“Strong man don’t exist, no undying man exists, weak man don’t exist, no, just flesh and blood exist. I bet your mother would be proud of you,”
Emiliano was lucky he became an actor and not an advertiser, because he was not doing quite the job at advertising the drinks.
“Your lost,” He had playfully commented with a grin. He had wanted to say something different like, your my brother, how can I not worry about you too, but with the way this conversation was going, such a comment would not stir in his favor, so he had went with the practical comment, the easy teasing one. But still, he could not help but to feel uneasy as they started at him.
If they had drinks in their hands too, perhaps it would be easier, especially If it’s an alcoholic one. It would be better for him to talk to a drunk them than a sober them, because if they were drunk, they would not realize how many empty pieces were missing in the puzzles, and they would not make sense of what he was saying. Then, when they confront him when they are sober, he would say to them, I already told you guys everything and walked away, without feeling anything. But they did not want to drink, instead, they wanted to be direct, asking too many questions.
Actually, no, that was a lie. They had not really asked too many questions. In fact, this was one of the very first questions: “Why didn’t you call?” He had wanted to say a lot of different things, but he did not know how to convey them, and he could not help but wish that this was a script. That this was part of a movie, and he had the exact lines to say, but there was no script to tell him what to say. Thus, his gaze had flickered from Santiago to Sunny as he struggled to find the right words, telling them that all this was everything but their burden—a comment that did not bring any smiley faces.
Santiago had been the one to speak first, then Sunny, stating that he was their brother, that of course it was their burden. But it wasn’t; they didn’t understand, they never would. But still, the replies from both Santi and Sunny struck him as he gazed at Santiago. He had asked if he had noticed the way they’ve changed. Of course he had! From the moment he stepped onto the cruise, he had noticed that the Beverly Shores he had come to know was not the same. He had noticed that Santiago wore strange earrings, his outfit very informal, very casual, very loud for this type of setting. An outfit that their mother would never have allowed him to wear and Santiago would never even think of wearing. He noticed that Santi’s eyes looked older in a way, the way his posture had changed. And Sunny, her hair was shorter than he was used to seeing, the style framing her face differently, emphasizing the sharpness in her features. Her eyes, once filled with youthful exuberance, now held something else: a depth, a weight that hadn’t been there before.
He noticed all of that, but what about them? He wanted to ask if they had noticed how he had changed. Because that did not seem to be the case. They didn’t even care to ask how he had been doing. This whole thing had been about them and them alone. Why he had not called, why he had not noticed the way they’ve changed, and all that. Not one question had been about his own mental health, his own fucking feelings. They did not even notice that he had lost a lot of weight, though he was trying and struggling to gain it back, or how pale his usually sun-kissed skin looked, because his whole coming back just had to be about them. “Of course, I noticed,” His voice came out a bit harsher than he intended. He had coughed, changing his tone as once again he stated:, “I noticed the change,” his voice horsed. "Time really changes people, does it not?’ He knew they wanted him to say something else, perhaps ask about the change(he wanted to) or perhaps act a little bit confused about it, so they could explain it to him, they could pour out their feelings even more. But he couldn’t.
Still, as his eyes flickered from one to the other, he wanted to ask, why. Why did Santi look like that…, less of the brilliant legendary actor he was and more of a … well actually he did not know how to define Santiago’s dressing, but it just was not him and why had Sunny cut her hair? Why were her eyes dim? But he could not bring himself to ask. Instead, he had taken another sip of his drink, wishing he was anywhere but here, dealing with this, today of all days.
There was a silence that threatened to drown them, until Santiago eyes suddenly began to tear, startling Emiliano as finally Santiago voiced out, We thought you were dead,
The words hung heavy in the air, their weight pressing down on all three of them, and Emiliano felt a pang of guilt for leaving, but then, as if trying to surpass that guilt, he had thought, If they had tried looking for him or asking around, they would have known that he was not dead if they had put a little more pressure on asking the mothers if they knew where he was. That was what he was trying to think, to put in his mind, but none of it made sense, did it? No one was supposed to know where he had gone, and no one was supposed to know how he was fairing; not even his mothers knew all that was happening. But he needed a scapegoat, he couldn’t blame himself for all that had happened, part of it was their fault too.
