Hold My Hand As I'm Lowered

It always comes across as a shock when tragedy strikes.

The first bout came when I was about eight years old. I don't remember much of what happened the day I found out. All I remember is that we don't talk about what happened with other people, unless I wanted them to know, or if I needed them to know. There aren't a lot of people who know.

The second bout came around a few weeks ago, but it didn't bother me as much as it should have. My mother and I were never close. I lived in the shadow of my half-brother who was living with his biological father due to momsie "not wanting him, but his dad did", or was it the excuse of "he was the product of a one night stand, you weren't"? The world will never know now. Like I said, we weren't close, but it still came across as a shock when I got a call from the police saying that my mother was in a car accident. They found my brother after it happened. I recognized his name. I saw him on TV sometimes in shows, sometimes in movies, sometimes on awards shows. He was invited to the funeral, but he never came. Figures.

-

I didn't want to leave the UK. It was home, all that I had. I didn't want to go the US. I didn't want to live with the absent, yet beloved child that was your only family left. All I knew was his job and his name and I still hated him for missing mom's funeral.

The cab ride made me feel sick, but that wasn't because I was nervous. It was because of the thing that we don't talk about.

-

I stood in front of the door for a few minutes before knocking. I couldn't help but resent the way my finger were frail and shook before I curled them tight enough to push my fingernails into my palm. I felt angry. I felt nervous. I felt like I was going to puke, but that was the thing that we don't talk about, and maybe jet lag. I felt nervous and angry at the same time and it made me feel weak. I hate feeling weak.

I knocked a few times before letting my hand fall back down to my side. After a moment, I heard footsteps shuffling and the turn of the doorknob before the door opened and said older brother appeared before me.

I thought I was tall, and that was the truth, seeing as we were the same height. We both had our mother's chestnut brown hair, his was tucked neatly under a beanie, but he got her skin, something that I longed for. Our eyes were different, mine blue, while his were green, like emeralds, his skin was darker than mine was, he looked more like our mother, and I looked more like my father. His hand, previously tense on the doorknob, relaxed slightly.

"Elise?" I nodded. There was more silence that filled the space between us. It was clear that neither of us were sure what to do. Elise and Harry, or the siblings that had never once met. He was the adult, he should take responsibility and talk.

But instead, he picked up two of my bags and opened the door up wider for me to get through. It was a beautiful flat, I'll admit. The view overlooked most of the city of Los Angeles, smog and all. It wasn't what I was used to. The blinds filtered out most of the sunlight, which I appreciated. There was one thing that we had in common. There was a ball pit in front of a large TV mounted on the wall, but instead of an actual ball-pit, it was a full, black leather couch in the shape of a U, but the inside of it was filled in with individual ottomans of the same leather. The walls were a pale green, like lemongrass, and were adorned with posters of movies, signed and all.

"You're room's down the hall." He said from behind me, making me jump a bit a the sudden sound.

"Okay." I couldn't manage to get my voice above a whisper, making eye contact with him for a sixteenth of a second.

"The, uh, agent told me everything," He said gently. "Didn't know until I got the call." In my head I was beating the shit out of myself for thinking so badly of him for missing the funeral. I timidly glanced down the hallway where the room should be, the weight of the binder in my arms suddenly felt heavy. I threw one of my bags over my back and reached to take the last pieces from him, fingers still shaking from the pills. The look that crossed his face as he saw my fingers screamed "no way in hell.". That would change when he read the binder. I sighed and snatched one of the two from his hands.

"Don't worry, I'll only be here six months, then you can get back to your celebrity life." I said, adding a bit more attitude than I would never deem necessary when talking to someone you had never met. In exchange for the bag, I placed the binder in his hands. He looked at it, an expression of faint hurt from my previous comment and confusion passing over his face.

"What's this?"

"Information, medical records, doctors, medications and stuff. If you're gonna deal with me, it'd be best if you researched and read it." The look of confusion was stuck on his face.

