I Didn't Know I Could Break Your Heart

Rodger knocked lightly on the door before entering. The house seemed empty, but they both instinctively knew that it wasn't. Rodger led Marrietta through the house. The walls were covered with pictures of the family. There was one right before the living room that seemed to be the only picture of all five of them together. There was their mother, their father, Rodger, Carlos and Steven. But that was the only one. Marrietta thought she knew why.

"Dad?" Rodger called cautiously, pulling her away from the picture. He stepped into the living room and froze. A sniffling noise filled the air. He turned around in a circle as he tried to place it and when he did, he sighed, "Carlos... are you okay?"

What seemed to be just a pile of blankets in the corner started to move. Marrietta gripped Rodger's hand tighter, but he pulled away from her. A head breached the top of the blankets but silky brown hair covered the face. He managed to mumble, "Yeah, I'm fine. I guess."

Rodger sighed and knelt down beside his brother. Brushing away the mop of brown hair, it was easy to see that his face was red and his eyes were puffy. Rodger took his brother's hand and whispered, "It's going to be okay, Carlos. The whole family is here to get through this together. You're going to be fine."

"I'll never be fine again."

It took a moment for Rodger to recover from Carlos' words. Marrietta had shifted back into the corner, wanting to turn her eyes away but not being able to. A minute passed in silence and Rodger asked, "Do you know where dad and Steven are? I'd like to tell them that I'm here."

"Steven wouldn't give a damn," Carlos said angrily. His voice did not rise though and his eyes showed no signs of malice. "The bastard has been swinging back beers since he got here and when he ran out, he drove, yeah, that's right, drove into town to get more. The bastard-"

"Don't call him that!"

"Why not? That's what he is!"

The two brothers stared at each other for a moment in complete silence. Taking a deep breath, Rodger whispered, "Dad's forgiven mom for what happened. Maybe it's time you did too."

"You didn't see them fight, you were too effing young," Carlos hissed, his dark eyes suddenly on fire, "Dad almost left. Five times. That... that... well, for lack of better word, mother f*cker, almost came and took dad's place. Five times. You forgive her because you have no idea how it actually happened. And you're wrong if you think that I don't forgive her too. I do. Who I don't forgive is the dumbass who knocked her up and that bastard who thinks he's welcome here."

"He is welcome here." Rodger shot back. He sighed and glanced towards Marrietta, trying to guess whether or not she understood. She nodded to show that she did. "Look, Steven's your brother, whether you like it or not. You're going to be okay, Carlos and the only reason you're so mad at him is because you're depressed right now." He paused, but Carlos did not say a word, "Where's dad?"

Carlos shrugged, defeated, "He went to get Steven some more beer. Said he wasn't going to let him drive like that again. Steven's in his room though, if you want to see him. He's not going to be making a lot of sense though. He's hammered and on top of that he's high. The little bastard doesn't even care about the rules mom set anymore."

"You're kidding."

"Wish I was."

Rodger shook his head in disgust and then reached out a hand to Marrietta, "Come on, let's go see how Steven's doing."

"He's not going to like seeing her," Carlos called as they left the room, "She looks too much like the female version of him."

They ignored him and kept walking. The country home was starting to feel less welcoming and more like a horror movie set. Rodger reached a door and stopped. He stared at the writing that covered it. It was mostly old sonnets and song lyrics, but the newest of the writings was in big red letters and said Keep Out. Marrietta was tempted to listen to it.

"Steven's a little worse than Carlos when he's drunk. But when he's sober, I swear you'll like him a whole lot better," Rodger said, raising his hand to knock on the door. Marrietta wrapped herself around his arm as he knocked, knowing instinctively what the voice on the other side of the door was going to yell back at them.

"Can you not read? It's written as clear as day in blood right there!"

"It's marker, Steven!"

There was a pause. "You can't prove that."

"Actually I quite easily can," Rodger replied, testing the doorknob. It was locked. "Steven, let me in. I'm not here to chew you out like Carlos."

"Do you have beer?"

"No."

"Then you're not getting in!"

Rodger swore and threw his suitcase to the ground. Rummaging through his toiletries, he called, "I've got NyQuil, will that do?"

The door swung open almost immediately. A boy, for he could not have been more than seventeen years old, stood there smiling. He had dark red hair that sat on top of his head in a way that made people wonder if it were fake. His eyes were a stunning dark blue and he barely seemed to notice either of the people before him as he reached out for the NyQuil.

He downed the whole thing in one gulp. Crinkling up his nose, he said, "God, that's disgusting. What flavour is this? Puke?"

"It's tea in a NyQuil bottle," Rodger said, shaking his head. He pushed his way past his half-brother, pulling Marrietta along with him. He shut the door so that Steven could not get out and continued, "It might help you have less of a hangover in the morning. I can't believe dad agreed to buy you beer."

Steven shrugged, "It was either that or let me out on the icy roads like this again." And he had a point there. Steven was obviously wasted. He could barely keep his balance even though he wasn't moving. His eyes were barely open and the blinds were closed. There were fast food wrappers and discarded papers everywhere. It was a wonder that mice weren't everywhere.

But then again, maybe it wasn't. The room was tainted with a smell that was the mix of alcohol and weed. On top of all of this, Steven was skinny. Way too skinny for anyone who had been eating that much food in the last couple of days. His eyes were also slightly sunken in.

"Shit," Rodger murmured as he looked around, "When was the last time you got out of this room?" No answer. "When did you start doing weed? There was no way it was only after mom died."

Steven blinked once, as if it was the first time that anyone had asked him this. But it couldn't have been. He was so noticeably on drugs that he wasn't even trying to hide it. After a moment, he shrugged, "Since you moved out."

"You were eleven."

"Oh..." Steven paused for a second, thinking, "No, it wasn't then. Uhh... When Rachel dumped me."

"Fourteen."

"Oh..." He thought for longer this time. It was clear that he really could not remember an exact date or time. He shook his head and said, in a small voice, "It was right around the time my dad came looking for me... My real dad."