From the Embers Ch. 01

Note from me:

I've edited it a bit to hopefully make it clearer who's talking, based on your feedback. I've also sexied up the language a bit to avoid turn-off words! I hope you enjoy it and be sure to throw me a comment if you see any ways for me to improve my writing - it's been of great help so far!

I'm still using my em dashes, sorry.

The story doesn't feature suicide, but reference to a family member's suicide will be mentioned! Also, please keep in mind that it's a slow build!

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My dad used to say that life was a losing battle. As a child, that saying had little to no meaning to me. My childhood ignorance had spared me the harsh realities of the bills, sicknesses and pains that had consumed his every waking moment near the end of his life. Ignorance was a luxury that I found had lulled me into a false sense of security - a foolish sheepishness that had me believing my father would always be around to guide me when the day came for me to understand this cruelty of the world.

But my father, like his late wife, fought a war against himself. Whereas my mother had died years past from cancer, his sickness was of a far darker and less televised nature... at least until the police had found him on a road shoulder with a fat bear-slug having tore through the roof of his mouth.

As much as I would've loved a farewell note, he'd left me something far more important. Dreadfully, the childhood I'd squandered by not appreciating my blissful freedom was something other than the dark, harsh realities my sister had been cast into. I had been twenty-one when he blew his head open, whereas she still had five years left of her teenage years. At fifteen years old, she'd not only lost her father, but with the remaining mortgage and our already-poor finances, I had to dedicate most of my waking hours to support us, which had cost her the closest of her friends and the only family that remained of our clan... me.

I worked hard - harder than I needed to. It was reflexive - perhaps a coping mechanism more than a need to secure our future. Whatever the reason, I needed to support her, as the month we spent starving ourselves to make ends meet had scarred me for the rest of my life. Seeing her misery - not only of having lost our dear patriarch, but from starvation and freezing, left me no choice but to pause my nursing-studies to work. And work, I did.

We got in a rhythm of not seeing one-another for weeks at a time as I balanced my jobs and saved up enough to continue my studies, but the damage had already been done. I'd gotten into the habits of a workaholic - overcome with the incessant need to earn money and be productive with every waking moment and if I did not... I'd remember her misery and I'd be treated to a profound, passing melancholy that only died as I returned to work.

That's not to say that professional life wasn't good to me. Eventually I finished, I specialized, I got a new job with a boss that I adored and who loved me like her own child... but in the field of medicine, happiness usually just precedes a fall to new lows. As an ophthalmic nurse, I gave intravitreal injections most days during regular working hours before working my rounds until bedtime. Statistically, any large-scale procedure is a battle against statistics - we all know that big complication's coming, but it's up to anyone's guess to know when or why. But I knew it as soon as I saw the patient return four days after the procedure with a red eye, astounding pain and a poor vision. It had finally happened to me, too, after dreading it for several years and hoping I'd be the one of my colleagues never to have it happen to one of my patients.

Life was a losing battle.

Never had it made more sense to me as I sat in the kitchen in the dreary, dark morning hours after yet another sleepless night. It hadn't taken my boss long to notice something was awry - we knew one-another well enough for her to see that my bagged eyes and the pain was indicative of something looming at the back of my mind. Perhaps she took pity on me for my background and for knowing my motivations, but she'd been quick to pull me aside and speak those horrible words: "We handle the bad with the good, Josh. I know you well enough by now to know that your idea of good is another shift, but when the good turns to bad, you need to have something outside of a white uniform to turn to. You're off for a month - PTO. I'll only let you get back in your scrubs after you've proven to me that you have something outside of work to live for... go home."

And so I had. I looked down at my breakfast of champions - the first drink I'd had since my twenty-first birthday. Five years of losing a battle against the inevitable and I was burned out, bummed and suffering through another sip of the whisky I'd poured for myself.