"I've got a brain tumor." I explained, turning slightly towards the hallway. That makes three people, other than my doctors, including me and mother (may she rest in peace) that know.

"Oh." was the only response I got.

-

I was tired. Too tired to do very much. There was a window on the wall adjacent to the bed, but the dark blinds covered them, mostly. There was a bathroom next to the bed, so I made a point to sleep on the edge, like I always did. I slept fitfully that night, nightmares ruining what I had wished to be a good nights sleep. It went on for what seemed like forever, but in reality, it was about 16 hours, just enough for my body to catch up on lost time.

When I woke the next morning, there was another voice, other than Harry's. It was the same British accent that I was so used to. I smelled coffee and something else... food?

I padded my way through hallway, the flannel pajama pants that mom had gotten for me that were always too big fell past my heels, making my sound of my shuffling my feet more pronounced. I turned into the kitchen to see Harry, sounding pissed off whilst he belted out a list of things to a skinny man with brownish blonde hair who was writing them down as quickly as they left his mouth. Perched on the counter top behind them was a well-built guy with a mess of brown hair who was happily munching on a piece of toast while watching the two in front of him squabble like idiots. A few tattoos peeked through the hem of the sleeve of his right arm. His eyes looked kind, care-worn, like Mom's were. And I'll admit, he was kind of cute

"-cancel my meeting at three, I've got more important shit to do. And call my agent and two. And what else...COFFEE. Coffee. We need the place stocked on coffee because we're running out and I practically live on that shit I can't fuckin' function without it-" The burly one that was eating noticed me first.

"Hi!" He blurted out. I didn't reply, I just stared at them for a moment, and all three stared right back. I took three more steps to the coffee that was brewing so close, yet so far away from me. I reached up for one of the mugs in the cupboards, pulling one down and pouring out an entire glass. My eyes scanned the counters for sugar and found an entire tin full of it. I felt their eyes follow me as I poured one, two, three spoonfuls into the black liquid and mix it in gingerly.

"How'd you sleep?" Harry asked from behind me. I shrugged, still mixing the coffee, even though the sugar had long since dissolved.

"Erm, this is my assistant and body guard."

"Louis." The blonde said from behind me. I still heard the sound of pen on paper.

"I'm Liam" Cute boy said with a chipper tone to his voice. I turn and look at him, nodding a bit and sipping at my coffee. I felt like crying. I wanted to go home, to Olivia and Mom.

"I read the binder, all of it." Harry said, holding it out it me. I snatched it from him.

"Don't ever fucking talk about it in front of other people. Don't ever fucking tell any one about it. Ever." I said, too harshly. Again. I tossed it onto the counter next to me and hurried off to my room where I spent the next four hours reading, drinking coffee, and flipping through TV.

-

I roamed around a bit in that four hours. There was a pool, which I figured I would be spending no time at. There was a door leading to the roof, which reminded me of home, but it was locked, so I made a mental note to ask Harry about getting a key or something.

I took what was left of my pills, ate a little, and threw it back up about fifteen minutes later, and then tried to eat again, and managed to keep it down.

Harry came home as I was re-reading "The Perks of Being a Wallflower" for about the hundredth time on the couch. His hair was a pile of curls. I thought I had it bad.

'What're you reading?"

"The Perks of Being a Wallflower."

"Did you see the movie?"

"Yeah. It sucked." I deadpanned.

"I'm guess you're one of those people who prefers the book over the movie?"

"Because you can obviously guess everything about me from the vast expanse of things that you do indeed know about me." I said, not looking up from the book. He paused.

"I didn't know you were alive until yesterday." I regretted my previous answer. I couldn't reply. I heard him plop himself down on the side opposite me, and turned the TV up slightly, as to obviously not bother me. I felt like I should have left, but I didn't want to get up.

"Did you know I existed?" He asked, timidly.

"Yeah."

"What was mum like?"

"She always told me that she didn't want you, but it was obvious that she was lying."

