This is the right time.
24
Jared
She rushes past me, the hitch in her breathing telling me she’s crying, or about to.
Emilia.
Emmy.
I don’t look at her. I can’t.
All of my humanity, whatever is left of it – it’s all focused on the bed in front of me.
I take a single step. Another.
Ben watches me silently, until I’m right next to him, gripping the cool rail that surrounds his bed. “You look like shit, Ben Ben.”
The smallest smile crosses his lips, tilting them up. “You can’t tell a dying man they look like shit. That’s savage, Jar.”
Savage is all I’ve got.
This is all I’ve got to give him. Because if I don’t give him shit, I’ll give him my grief instead, but the weight of it would bury him.
My brother doesn’t look as if he’ll survive a light breeze at this point.
I sniff, blowing out a breath. “Shift over, then.”
Ben’s lips part at the familiar words, his response slow. “I’m not a kid anymore.”
***
“Shift over.”
I roll my eyes at my little brother. Benny offers me a hopeful, teary smile. Bear is clutched to his chest, the ragged toy in dire need of a bath. “You can go back to bed. I’m okay.”
“Shut up.” I nudge him, eyeing the other bunk beds. Everyone else is asleep, or pretending to be. “Budge up and let me in. You’re taking up the whole damn bed.”
Sighing, I shove him over and fold myself onto the small, hard mattress. Benny rolls into me, a skinny elbow jabbing into my side and making me grunt. “Will you stop? Close your eyes and go to sleep.”
“Can’t,” he whispers. “Tell me a story, Jar.”
I purse my lips, staring at the ceiling. “I’m all out of stories.”
“Pwease.” He can’t pronounce the word properly. “Oh. I did it again.”
“You’ll grow out of it soon. Don’t worry.”
He’s only six. I suppose it’s kind of sweet.
“And then I’ll be eleven,” Ben sounds awed. “Like you.”
“Yep.” We can work on his math skills another time.
There’s a thud from downstairs, and Ben flinches.
I raise my arm, and he curls himself underneath it. The shouting starts up again.
