Brendan Dude

It was a while before I truly contacted my fellow Plaster Casters. It still hurt too much to talk about things, but at least it was something I could do more with Luke. Thank God he was my best friend, or else he would’ve probably told the others some bad stuff and they’d have kicked me out.

About two days later Mom and Dad took Joey down to a psychiatrist, a good move, seeing as how he almost killed himself recently. I guess the word got out, even if I didn’t open my mouth (I was too scared of what he might have done to me). Maybe he was finally taking responsibility and making an effort to pull himself together.

Maybe…

I don’t know what it was about that day. Everything was slow. When I got up, I had to roll myself out of bed, but my effort was on par with a sloth’s. I didn’t even feel like eating breakfast, so I skipped it. For lunch I had a cold hot dog without the bun. It was a crappy day, to say the least. Boring. Awful. Lonely. I could have at least had Joey there to keep me company, even if we still weren’t on a totally brotherly level yet. Just because I saved his life, it didn’t mean we were friends. To him, anyway.

I just hoped he was doing alright.

It was early in the afternoon. Around two o’ clock. I sat with my back against the front of the couch, tired, slouching, flipping through channels on the TV. Nothing was on. Ugh. At one point I was so fed up I just turned it off and threw the remote at the coffee table.

I really had no drive.

None.

No reason to live.

No passion to make it.

Why was I even breathing?

Why was I living? Why was I pulling myself through the days if they were all the same? What was making me think about this stuff right now? Would I be thinking like this if I just hitched a ride with Ren’s mom a couple Fridays ago?

I tell ya, it must’ve had something to do with all that crap. It couldn’t have been normal. I just…I never acted like that. I never wanted to ponder life and all its questions and why the hell we’re here and all that shit. But I did that day. Why? I really don’t know. That’s the only question I still want answered.

The doorbell rang.

I rolled my head to face the door, looking up at the doorknob that seemed stories taller than me. “Who is it?” I shouted.

“Soria!” an outside voice responded. Dang. These walls were thin.

I took in the name for a second. Soria. Our guitarist. That’s right. “Come in.”

Silence. I almost said it again, but then the door eased open as if she’d never been in my house before. She had – if we held band practice, half the time it was held here. Hesitantly, she stepped in, the light framing her silhouette from behind. It was a beautiful day…

“Brendan?”

“Yeah?”

She closed the door slowly behind her, taking small steps toward me. I noticed a backpack on her back; she pulled it off and tossed it aside.

Shit. Today was a school day.

“Where were you today?” she whispered, taking a seat on the couch above me. I leaned my head back, the cushion soft against my cranium.

“Here,” I groaned.

Soria laid a hand on my head, smoothing my hair. “You okay dude?”

I shrugged. “I think.”

I heard her chuckle quietly. “What does that mean?”

“…I don’t know.”

She bent down, sitting on the edge of the couch. We were almost at eye level. “If you wanna talk about something…I’m here right now. I got time.”

I turned around to face her, looking up into her eyes. Crystal clear, they showed concern. I gulped, not used to having people want to help me out. She was like a sister. She always had been. I never really realized it before then.

Tears were coming.

Before I knew it I sobbed, breaking down crying for the umpteenth time in a week. She wrapped an arm around my shoulder, doing her best to hug me, though it was kind of useless seeing as how we were both facing the same way. I turned around and, on my knees, held onto her around the waist like I was tackling her. I’d imagine it must have felt weird to have me between her legs, but she didn’t push me away. She pulled me closer, wrapping her arms tight around my body to hold me close.

I cried into her shoulder, bawling my eyes out, more than I had in my entire life. It didn’t matter. It was about every wrong thing in the world I could find to cry about. David. Joey. Whatever the hell was ailing me, it came out in the form of tears. It just poured out, out of me and onto her.

Her hand was clasped tight around my head, holding me close to her collarbone; her other arm was wrapped around my shoulder. She was soft and warm, not minding even if a little snot dripped out. Nobody else in the world at the moment would have done that for me, I didn’t think.

