Derision (The Broken Bonds 7)

slip Chase’s shirt on and pad to my office before I lose momentum. I’ve come this far, all that’s left is the truth. After I grab my purse and return, I sit next to Chase on the couch and show him the picture I keep with me.

“This is me and my brother, Jake.”

He doesn’t say anything as he stares at the picture of Jake and me standing before the Air Force Memorial, his arm slung around my shoulder. It was taken during one of my visits home from college, right before our mother got sick.

“I didn’t realize at the time that he was already off his meds,” I say, running my thumb along the edge of the photo. “And when everything hit, no one was really paying attention to how bad off he was getting.”

“Alexis.” His deep voice can’t help but stir the quiet of the room. It sends a shiver over my skin. “We need to go back to what happened after the funeral—”

“No.” I tuck the image away in my purse and roll my shoulders. “There’s no going back in time.” I almost laugh, just hearing myself say it aloud. “I was weak. Instead of taking responsibility, I panicked. I walked away from my brother and went back to college. I let him go off to live with our aunt, who knew nothing about his mental condition. He had no insurance, no way to get his medication, and he started self medicating.”

“He’s an addict,” Chase says so boldly, I balk.

“He’s sick,” I clarify. “With everything that happened…everything he went through—”

“That you both went through,” Chase cuts in.

“—do you blame him?”

“Yes.”

The air is charged, the snap of quiet buzzing in my ears as I hold his unwavering gaze. “He needed me, his sister, to take care of him. And I ran away from all of it. I ran away from him.”

He takes my hand in a move so intimate, my breath halts in my chest. “I’m pretty damn sure you were suffering shock, Alexis. You can blame yourself all you want, but none of your brother’s actions, his choices, are your fault.”

Pulling free, I run my hands down my face, over my hair, clearing away the remaining debris from my mind. “I know. I do know that. Now,” I say, and I hate the way it sounds. Magnified in the stillness of the room. “When I recovered, if you can even call it that, I went to him. I apologized, tried to explain, but he was so angry. At me, our parents, the world. And for the past two and a half years, I’ve been trying to make it up to him. I’ve been trying to fix all the wrong. But I can’t. I made a mistake, but how long am I going to be punished for it?”

Chase moves to the floor. He kneels before me, his hands cupping my face. “You’re mine, Alexis. That means I’m responsible for you. You’re not merely my possession; you’re my much longed for priority. Do you understand that?”

Do I? Not completely, but I say, “Yes.”

“I’ve taken charge of your life and your best interests, and I’m telling you now to trust me. You do not deserve the punishment you’ve already suffered, and you’re not going to keep punishing yourself.”

Stupid tears prick my eyes, and I fight to keep my lids from closing. I don’t want them to fall. “That feels…like a copout. Like I’m just passing along accountability for my actions to you.” I release a stuttering breath. “You shouldn’t have to deal with my issues…or try to fix them or me. I’m not fixable. I just am.”

He lowers his hands to my neck, his thumbs stroking my jaw as he moves closer, his breath touching me as he says, “No one understands that more than me.”

“And I’m not here to fix you,” I say, some rare courage peeking through. “You’re perfect – perfect for me and what I need. You opened a vein and my pain bled out, freeing me. I just want us to…belong to each other.”

His lips find mine then. And I again fall. I give up the guilt, and the pain, to Chase—to my dominant, strong half that will help me carry the burden. I’m not entirely free, but I’m accepting that one day I will be.

Jake and I—our relationship is broken. At some point in my life, I have to embrace that I am only partially responsible. Then accept that he’s to blame for the rest of our estrangement.

I was selfish. During the time when he needed me the most, I was consumed with my own pain. Spiraling down into a self-involved emotional vacuum. A void of selfish, venal loathing. I didn’t want to acknowledge his suffering. I couldn’t. I only had enough hatred for myself and the man who hurt me.

For that, I know I have a price to pay. And I’ve been paying it tenfold. But the veil has been lifted. When the guilt has eaten away all the shameful walls you once hid behind, and you’re able to peek above the darkness, there’s a clarity you can only find on the other side of pain.

It’s a sort of brutal, honest enlightenment that dispels all the lies.

My brother is a drug addict.

And no matter how hard I try to hold onto my guilt, accepting the full blame, he made a choice. He chose, willingly, to turn to drugs. Which was his own selfish escape.

I can, and have to, love him at a distance.

My confession aches as it pours from me. The pain is dull and deep-rooted. Chase’s arms are like bands of strength shielding me against the daylight that will make this night a memory.

I’m fearful that I won’t be the same person in the morning, but I’m even more afraid that I will. For now, I revel in his touch as he strokes my back, the seconds of silence stretching out and fortifying my attachment to him.