Hours pass in the quiet of my room as I watch the machines beep in a strange harmony of life. No one had visited me since mom left, save for the occasional nurse or doctor checking in.
Now the sun is rising over the buildings that make up the large hospital and its rays easily sneak in through the glass of the single window in the room. The light snakes gradually over the cold floor and lands on my body's lap. A faint sense of heat brushes over my legs, before fading back into the world of the living. If I could move myself, my body, I would be standing by the window, watching all the life that I once ignored.
The door of the room slowly creaks open and a face peeks in through the crack. His hair is slightly darker than mine, but his blue eyes show the same shading--each little green and grey fleck the same as mine. A small scar runs across his chin and his mouth twitches up into a nervous smirk. The bags under his eyes are notable from here and his clothes are ratty, worn.
He stays in the position, as if peeking in on a secret, for a minute before visibly preparing himself. His smirk disappears and his whole face, as if by magic, becomes unfamiliar to me. I'd never seen him so angry.
Led by his anger, my brother James walks straight to my bed. He stops, seeming to lose his resolve, in front of the bed. Fear flashes over his familiar features as he takes in the machines, the flowers, balloons and the paleness of my skin. His blond hair is short and barely brushes his neck, so I can see the several freckles that mark his skin right under his hair. A silver chain around his neck glints from just above his white shirt collar and his worn shoes step back from momentary surprise at the sight of my half-dead body.
"Jamie," I say, standing up from where I'd been sitting for hours. "Please, don't--"
"Damn it," he says so quietly that I almost miss it. "Damn you Vicki."
I'm in shock as he stands stock still, evading his eyes from the machines. Only then do I see that his hands are in fists and that anger is slowly etching its way back onto his face. "James?" I whimper. He was always the happy triplet. The one that escaped everything that happened in our house, seeming to avoid the stresses that I felt always drowning me.
"You of all people should know that this wasn't the way," he says. "You weren't supposed to do this."
A heavy silence lingers as he takes in a ragged breath. He reaches out his hand and quickly jerks it back into his jean's pocket. He mousses his hair before turning around suddenly towards the door.
"You know what," he says, quickly turning back towards the bed. He bends down until his mouth is nearly on my ear. James closes his eyes and holds his weight on the free space beside my arm. "The doctors say that you can hear us, that we should talk to you," he snorts, but with an undertone of sadness, "but honestly? Who cares, you never listened before so why would you listen now?"
I stand rigid as he quickly leaves the room, shutting the door roughly behind him.