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brYAN

I ’m sitting on the kitchen counter at my parents’, staring at the space on the living room wall above the black screen of the TV and holding an empty bowl in my hands.

It’s strange, you know. Somehow, it doesn’t even feel that much emptier than it used to. Everything looks the same. All of their stuff is still here, unless you look in Mom’s closet. It really doesn’t feel any different.

How utterly depressing. Although not nearly as depressing as the fact that my life has, once again, screwed me with my pants on.

“Whoever’s in there, I have a weapon!”

“What the—" I scramble for footing on the counter, nearly dropping the bowl, and then when I see who it is, I nearly toss it at her head. “Alex! What is wrong with you?”

My sister puts down her so-called “weapon”—a gigantic foam pencil she must’ve gotten at her school’s book fair a million years ago—and plants her hands on her hips. “ Me ? You’re the one who broke in and busted out the cereal without calling me, creep.”

“I thought you were—isn’t there a hockey practice or something you’re supposed to be at right now? And since when do I need permission to come into my own house?” I grumble, picking up the Honey Nut Cheerios and finally shaking them into the bowl.

“Since you have your own apartment?” Alex questions, and I pretend not to hear her. I have, in fact, been staying in my old room since the funeral. I didn’t want her to be alone.

She’s still a kid. She shouldn’t have to be on her own like I was at her age.

“Sorry,” she says quietly, realizing, and I wave her off.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re just mad I finished the Hint of Lime chips two days ago.”

“I knew it!” She eyes me suspiciously. “How long were you sitting in the dark with no cereal in your cereal bowl?”

I lift a shoulder.

Alexandra hops up next to me. "What's up with you?"

I give her a wry smile. "Why?"

Her lips quirk. "You’ve got a major kicked-puppy scowl going on."

"Please. Me? Kicked puppy?"

"You're a sad little beagle! Aww, puppy, don't cry–"

"I’m not crying," I snap, a little more harshly than I meant to. I avert my eyes from my sister’s, which are suddenly full of understanding.

"It's her, isn't it?"

I don’t bother asking who she means.

"I heard from Nina.”

What am I supposed to say? That it’s killing me to see her back here? That I’ve been absolutely miserable since she ditched me? That people steer clear of me to avoid my shitty mood? That it took me two weeks to get back on the ice and another to land a jump? That I’ve been falling on fucking doubles ?

At this point, I don’t know if it’s her, or Dad, or everything. But all I know is, she’s the easiest thing to blame. And I'd really thought…

My jaw clenches. It doesn’t matter. She left. And that's all there is to it.

Well, who can blame her? The question I’ve had to work to keep smothered at the bottom of the pit of my stomach suddenly pushes its way up. How can I really blame her for leaving? Why do you think everyone does, Bryan?

Alexandra sighs, a long and drawn-out sound that only makes me clench my jaw harder, making a burst of pain blossom in my molars. I know how pathetic I am, I don’t need anyone to rub it in.

"Bryan, listen, she–"

“I gotta go, okay?” I say. “See you tomorrow.”