruined after the car crash. Turned out it was broken anyways..."
As he talked, the images came back to Connor's head. Dustin, young, twelve, with Nicola and her shoulder-length hair standing right next to him, hearing words from a man dressed in white and a white mask over his mouth. A doctor. The one who had pronounced the deaths, probably. At the time, Connor couldn't hear what he was saying, nor did he know what was happening. He just saw the man shaking his head, and handing the watch to Dustin. Dustin stared at it, motionless, reactionless, like a genuine statue. Nicola was already sobbing on the floor uncontrollably. Connor was lying on a bed, struggling to stay awake, Brandon sleeping right next to him, over the covers. The nurses had allowed his little brother to stay with him in the room for the night, as he had cried and begged them to stay with Connor as they waited to learn their parent's status. Brandon didn't know anything, he just thought Connor was sick. Connor saw him breathing evenly, in and out, with such peace, such ignorance... little by little, Connor lost the fight against the exhaustion, and closed his eyes as well...
-"... When I came to after sleeping for an entire day, they gathered the four of us together. Dustin and Nicola already knew, but Brandon and I didn't. The social workers and doctors, they... They told us that... that they had died. Brandon didn't understand. He was my little brother. He kept asking where they had gone, and when we could see them. Nicola... Nicola had to explain they weren't coming back."
He now saw Brandon crying inconsolably, grasping to Nicola's sleeve. She had already shed her good share of tears, and had ran out of them to spare. Connor was so in shock; he didn't have time to realize he hadn't cried. He probably looked so lost. Dustin was there, but he might as well not be. He was more absent than any shade Connor had ever seen before.
-"... Dustin and Nicola went to the funeral. I was in bedrest, and Brandon wasn't allowed. That night, he was so... distant. He didn't lie with me the way he always did; he didn't talk to me... He was too broken."—Connor stopped to gulp down some saliva—"The last time I saw him and Nicola was next morning. When they told him he had to go with her and that he wouldn't see me or Dustin for a while, he didn't say goodbye. He hid behind Nicola. He... he hated me, Troye. I saw it in his eyes. He hated me... he hated me so much..."
That thought, the image of Brandon's eyes, terrified of Connor, of his own brother, before him, had haunted him for years, unlike any other ghost he ever had. It was his biggest fear, and his greatest regret, and not even Alexis knew about it. It was too hard to talk about, and too impossible not to think about. And too hurtful, to get it to leave.
Now Connor's crying was more intense, even if he wasn't whimpering. His face was wet and moist anyhow, and he could feel his breath shortening.
-"And Dustin... he hadn't talked, in d-days... Not to me, or Nic-cola, or Brandon... And then, w-when we w-were left alone, to wait for the people that would t-take us away... I wondered if... if he ha-hated me, too...! B-Because... b-because I felt like I could take t-that..."
Once again, the memory of him and Dustin standing alone in the middle of the snow came to mind. Dustin had been in the same silent state since his arrival at the hospital. Connor remembered shuddering, his teeth shivering, rubbing his arms together trying to get some heat, after being enclosed inside four hospital walls for so many days. He remembered asking those same words...
-"... I asked him, 'Dustin, why are you so quiet?' I asked him, 'What is going to happen to us?'... a-and he didn't a-answer... s-so... I asked him if... if..."
He paused, took a breath, and stopped crying. If he would be talking about this in front of Troye, he didn't want to be crying, because even after everything, he despised pity, and he certainly didn't want Troye's.
-"... I asked him 'Dustin, do you hate me too?'"—Connor confessed, his voice breaking a little—"And you know what he said...?"
Troye didn't give out any guesses, only a slight grimace that had appeared on his face as Connor had spoken those words. He still looked into no direction at all, whilst Connor was now staring at him directly.
-"He said he did."—Connor said, finally finishing the story—"He said he hated me, Troye. He said he didn't want to be with me... he tossed that watch away, saying he didn't want it. And then, he punched me in the face."
The burning sensation on the left side of his face still felt as vivid as then, even when it had been so many years ago. Dustin's image was also as clear as day; the once so quiet shadow now turned into a rampant force of anger. He saw his brother from the ground to which he had fallen, screaming down to him, like a pile of garbage.
"IT'S YOUR FAULT...! IT'S YOUR FAULT...!"
-"... It's my fault... it's my fault..."—Connor kept repeating—"He said... that it was my fault. That my parents had died, because of me... and that's why Brandon hated me, and that's why he hated me, too... and that no matter what I did, nothing would ever change that..."
Troye turned his head towards Connor. His mouth was hanging open, wordless, without anything to say.
-"... And then he left me lying there, alone, on the snow... like now."—Connor said, taking a brief look at his surroundings—"And you know what? After he was gone... I realized that he was right. And I believed him. And all these years, I have lived thinking that... that my parents died, because of me... because it's my fault... it's my fault, Troye."
Connor didn't know at what moment Troye had wrapped his arms around him, but he hugged back in automatic fashion, as he kept on repeating himself.
-"It's my fault... it's my fault..."
-"Shhh... don't say that... it wasn't your fault, Connor. It never was... Don't say that, ever again... It's not your fault... it's not your fault..."—Troye soothed, holding tight to Connor with what little strength he had left—"It doesn't matter how many times I have to say it for you to believe it; I'll say it over and over, a million times, forever if I must... It's not your fault, Connor... It's not your fault... It's not your fault..."
Connor felt both so weak and so stupid. He always hated pity, and he never wanted to get it from anyone. Yet here he was, listening to Troye's words, and still, he didn't do anything to stop him. For some reason, it felt like hearing those words were all he ever wanted, and all he needed to hear right now.
The cold of the night had never felt this painful before.
---
A/N
I know. I have no heart. It runs in the family.
Remember how I said either Dustin or Sage would appear soon? Well soon just happened, and a lot of it too. This chapter in general is one of the main plot points I had defined for the story before I started writing it. YES, I DO have some sort of plan before I rush into things. Surprising, eh?
I hope you liked it, though hahaha I've had some trouble finishing it just now, and throghout the week finding time to write has become an actual struggle. I'm working a summer job of sorts; it's actually and internship, and it takes so much time omg. Anyhow, if all goes well, I'll be able to update sometime next week, I just don't know when exactly.
So, what do you think will happen next with Connor? And more importantly; how do you think that Alexis feels right now?
Until next time, everyone! Now things will actually go down, and fastly. We are getting to that part of the book where my jokes start becoming less frequent as your death threats towards me increase.
Oh boy, did I miss this.
See ya soon, you crazy lot!
--Coffee