"Hello, stranger." A melodious, surprisingly cheerful voice chimed in from my left. I hadn't expected company - it was all too easy to forget I wasn't alone in this house. I looked over to see my sister in all her tall glory, smiling back at me with a pair of strange, cautious lips. Her blue eyes glanced at the bottle before returning to look into my eyes. She'd let her hair down for work and combed it well, bringing my attention to how her long, blonde strands hung all the way down to her waist. I hadn't seen her in weeks, perhaps that's why I got so caught up with her gaunt cheeks and felt a pang of jealousy at how well she wore her white shirt and the black skirt / tights combo. It took me a moment to remember that she'd taken on a part-time job as a waiter at our town's one fancy hotel and was likely headed out for the breakfast service.

I forced a smile and raised a greeting hand. "Long time no see. Care to join me for breakfast?"

Her smile turned to a smirk of worry as she saw the glass in my hand. She shook her head and took a few, cautious steps forwards before sitting down across from me. "Bit early for that, isn't it? Rough shift?"

I sighed, wishing I could just open up the floodgates I'd spent a lifetime building. As I stared into her worried eyes, I came to the realization that my only friend... my only social contact in the entire world was my twenty-year-old sister. The very same person I'd been putting walls around to shield her from the shittiness of adult life. I said: "No, everything's fine. I just got the day off, so I decided to get the day started right."

She breathed a sigh of relief as her smile returned. As if struck by a grand idea from the blue, she reached into the bag slung over the back of her chair and rummaged through the brown canvas to produce a paper which she graciously used her long, delicate fingers to lay down on the table, spun around and showed me her results. A red 'A' had been circled near the bottom - another top grade from her creative writing. I'd been so numbed by my pride in her efforts at school that I'd begun to take her genius creativity for granted, but every time I was presented with her papers, I greedily read them.

She folded her hands on the table and grew a couple of inches with pride as she saw my continued surprise, before cautiously suggesting: "Well... I know you hate time off. If you have time, maybe you could read something that wasn't some disgusting eye-stuff, for once. I'd love your feedback." Little did she know, I read all her papers. I looked sideways to find my trusted pen protruding from my table-top discarded scrubs and wrote what I always did when seeing her 'A's. A heart and an encouraging 'I'm proud of you. Love.'

Her giggle sounded almost nervous as she beamed back at me. "I'm right here, you know."

I put the paper down, sighed contently and bobbed my head. "You are. I'm proud of you, kid." I held up my fingers in the shape of a heart and found her response curious - as if she dismissed my compliment entirely, but smiled just genuinely enough to fool me on any other day. I could scarcely deny that my words should have meant little to her - I was a stranger, more than a family member.

She rose up, maintaining her smile and looked out the window at the grand clearing around our desolate, forested house and spoke: "Well, I've gotta get going. Believe it or not, there are people out there who eat, rather than drink their breakfast."

I scoffed my bemusement, but took her jab for what it was. "Point taken." I pushed the bottle aside and smiled back at her, wishing she didn't have to leave. I continued: "Before you go, Sarah... I-..." I opened my mouth without a plan in an effort to stall her. What would I say? I love her? Have a great day? "I've got some time off for the next month. Maybe-..." I narrowed my eyes at her, grimacing, still uncertain as to what the hell I was thinking when I began my efforts to stall her. All I knew was that I did not want to be alone.

Her shallow smile faded for a millisecond to make way for an expression of fleeting, profound pain, before she returned to smiling again. "I'll stay out of your hair, don't worry. I'll see if I can get some more shifts-"

I can't even begin to understand what happened. I shot up from my chair so swiftly it startled her enough to thump her back against the wall. "No!" I likely appeared a savage when I shouted my desperate plea. I gathered myself before continuing: "N-no, that's not what I meant. I just... I'd like to spend some time together. I'm not sure what we'd do, exactly, but... I mean, we used to go fishing?" If I'd shit on a platter and tried to serve it to her, I still believe she'd be less confused. Upturned brows and wide eyes aside, her shock soon turned to bemusement.

She flashed her teeth in a warm smile and brought her feet together in an almost nervous gesture before stating: "I'd like that. I'll be done at noon... if you've got the day off..." She trailed off in a manner so similar to my own, it wasn't hard to see where she'd picked up her habits.

With a crooked smile of my own, I promised: "I'll pack lunch."

Incapable of helping herself, she raised her eyebrow and spoke over her shoulder: "Solid, if it's not too much to ask."

