I looked for somewhere to place blame.
How had this happened?
How had my little brother fallen through the fucking cracks?
Time ticked by, and just like I predicted, I wasn’t able to sleep. My mind was racing, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I tried to think about how I could fix this, but there was no way to fix it. No amount of money or added staff could fix what had been done. My brother would not only carry this with him, but so would the other girl and that baby. I couldn’t begin to think of the mess that my parents were going to have to weed through with all of this.
I felt so helpless.
I was such a dick.
I couldn’t fix anything regarding Chase, but I could fix and apologize to Patrick for my behavior. I got out of bed and walked out into the great room. The kitchen and great room lights had been dimmed, and Patrick was nowhere in sight. I went to his room and peeked inside the partially opened door. His nightstand light was on, so I knocked lightly on the door and then went in.
Patrick was shirtless and sitting up in bed. On his lap he had his blue notebook open, and a pen was nestled between his thumb and index finger. Resting between his lips was a vanilla wafer cookie and sitting on the bed beside him was the box. My dad would always sit in the evening and share vanilla wafer cookies with Patrick. The cookies would settle his stomach when it was upset and after the kind of day we’d had, I understood why he was nibbling on them.
His eyes were on mine as I walked toward him. He picked up the box of cookies and held it out for me to take one. I took the box from his hand and set them on his nightstand. I leaned down and bit off part of the cookie that was between his lips. Patrick began to chew the rest of the cookie as I nudged him to scoot over.
He moved the notebook off his lap and set it on the bed next to him. I slouched down, turned onto my side, and rested the side of my face between his chest and abdomen. I could hear him drop the pen onto the nightstand seconds before his arm wrapped around my back. He was warm and so comforting. I reached across his lap and carefully picked up his tattered journal.
“What were you writing? Can I see?” I asked him.
For as long as I’d known Patrick, his written words were often more insightful than his spoken words. He’d grown up under terrible circumstances, and he practically had to be quiet. Things were that way until he came to live with us. Patrick had shared his journal with me many times, and when I’d get to read it, I’d see everything he felt and thought.
Patrick tilted the journal up so I could read it.
I hate that someone hurt them.
I hate that someone did something to make them have to face something so ugly.
Something so gruesome.
Something so heartbreaking.
Something so difficult to understand from where they’re sitting.
Something that will keep them up at night worrying about or replaying over and over.
I’m thankful that he called me.
I’m thankful that none of them saw him so close to giving up.
I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. My throat felt tight, like it was closing up on me. I felt an ache deep in my throat and swore that each time I swallowed, I felt the ache in my chest. Tears were gathering in my eyes, and a pounding headache had formed.
“How do you know so much about this shit?” I asked as I closed my eyes, hoping to keep the tears from falling. When Patrick tugged me a little closer against him, I had a feeling that he’d felt the tears on his bare skin that had escaped my eyes.
“Because. I felt it all so many times before you and your family rescued me.”
I’d known about the various types of abuse Patrick endured and how they affected him. I understood a lot of it based on conversations I’d had with my parents, grandpa, and Patrick himself. Patrick had sixteen excruciating years of it. Chase had about four. And it was almost stomach turning to think of my little brother being forced into that position. Or anyone for that matter. But Chase. Fuck, not Chase.
“I should have known something bad was going on with him,” I finally said out loud.
“Hollis—”
“I should have known something was causing him to not care much about school or to quit soccer.”
“Hollis—”
“He was always so funny. Quirky. Loveable. Trusting. And some sick fuck took all of it from him! Chase probably hates me. For years he didn’t even trust me to come to me.”
