Taken just before Christmas Eve Mass, in 1990-something. The smiling parents, still so in love even after years of marriage. The attractive pair of identical twin boys, no older than nine, stood in front of them. There was fire in those boys’ eyes, burning with life and promise, their Mom and Dad beaming with undeniable pride.
This was a family. This was love.
It really was a beautiful picture, a favorite even.
Yet pictures are nothing but memories. Fragments of time captured to be stuck in a frame or an album, to spark joy or nostalgia or cause an indescribable surge of pain.
Now this picture sparked nothing but broken promises and broken hearts. All thanks to me.
And the guilt was getting heavy.
Chapter One
“DO YOU HATE your brother, Blake?”
"I never said I hated my brother."
"But you implied it." Dr. Vanessa Travetti lowered her notepad and pen to her lap. She peered at me from over her black-framed glasses, and if she hadn't sufficiently pissed me off with that asinine question, I would've been all about this hot librarian thing she was giving off today.
"How exactly did I imply it?" I sneered, leveling her with my steely glare.
"You tell me."
Leaning back against the overstuffed armchair, I crossed my arms and kept my eyes trained on her. "You know, Doc, I really hate when you play these fucking mind games with me."
Her glossy pink lips quirked with an obvious amusement she never intended to show. She quickly remedied the slip-up with a hasty shake of her head. "What mind games, Blake?"
I thrust a hand toward her and shouted, "Those mind games! Everything I say, you respond with another goddamn question. Trying to weasel some bullshit out of me that doesn't even exist. Why do I hate my brother ..." I scoffed, shaking my head. "I never fucking implied that I hate my brother. All I said was, I've been taking care of him for most of my life, and I'll continue to take care of him for the rest of it. How the hell is that the same as saying I hate him?"
Head canted and lips pursed, Dr. Travetti clasped her manicured hands over her notepad. "Do you understand that it's not what you said, but how you said it?"
"There you go again with the fucking questions."
"Why are you getting so defensive?"
I unraveled my arms and pounded a fist against the arm of the chair. "Because you're putting words in my mouth! I never said I hated my fucking brother. Do I hate that I'm strapped with the burden of dealing with him for the rest of my life? Yes. Do I hate that I can't make a goddamn decision for myself, without having to think of him first? Abso-fuckin'-lutely. But don't you dare tell me that I hate him, Doc. Because I don't."
"Why do you come here every week, Blake?"
I narrowed my eyes at the unrelated inquiry. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"
She shrugged. "You don't have to come here—”
“You know I have to come here.”
Holding up a finger, she shushed me and went on, “Nobody is forcing you to come here. You could find yourself another therapist, and if I'm reading into your thoughts inaccurately, then maybe you should. So, why do you come?"
"Why?" I answered exasperatedly.
"Yes."
"Because ..." My voice trailed off as I shook my head and turned to look out the window. Just down the street was my brother's daycare. I wondered what he was doing right now. Maybe eating a snack, or perhaps finishing the craft project he and his friends had been working on this week. It was more likely that he was giving his teachers a hard time, but I liked to think he wasn't making other people miserable. I liked to think that side of him was reserved only for our parents and me.
"Blake?"
Returning my attention to Dr. Travetti, I asked, "Huh?"
"Why do you come?" she repeated insistently albeit gently.
"Because, Doc," I continued with a heavy sigh and a shrug, "who the fuck else would I talk to?"
“Another therapist,” she suggested lightly, offering a vague smile.
I shrugged again and canted my head with a helplessness I didn’t want her to see, while hoping so badly she would notice. “Yeah, but I chose you first. Why the hell would I start going to someone else now?”
***
"Jake," Miss Thomas spoke softly as she knelt beside the long table. "Your brother is here to pick you up."