I couldn't tell you why I was struggling with a tangible nervosity as I prepared our trip. I suppose, after all that time, I was simply jittery about disappointing her - that she'd remember our outing as a mockery of our childhood hangouts with our father, rather than what I'd hoped it'd be, whatever that was. All I knew was that every second on my own was torture - my mind would traverse the great tempus to when I looked into that infected eye and saw my career, my life and the rest of that old woman's life as a one-eyed flash before me. I desperately sought something to stall the pain and, her being the only target of my distractions, I felt bad as I picked her up and drove her up the winding valleys in silence.

Everything seemed so much smaller at our fishing spot. The rock where we'd sit and watch our bobbers, the stream itself - even the waterfall that had once awed me now seemed so... insignificant. By far, the most beautiful thing in that clearing was now my sister's long, blonde hair dancing in the breeze from where she sat on the blanket and gobbled down her sandwich with the ferocity of someone starved for days.

We hadn't spoken a word other than the 'yes' or 'no' questions as we unpacked my bag for the sudden lunch-out. "Slow down, champ. It's been years since I last heimliched." She stopped her chewing and looked down at her sandwich with a passing shame before returning to chew on the bread, much slower this time around.

After swallowing, she raised a sudden, unexpected question, but did not meet my eyes.: "Josh... is something wrong?" I wanted to say 'I blinded someone and I'm not sure I can keep working, knowing that.' but ultimately ended up revealing nothing.

"I.. don't think so. How come?" I felt nervous just asking. She swallowed and looked around for the bottle of coke I'd sat on the rocks in front of her.

With a dry mouth, she cautiously spoke: "You look rough. And we haven't done this since-... I just need to know you're all right. It runs in our family... you're not gonna do something stupid, are you? This isn't how you'd say farewell to me?"

I was shocked more than anything - astounded. I knew I likely appeared rough and worn, but the thought of blasting my head off in an homage to our father hadn't even crossed my mind.

"Of course not. I go down in the dumps sometimes, but nothing like he did. I'm just-..." I fell victim to the emotional wall again.

I opened my mouth to speak several times, but froze as she looked up to reveal her teary eyes and the streams of mascara running down her cheeks. "If you brought me out here just to stop talking whenever you're about to tell me what's wrong, we might as well go back home. I'd rather you go back to ignoring me... this is confusing." I reared my head with surprise, but found myself disarmed as she looked back at her sandwich and muttered: "I'm not a kid anymore... I can take it. I've been looking for a place to live - I just need somewhere cheap enough for my part-time job to pay for it."

"No!" I blurted out unconsciously, again startling her. I cleared my throat before continuing: "I don't want you to go."

She shook her head down at her half-eaten sandwich. "I know you're working your ass off to support us, but that's all you do. I owe it to you to stay out of your hair and learn to stand on my own two feet... maybe then, you'd go home and do something other than continue to work or study." I scratched my head. This was unexpected, uncomfortable and, most of all, heart-breaking. How long had this been building?

I scooted slightly closer and bent down to steal her gaze back. "Hey... we're good on money. I've just... kinda picked up some bad habits."

She squeezed her eyes together and her head began to jerk as she choked back sobs. "S-So... it's about me, then. Being at work means y-you." She gathered herself for a few breaths before continuing: "You don't have to be around me."

I can't tell you what happened to me at that moment. Perhaps my cup just overfilled or maybe my heart finally shattered, but as I leapt over to hug her, I exploded in a mess of tears of my own as I pinned her to my chest and blurted out every last thing I'd worked so hard to suppress and conceal from her. From the day our father died - how I hadn't taken the time to grieve our new life, to hearing her sobbing at night from hunger and melancholy, to my recent professional failure. I spilled it all - every last, gritty, painful detail. And through it all, she'd just sat there in silence - listening as I rambled my insanity into her ear. I'd fought not to cry, but like the battle I'd been waging against life itself, it was useless. I'd wept like a beaten child and squeezed her to my chest hard enough to severely discomfort her, but she hadn't moved at all throughout it all.