He wanted to go on thinking that, but then Santiago had sweet up the red mesh of his shirt to show the tattoos of his ribcage, two sets of angel wins. One that the initials for him and the other for Mattias. Before Emiliano could go off on his own thoughts, Santiago had suddenly dropped the bomb, stating that Sunny had them too, and Emiliano’s eyes flickered to her. She had pushed back her sleeve to show him the outside of her wrist, where she had chosen to place them.
One for him and one for Mattias, God… that was right, Mattias was dead, he was never going to see Mattias again, Mattias was-before Emi knew it, he started to tear, his mind had swirled with a thousands of thought before he cursed and threw his glass to the ground, the wine splattering in all directions, as the glass shattered against the floor. His chest had rose ad fallen as he had placed his fingers on his hair, tugging them as if he wanted to get rid of his hair.
Slowly his hands began to fall from his head, dropping to his sides as his eyes locked with the shrads of glass, his mind racing. I… he had began, shouldn’t have done that, he completed, bending down to clean up the mess he’d made, but some of the glass had pierced his skin, startling both of his siblings. Aish Sunny had said, and if it was before, if everything was still the same, he would have chuckled at that and said Aish indeed, exclaiming how one of their moms will be quite worried. But all he could do was stare at the trash can numbly, as he threw away the glass pieces. Sunny though, his dear sister, had grabbed some nearby napkins and began to wrap them around his hands, trying to help stop the bleeding, as he looked away, not wanting to look her in the eyes as he began to speak, a weird smile etching on his face as Sunny tightened her grip on him.
'Why, so we could have held your funeral first?” She muttered.
“Perhaps, then-” He was about to continue, but by then, Santiago’s hands were firmly placed on his shoulders, startling Emiliano as he looked up at his elder brother.
His brother’s voice had been demanding, questioning what he meant by seven years. For a split second, Emiliano was transported back to their childhood days, when instead of Santiago, after Emiliano had made a mistake, had injured himself, Mattias would firmly place his hands on his shoulders, worry etched on his face, as he asked, “What happened to you?” before he would ever ask, “Why did you do that?” or “What did you break?” But Santiago was not Mattias, and he was never going to see Mattias again.
He didn’t want to cry; he was not supposed to cry. He was a 33-year-old man, for goodness’ sake. But when the embarrassing tears started to spill down his cheeks, Emiliano could not stop them. He shrugged Santi’s hands from his shoulders and released his hand from Sunny’s, using his now free hands to cover his face.
“I just,” he muttered through his fingers, his voice choked with emotion. “All this,” He didn’t know where to start or where to end. “Wyatt,” He choked on his own words as he brought up his friend name, “it’s…” He started to stutter, his voice faltering. “No, no, Not Wyatt, him,” He couldn’t bring himself to say who the him was. “Yes, Wyatt,” He said standing up, as he ran fingers through his hair, his face pained as he looked from Sunny to Santiago. “It was supposed to be me,” He said finally, “I’m the reason…”
Emiliano’s hands shook violently as he ran them through his hair, gripping the roots as if trying to pull himself together. He looked at the floor, his vision blurred by tears he couldn’t control. His breaths were shallow and rapid, chest rising and falling in a panicked rhythm. “I’m the reason he’s in jail, Goddamit,” He paced the room, steps erratic and heavy, his fists clenched at his sides. “He wasn’t the…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it, to say what the crime was that put Wyatt in jail, “I was the one who should have been thrown in that cell, I was the one who did it- the accident.” He tugged at his hair harsher, frustration echoing. ““And then, and then I met him, he promised…” Emiliano’s words trailed off, his voice catching as a sudden cough overtook him. It started as a mild rasp, then escalated into a fit that wracked his body. His chest heaved with each cough, each one deeper and more painful than the last. His chest began to feel tight, as he clutched it.
Finally, the coughing subsided, leaving Emiliano breathless and exhausted. He leaned heavily against a nearby chair, chest heaving, face flushed with exertion and embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” he managed to croak, his voice hoarse and strained. “It’s… it’s just…” He trailed off, unable to find the words to explain the sudden onset of his symptoms. “I killed him, I…” He was about to say more, when finally, as if saved by the bell- he could hear them shouting for them, telling them to come as the games are beginning. The traditional games, and he felt his hands on his neck, as he looked away. “I guess that is our cue,” He says, as he began to walk away, going as fast as he could before they could call for him.
@raviola
@Caticorn
mentioned:
@benitz786
#canbemanipulativewhenneeded ??
would it be strange if I sent it now? Heh