Charlie is home. Properly home. Car-parked-in-the-driveway home.
John idles in front of our house, shifting into park along the curb as we all stare at the unfamiliar car. A suspended silence fills the car as John and Athena's eyes fall onto me. They're testing to see if I'm about to explode, probably.
I don't know what I feel. I'm raw—a cushion of nothing whilst every nerve within me is misfiring, overloading with too much of everything. I'm able to recognize the ground beneath my feet, but there's still the sense that everything inside me is the wreckage after an earthquake. I couldn't stop the terror this time as all reasonable understanding of who and where I was fell away from me, and suddenly it was just animal instinct to keep breathing. I didn't feel like me. I didn't even feel like a person.
And, as Charlie taught me so long ago, fear is not something that can be forgotten.
Athena grows impatient at my lack of a response. "So, when his children needed him, Victor was at home."
I watch as John's hands wind tighter around the steering wheel. His knuckles turn white like he's ready to be our get-away driver. "What could he want from us?"
"Money?" Athena suggests. Her hands curl around the headrests of both our seats.
"I couldn't care less about what Charlie wants," John says. "I'm talking about Victor. I just don't get what he's trying to accomplish with this."
"It's his oldest kid, John." My voice is unintentionally soft.
"Believe me, I'm aware." The malice in John's words disappears upon addressing me. "But this isn't just a catch-up, Victor is dragging out all the old shit and rubbing our faces in it, like you do when a dog pees in the house."
"You think he's punishing us for something?" The idea is unsettling.
"I don't know."
"I think he's punishing himself." They go quiet at my conclusion, and I prop another cigarette between my lips. "Guilt is a funny little thing." At the recycled words, Athena's eyes flash to mine in the rearview mirror. I give her a lazy smile as I roll down my window. It takes a few tries before my lighter produces a proper flame, and I recline my forearm out the opening.
"This is dumb," Athena announces. "We can't just sit here like we're waiting to rob the place. We should be able to walk into our own home." Still, she makes no move to exit the car, and the unspoken agreement between us remains intact: we either do it together or not at all.
John gives me a tentative look out the corner of his eye. "Will?"
It doesn't feel real yet—the fact that Charlie is within walking distance. I keep my eyes focused on the cigarette, "I don't know. I said I didn't want to see him."
"But he's here now," Athena says. "He shouldn't be able to push us out like this."
"What do you have to tell him?" John asks.
"What?"
"I mean, what do you have to say to him, Athena? Because the clearest message we could send is not seeing him at all, beyond that everything gets all muddled."
Athena's eyes turn down in a rare moment of submission. "I don't know if I have anything to say to him, but maybe I want to know what he has to say. I want to know if Charlie is worth any of this."
"I can answer that one for you," John replies. "He isn't. He's destructive, and selfish, and, and—"
"Our brother," Athena says. "If it's clarity you're looking for, John, then we can't do the same as we have been for the past seven years. Maybe I don't care what message Charlie gets, but I do care about what happens to us when he leaves again, which is going to be a lot sooner than later."
"We don't know what we're doing." I cough up some smoke. "And neither does Victor."
"Fuck Victor," Athena throws back. "What about me? Will and I were ten. There was never any choice about it. Charlie was just suddenly gone and there was nothing left to talk about."
"Speak for yourself." The bitterness in my voice is unmistakable.
"How could I speak for you?" Athena sits back and crosses her arms. "You won't let any of us learn your language."
I'm struck by the urge to scream at her. Can't you see I'm trying? Athena could take it. It would be easy and without consequences. She'd just plaster a fake smile across her face and spew something equally venomous back. At least then I'd know where we both stood.
"Hey, can I borrow your light? Mine just decided to die."
The car goes silent. None of us had noticed the lanky woman, wrapped in a cardigan and clutching a cigarette pack, approach the truck. She came down the driveway from the house. On autopilot, I hand her my lighter. "Thanks." She carefully selects a cigarette from her pack. Her light brown eyes flicker between the three of us as she extends her hand to me. "You must be John." The hand is as slender and grey as the rest of her.
"Uh—" I stammer.
John reaches over me and takes the hand. They both have a firm grasp. "Actually, that would be me," he clarifies, "Who—?"
