first place. Dr. Travetti took in the new piece of information and with a drawn-out sigh, she leaned back in her chair. "Blake, what do you think about signs?"
"Signs?" I snickered. "What do you mean? Like from God or some shit?"
"From God, from the universe ...” Her hand waved gracefully around in the air. “Wherever."
I laughed and shook my head. "Doc, I thought you were a woman of science, and then you gotta throw in some religious B.S.."
"Is it B.S.?"
I lifted my eyes, leveling her with a condescending glare. "Yes. Yes, it fucking is. Signs are bullshit. God is bullshit. The universe is bullshit. It’s all bullshit."
"You're getting defensive again," she said pointedly.
"No. I'm not. I'm getting honest. None of us have a plan laid out for us by some almighty, mythical being. We're all mistakes on this mistake of a planet, floating through our lives of good shit and bad shit until we die. The end."
"That's very bleak, don't you think?"
I snorted and tipped my head back to assess the popcorn ceiling. "Can't spell Blake without bleak," I muttered under my breath.
"What's that?"
"Nothing."
With the sigh of the defeated, Dr. Travetti tossed her clipboard unceremoniously onto the coffee table and said, "I want you to read what I wrote."
"Oh, I have your permission?" I questioned condescendingly.
"Yes." She gestured toward the paper, and I leaned forward with a smirk I wasn't quite proud of.
Dammit, I really was being defensive and I wasn’t proud of it. In fact, I felt like a child. But she'd struck a nerve with that God shit. The weak and desperate fell on God, while the realists see the world for exactly what it is. Is it depressing? Sure, but so is the brutal and tragic reality that some kids are born perfect, full of potential and promise, only to have their problematic brother steal it all away.
With a bored sigh, I lowered my gaze to the page, and there in bold black cursive, I read, "Why won't he give himself a chance?" The question was circled once, twice, and underlined, like this was the good doctor's purpose in life to answer this one, stupid question.
I looked back to her and asked, "What do you want me to say to this?"
She dropped her pen into her lap. "I want you to tell me why you live like this. Why you're so pissed off. Why you won't let yourself live your damn life."
"I already told you, my br—"
"You blame a lot on Jake, I know, and maybe that blame is justified to an extent. But you're not the only one in a situation like this, Blake, and many of those other people live their lives the best they can. So, what is it about your special situation that makes you different from them? Why is it such a struggle for you to live?"
Anger, rage, and the ever-persistent sting of guilt injected itself into my veins. It was hot, scorching, and I jumped from my chair, startling the good doctor. I stabbed my chest with a finger as I loomed over her, like the mythical being she apparently believed lived in the sky, and began to shout.
"Because what gives me the right to live? Tell me that, you know-it-all bitch! What gives me the fucking right to go about my miserable fucking life, finding love, finding happiness, finding success in whatever-the-fuck, when he had it all ripped out from under him?”
The smooth, slim column of her throat shifted with apprehension as she swallowed her shock. Her tongue flicked out, wetting her lips, and she asked, "But why is that your cross to bear, Blake? Why do you live your life like you're some prisoner to your brother?"
"Because nobody else will," I stated simply, knowing immediately that it was only partially the truth. So, with the need to speak more honestly and to spit the poison from my tongue, I added, "And because it's my fucking fault."
***
The needles jutted, in and out, in and out, threading the ink through the skin of Shane's calf. The tender, naked flesh tightened beneath my gloved fingertips, flinching involuntarily with every hastened prick. Hunched over his leg, I traced the lines with my machine, as he chatted with Celia about his time at ModInk.
"Wasn't it owned by your dad in the seventies?" she asked, her voice pulled taut with excitement. She'd never admit to fangirling over the guy, but she was totally swooning in the girliest of ways. I looked up from my work