I wanted to deny it. I wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up and that she was only my best friend. But the words literally evaporated on my tongue when I opened my mouth.
Walking a little further into the room, I leaned my back against his closet door and sighed. I rubbed my hand through my hair and finally met his eyes.
“I don’t wanna fuck it up.”
Emmett only stared at me, taking in what I’d said.
My brother and I, we hadn’t had a decent conversation in so long. He’d been away at his hell school for the last year and when he’d come home for a visit, he’d stay holed up in his room or be out behaving wildly with friends.
Just like tonight. Except tonight, whatever friends he had been with weren’t the best, apparently.
I would never admit it aloud, but I missed him. I missed my older brother and I hated that he was so closed off and angry at the world. I didn’t understand it. Not entirely, anyway. He was just unhappy, all the time.
“You won’t fuck it up, Dawson. You care about her too much to fuck it up.”
My heart was heavy and I felt like I was being smashed by a tidal wave of uncertainty.
“So, what’s going on?” I asked, changing the subject.
He blew out a sigh and popped himself back up on the bed.
“I was just coming to tell you that I was leaving.”
My brows folded. “What do you mean you’re leaving? I thought break was for another week.”
Emmett stared at me for a few uncomfortable seconds and then let it all pour out.
“I’m tired of being here. I hate it here. I hate this house. I hate how Mom and Dad are always breathing down my neck and telling me to ‘get it together.’ I fucking hate how they don’t know me at all. They don’t know you, either. They don’t know anything but how to bury themselves in work; they think that if they make enough money, all will be right in the world. I’m sick of it. I’m angry here and I become angrier with each passing second that I’m in this town and this house.”
Silence crossed between us. I heard everything he was saying and I understood every single bit of it.
He was right. He and I – we were basically on our own. We’d been on our own for so long. I honestly can’t remember the last time we all ate as a family. I think back, and it must have been when we were still in grade school, and even then, our parents probably talked nonstop about their jobs, or bickered. It was kind of depressing, now that I truly thought about it.
Our parents weren’t terrible. It wasn’t like we didn’t get fed or had to fend for ourselves. We weren’t forced to get jobs to pay our car payments and insurance. They’ve always showered us with materialistic things and we’ve always received a load sum of money each month into our accounts, but that was it. No lengthy but helpful conversations about school, or college. No talk of an upcoming family vacation. We didn’t really talk at all.
And the only time I heard my parents converse was if they were discussing work or if they were arguing.
It made my chest ache to think about it. I felt suffocated by tension in my house. Like the walls were closing in on us.
“Where are you going to go?” I asked.
He looked around the room for a brief second before answering. “I’m staying with a friend. I’ll finish the next couple of months at the school and then I’ll get a job and figure out what I want to do for the rest of my life. I’m just… I’m done, Dawson.”
I nodded, my back still pressed along the wall. I briefly thought about how freeing it would feel to just leave. My future was kind of blurry when I looked into it. I figured I would just work with my dad after high school, or maybe go to college and then work with him. He’d have to retire eventually from his contractor’s job; he owned the business and he used to tell Emmett he wanted him to take over.
Maybe I would take over one day. Did I want to? I wasn’t sure. I hadn’t really put much thought into it. All I knew was that I liked to play soccer, hang out with my friends, and be with Ivy. Those were the only things I cared about.
It wasn’t like that with Emmett, though. He was very adamant and made it clear to my parents that he didn’t want to work with my father. He didn’t want to take over the business—if I remember correctly, he liked to draw.
He was always drawing and creating stuff when we were younger. My mom used to encourage it when
we would sit on the living room floor and play as kids, but as he got older and more interested in art, she stopped noticing or caring. One or the other.
My father used to encourage him to focus on school. To focus on woodshop or math (two things that would pertain to his line of work). Emmett wanted none of it, which was more than likely the culprit to him acting out so much.
“I’ll help you pack,” I finally said. Emmett looked surprised, like he’d thought I was going to tell him not to go. Like I wouldn’t understand what he was feeling or where he was coming from. But even if I hadn’t understood, it didn’t matter. The only thing I wanted was for him to be happy.
“What are you going to tell Mom and Dad?” he asked, pulling out a duffel bag and shoving some of his clothes inside.