My mind was aflame with questions - did she hate me now for my weakness? Did she judge me for my pathetic life? I felt her rummage through her pocket, while her left hand remained on the ground, supporting her rigid form, but I kept my arms locked around her - if I was losing my sister, I was going to make damn certain I'd remember this day as when it all ended. I needed to remember the moment I finally broke and failed to protect her from the life our father had fled.

Her voice began weakly, but she soon sounded more confident than I'd heard her since she was a snotty brat. "Yeah, Clarissa? I've got... I've got a family emergency I need to deal with. I'm not coming in tomorrow. In fact, I think you'll have to cancel my shifts for the foreseeable future." She paused as the voice spoke back from her phone - a tone of understanding plastered thick on the recipient's melodious speech. "Yeah... I'm prioritizing my family." She hung up before the voice could retort and, finally, I felt her arms close around me, awakening the dread in my stomach again as she whispered in my ear: "You can rest now, big bro. Let me be the adult, for once."

The exhaustion had set in for full once I'd opened up. Evening had fallen on our town and with it, the last of my energy drained away. I couldn't even muster the strength to drive home, but even after all these years, Sarah could read me like an open book. She drove us back to the house, where I quickly fell atop the couch to look at the neat, tidy and cleaned coffee table, questioning... when had I even seen it last time?

I awoke covered in a woolen blanket, resting atop a sweetly fragranced pillow. It smelled of peaches and oranges - a combination I'd sometimes catch a whiff of on the few occasions I showered at home. More impressively, the smell of pancakes oozed through the atmosphere of our living room and I heard what appeared to be classical music from the kitchen. For a stolen moment, I was back to a time before it all happened - a time where Sarah was still in her crib suckling on her pacifier and our mother cooked for our smiling father. It was the only memory I could conjure, when he actually smiled.

I staggered upright and wiped the drool from my lip. My hair was a mess in the bright sunlight shining in through the tall windows, but I felt oddly... at peace. I savored those few, precious moments before the reality of the world inevitably came crashing down on me. "Thought I heard some rustling." I heard from the kitchen and turned to freeze as I saw her. Sarah had changed from her uniform to an airy, white shirt and a pair of homely pajama pants, but the brown, floral apron was what got me. With her pony tail slung over her shoulder, I again felt that pang of jealousy that she'd stolen away all the beauty our mother had to give and hoarded it for herself. She clapped her flour-covered apron and with a confident grin motioned for the kitchen. "Breakfast is served."

I sat there, staring at my plate with disbelief. Hospital food was nice, but this was something else - homemade pancakes, fresh from the box, with either a penis or a heart drawn on it in powdered sugar and syrup. "Not hungry?" She asked, cocking her head at me from across the table. She'd hardly touched her own.

"Starving. I'm just-..." I began, but I shook my head and began to hungrily devour the delicious food.

She huffed her bemusement and grinned at the sounding of my moans and composed herself to casually mention: "Well, as you practice not locking up on me... I took a look at our finances. Wasn't a problem since you've got some kind of OCD when it comes to bookkeeping." She was referring to the folders - oh God.

She cleared her throat and continued: "I've decided it's time for you to stop doing overtime. I don't think it's normal for a twenty-six-year-old man to be completely debt free." I paused my chewing and looked up at her with confusion. Without overtime we wouldn't be up shit's creek financially - we'd still be average for an upper middle class family, but...

I cleared my throat. "Sorry. I'm just a bit overwhelmed at... this. I haven't eaten anything warm in this house in years. And I... the overtime's-..." I began, but every fiber of my being had been honed not to burden her with my responsibilities. I sighed: "If this is about my freakout yesterday, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have vented like that out of the blue..."

A sharp toe struck my leg and when I looked back over at her, she was glaring down into her cup of freshly brewed coffee. "Stop it. Of course you should have - you should've done it years ago... I knew it was bad, but after looking at the books..." She shook her head and raised her glare back up at me, where she continued to scold me, her blue eyes glinting in the bright sunlight: "This stops now. We've lost everything and everyone. Yesterday was the first time I've heard your voice in two weeks other than grunts and groans... you being away has been the only stable thing in my life since dad died." She swallowed and wet her dry mouth with a small sip of her coffee, fingering the handle nervously as she brought it to her lips.