"Oh."

Pause.

"I'll be working tomorrow."

"Ok."

"The fridge should be stocked. I did the research and I ordered your prescriptions, and such. My number if on the fridge, and so is Liam's and Louis' in case you can't reach me." I nodded.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I sat straight up and closed the book, narrowing my eyes at him.

"What?"

"I don't know, it's just sad, I just...I figure you might want to talk to someone about it, or whatever." His eyes were downcast.

"I would have enjoyed talking about it when I was ten, when they told me that the damn thing grew and I still wasn't blind yet, meaning I was going to die. They gave me eight years. I've got six more months. I'm over it already. I'm going to get ugly, and weak, and then I'm going to die. Alright? I don't care anymore." I said. He stayed silent.

"Alright then." That was the end of our conversation.

-

The next week and a half, Harry and I didn't talk much. He was filming a new movie. Louis was in and out, checking in on me, sent by Mr. Styles himself. I would actually consider Lou and I closer than Harry and I.

One morning, though, the nausea was horrible. I fumbled out of the bed, knocking the LED alarm off of the bed stand. I threw open the bathroom door and heard it slam against the wall before I violently heaved into the toilet. The acid feeling burned at my throat and tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes. Harry must have heard, because he was in there quickly. All he did was hold my hair back, which was nice. No comforting gestures. It simple fact that I wasn't left to tend to myself was comforting in its own way. He was ready with a paper towel when I was done. I weakly thanked him, wiping my mouth off before brushing my teeth. He handed me some more pills and a small cup, and I thanked him once more.

I crawled into the bed and felt him gently kiss my forehead, like Mom used to. He told me to sleep well before walking out of the room. It was nice. It felt like it was the way a brother should take care of a younger sister.

-

The next morning, I woke up to the sounds of clutter from the kitchen, I dragged myself out to see Liam instead of Louis. The smell of bacon filled the air and my sickeningly empty stomach growled. It smelled fantastic, but I wouldn't be able to keep it down. When he noticed me, he grinned and I some how managed to smile back.

"Good morning!" He said. "Sorry if it seems like I'm barging in and all, but Harry told me to stay with you for a bit, he needed Lou with him. He claimed you were 'puking your guts out' earlier."

"My guts are still intact." I said, a hint of humor coating my voice.

"Christ, you even sound like him...Please tell me that from what you've observed you two are nothing alike because I sure as hell don't need another obnoxious arse running around."

"No, we're not alike, besides looks, I guess." I replied softly. He turned and smiled at me again, still cooking out the food. The small turn up of his lips was enough to make me do the same. Fuck, he had a nice smile.

He put my food out onto a plate and set it down in front of me. It was still steaming so I decided to leave it be for a minute or two.

"I take it you're from Holmes Chapel?" I nodded.

"Yeah, you?"

"I was raised in Wolverhampton. Mum died when she was giving birth to me, and Dad died in the military. Moved in with Gran out here and met Harry through her. We've been friends for a while, so by the time she passed, I had a place to stay, and a job." He's lost so many people, I'm staying away from him. . "Guess I'm just creepin' by, y'know?"

"Yeah." I nodded feebly, nibbling on the bacon in front of me. It was fantastic.

"You going to school out here at all?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Because I'm dying "Taking time off."

Liam talked a lot. I barely talked at all. He talked about the work he did with Harry and living out in California for most of his life. He talked about what he liked, and didn't like, and how he could sing, and how he's the only one who could actually cook in his family. All I could think about was how he was hot, hot, hot. He even said that he should take me out around town, since I was new. I could only nod. Then he left and I was on my own for about three hours. Harry and I bonded later that night, while watching old reruns of the show Friends.

"Liam finds you 'bloody intriguing.'" Was the first thing he said.

"Hm." Was my hazy, half-asleep response.

"He's a good cook isn't he?"

"Mm-hm" I nodded. For some reason I added, "He's cute."

He said something else, but I had long-since fallen asleep.