"Oh!" Her voice perks up, and the cigarette goes limp in her hand. "I'm sorry, I'm not thinking. My name is Lizzie." She gestures back to the house, "I'm your brother's girlfriend." She hesitates, "Charlie, that is."
John's face freezes for an awkward beat of silence. "Ah," he nods. "Lovely to meet you, Lizzie." The sentiment emerges choked.
The back door of the truck opens. "I'm Athena." She steps out of the car to meet Lizzie on an even field and extends hand. "We're all so happy that you're here." My sister is a much better actor. The energy in her voice gives no hint that anything is wrong.
I notice, however, the slight strain in Lizzie's eyes before she breaks out into a smile and enthusiastically shakes Athena's hand. "Wow, you all have such good genes—absolutely stunning. You guys could all be in movies or something, I always tell Charlie that." She nervously laughs.
"I guess it runs in the family," Athena responds. Her dark eyes watch Lizzie very closely.
Lizzie's gaze defaults back to me. I give John a lingering glance before also stepping out of the car, and ruin any illusion of sanctuary the space had offered just moments before. I place my cigarette between my lips and offer her my now vacant hand. "It's nice to meet you."
She meets my eyes, and I instantly look away. The taste of vomit lingers at the back of my throat, and I know she's greeting the gaunt, glassy-eyed thing that was staring at me in the side mirror the entire car ride home. I can't fix how I look right now, and I also can't stop the shame that comes with that lack of control.
Lizzie clears her throat. "So, process of elimination, you must be Will." Her hand grasps mine, and everything suddenly feels too real, too immediate, too present. "The two of you are twins, right? You look older than high school students." She doesn't ask the reason we're not in school, but I get the feeling that just by looking at me she already knows why.
Her hand falls back to rest on her midsection and mine returns to the cigarette. Lizzie's brown eyes dart back to the house and then quickly meet Athena's. It seems like Lizzie's exhausted her small talk reserve and we fall into more awkward silence. Lizzie's mouth opens and closes.
Athena doesn't jump to her rescue this time. Instead, she cooly watches Lizzie struggle.
I sigh. "How did you and Charlie meet?"
"Through work," Lizzie answers, clearly relieved. "About three years ago now."
"Doing what?"
"Nonprofit," she explains. "At a recovery centre."
"Alright." I don't know what to say to this.
John shuts the driver side door harder than I think he intends. It feels terribly final. He shares a look with Athena's over the hood of the car and gestures for her to proceed.
My sister's eyes bounce back to me with a clarity that makes me want to hide before she continues up the driveway with a slight skip in her step. John follows with his back straight as an arrow and hands balled into fists in his jacket pockets. As we approach the front door, I step to the side and indicate that I need to finish my smoke.
John's eyes flash with murder. "Will..." His voice is part-warning, part-plea.
To my other side, Lizzie finally lights up, attempting—I assume—to give us some notion of privacy. I only shake my head and cling to the dwindling third of my cigarette like some perverted lifeline. Athena pushes forward into the house. John's eyes linger on me before he turns to follow. The door closes behind him. Just like that, we've failed at any pretence of unity. I've failed.
Lizzie hands me back my lighter. She seems like some kind of video game mini-boss that shows up before the final fight, which waits just beyond the door. Without John and Athena watching me, the stomach-turning, fist-clenching sense of fear I'd felt this morning comes back. Like it's been hiding away inside of me this entire time. Waiting. Today is a never-ending spiral and I'm completely fucking powerless to stop it. Does it always have to feel like this?
There's something wrong with me.
"Are you nervous about seeing your brother again?"
I offer Lizzie a placating smile. "Something like that. It's been a long time."
I'm afraid of how I'll react. I'm afraid there won't be enough air.
A genuine curiosity fills her eyes. "I guess things are doomed to be a little tense."
I can't be here.
I shrug. "Hopefully not for long, right?"
Fuck.
"Aren't you a little young to be smoking?"
I'm afraid of Charlie. I'm afraid of myself.
I stub the cigarette out on the side of the house. "I guess so, yeah."
There's something wrong with me.
"Well," she says. "Maybe we can quit together. I've been meaning to for a while now."
"Is it hard?"
"I like to think of it as a matter of willpower, right?"
"Right."
"Ready to go in?" She nods towards the door.
A matter of willpower. I twist open the handle and step into the house.