Once in a while she’d rub my back in an attempt to soothe me. It didn’t work, but I was grateful anyway that she cared. “It’s alright,” she had whispered in my ear a few times, not making a difference in the tear flow.

Finally I had enough. I pulled all my strength together and choked out, “No it’s not. It’s my fault.”

She only held me tighter.

But I pushed her away.

“It can’t be your fault – you didn’t kill him.”

I looked like a mess, I’m sure. But I looked into her soul through her eyes, defying the false statement that had come out of her mouth.

“Look. Don’t try it. I know it is. If I didn’t get out of the car David would’a known I was in it with him and he would’a pulled over or whatever and he wouldn’t be dead. But I had to shut the door in his face. I had to fucking tell him he should’a died. I should’a stuck with him and told him to just pull over and let me drive. Something…”

It was all out of anger. Every sentence. Pure violence. Not to her. Not to David. But to myself. It was a moment of self-disgust. And like the rest of that day, I’m still not sure what brought it on, but it did, and I wouldn’t be the same person if it didn’t.

“Brendan…” Soria whispered.

I just kept on kickin’ myself. “Don’t try.” I pulled my arms out from around her and tried to wipe my eyes – it was no use. The tears were too much; my jacket wouldn’t soak them up.

And I pushed myself up with all my might, another mind taking over my body. And you know what I did? I went into the kitchen.

I ignored the shouts coming from Soria.

I pulled the drawer open.

But when she pulled me back around the waist, I felt it. It was like getting the wind knocked out of me. I’m not completely sure what drove me to do all of it. Hell, I’m not completely sure it even happened. It might just be a dream I still see some nights today. But whatever it was, or whoever it was, or whenever or however or why, it’s just one of those things that can’t escape from my memory no matter how hard I try.

I pushed Soria’s arms away and grabbed a steak knife.

You know how right before you’re about to face something you’re terrified of, all those weird thoughts go through your head? It doesn’t even have to be something you’re scared of. It can just be something you’ve anticipated for a lifetime. But it all just goes by so fast. I don’t know for sure, but I think that’s what’s called life flashing before your eyes.

Well, my life flashed like a camera. When the sunlight gleamed off the knife as I pulled it out of the drawer, I almost went blind.

“Don’t fucking do it!”

Soria’s voice shook with fear. Terror. Yep. This was the kid she met over a year ago who never seemed like the kind of person who’d resort to self-destruction. And yet there I was, completely out of character. And yet somehow…some way…it happened.

The blade graced my throat. I didn’t slice it. Life was still flashing in front of my eyes. I wanted to savor it all and reminisce; to take it all in…my first bike ride…when I fell off the ladder at Ren’s house…minutes ago when Soria was holding me…

Soria was in tears just like I had been. Both of her hands were over her mouth; her knees wobbled like pipe cleaners as if she’d topple over any second. She stood back warily, whimpering some incoherent things like if she said something too loudly, I’d kill myself.

“Don’t step closer or I’ll do it.”

She took a few steps back, wide sapphire eyes gleaming with fear.

“D-don’t! Please…Brendan…”

The feeling of the blade against my skin grew stronger – this bitch hurt. I almost pulled it away until the not-Brendan thoughts came back and persuaded me to keep on staying off.

“Give me one good reason not to.”

“Because you’re like my brother!”

She almost cut me off. Right when I finished the prompt she shouted it loudly, harsh enough to penetrate even my numbed ears.

And I eased the knife away.

Soria stepped closer. Slowly. Hesitantly. As if she didn’t believe what I was doing. I didn’t blame her.

Her hand was on the knife’s silver sharp part. She grasped it in between her thumb and index finger, careful to not stab herself. Gently, she pulled it out…and I let go.

It landed in the sink with a loud thunk.

We were eye to eye. Completely unaware of everything else. Just her and me. We were the only ones in the world as far as we were concerned. She stood weak, wearing her heart on her sleeve, while I stood strong, trembling like a dog shitting razorblades in the inside.

And I came apart…right in her arms. Again.