Justin

I returned home at a decent hour, visiting Zeke prior, filling him in on the evening that was responsible for the utter ruining of my life. Undoubtedly my parents were still awake, lounging around the counters in the kitchen to welcome me with fair embrace: a motherly smooch on the cheek from mom and my father's cheery grin. It was as If I was treading between two rows of thin oaks, quaint sounds lying down adjacent to the silence, unnoticeable. The trees were breathing; they just didn't earn my recognition or my attention.

In an unfocused haze I nearly stomped through the living room with my head down. Then a disruption interceded.

"Justin, sweetie," My mom approached delicately, "You've been gone for hours…"

My dad swiveled around on the stool to observe me, "Yeah, you're a part of this family—you could've called: those dishes don't clean themselves…" He stated ignorantly.

Normally, I'd smirk at my dad's ridiculous humor. During this moment it appeared more like a nuisance, repelling off of the shroud of disparity I enclosed myself under.

My face posed an expectant glare—my mother quickly whacked him on the arm in a disciplinary manner.

He shrugged with nonchalance, stating the obvious, "What? They aren't!" Mom shook her head slowly, readjusting her focus on my situation.

"Your father's right…" My mother agreed, cleaning out one of the glasses with a cloth. He nodded in response, a smug, satisfied look upon his face. "…at least about the first part. It isn't very much like you to ever really choose to be irresponsible…"

I immediately countered that assumption, "Mom, you know I don't choose to be…" My slump indicated my irritability, separately from my nearly childish whine.

She nodded, understanding her fault, "I know—I know you're not perfect, Justin…just, consider us next time—like you always do—okay, sweetie?" The words she incorporated into that request wore a sparingly forged reminder—a comfort that I was still on the right track. The sentiment failed to make an impression; my heart was plunged a little too far down—this misalignment Juliet formed was shorting my sense of emotion—I only recognized sorrow.

"Ok, mom…" I gave her confirmation with a hefty sigh, transitioning towards the stair case.

"Wait, Justin, aren't you hungry?" In retrospect, I'd have nodded yes, but I actually was tolerable of being gutless and empty. "Wouldn't you like some of my 'Chicken Enchilada'?" She raised the pan for my viewing.

Suddenly my lethargy condensed into a mist. "Mom, I would much rather starve…."

My words were like a shameful slap across the face; I could read the surprise and astonishment in her eyes at a glance at once.

"Excuse me, Justin?" she pardoned, "If you weren't in the mood for any dinner, you could've just said so..."

Contempt filled my heart to the brim at once; the apology was forming within me under waves of static.

"I'm sorry, mother, it's just—I'm not…not well right now…" The explanation wafted out with cracks embedded. A certain portion of my mind was spent swirling colors to project the images I was so desperate to be free of. Blurring off of the scene, I turned to the steps to get to my room.

Each stair was a burden; thoughts weighing down on my shoulders made simple movement more like an overwhelming stress. Getting to the door was a laborious drag—my vampire left imaginary shackles clasped around my ankles.

Just envisioning the world around me without her again—the pain of being alone—it stripped me dry of all invulnerability, if I had any left in me.

Soundless, tears scuttled down my cheeks in a deplorable fashion. Staring into the void that gripped me was my only option: the mere memories returned in a nostalgic shower. Sitting, I curled up, crouched down, tears dabbing the thighs of my jeans.

What wasn't clear to me was: why me? Had there been something I'd done to justify myself this pain? No, there hadn't. Throughout my life I'd always pictured myself happy—and I as I'd matured, happiness seemed more inept in my own mentality. But I still kept some kind of love inside me, a generosity there. Didn't I deserve something to latch onto because of that?

Karma was a swift and cruel mistress; nothing would allow me to remotely fathom or understand how destruction could equal to satisfaction.

Distant feet grew closer until a form moved into the room slowly, a hand lightly tapping my door open. My eyes trailed up to my mother, she stepped forward slowly, reading the situation through visuals. My glossy black eyes and cheeks smeared with tears were like a storm in the distance approaching a plain…it was inevitable to strike.

"Justin…" She began.

"She left, mom…" Juliet's eyes ran sparks through my head, they're presence stinging. "She's—she's gone…"

Mom wasted no time in offering me consolation, sitting down beside me to rub her palm along my back. Her eyes were blotched with sympathy, a smooth brown.

"Things like this happen, Justin," she stated, "Not everything works out the way that you wish…"

She seemed to destroy the void—the floodgate opening through my eyes, through my heart. "But it isn't fair! Its not. Why is it that I always seem to find love in something only to have it slip away from me….?"

Mom shook her head in a timid fashion, denying my words without declaring it, "Often times whenever you aren't meant to be with someone, Justin, you'll only be lead to believe that they later were never meant to be yours in the first place…"

"But, I…" I let out a huff of resignation, letting out a sigh.

"Just….just look at the facts, son," she started to list them, "Things didn't work out with you and that centaur girl, or that "London Tipton"—" –she scoffed after the heiresses name—"That was definitely a shot in the dark, by the way…"

I shook my head, muttering, "You're telling me…"

The fact that I'd posed as a doctor was rapidly driven to the back of my mind, ensuring that it'd never touch my lips.

She continued her rant, "…and there was that werewolf girl you met from 'Wizface', "Isabella"…that was a nightmare."

I responded with a shrug, somewhat agreeing, "Yeah, and she was one among many…"

Mom nodded, "Right, see? You're keeping your op—hold on a second; Justin, please tell me you canceled that account!" She pleaded in a knowing tone, just as she did with any other argument concerning social networking in the wizard world.

A resigned huff eased out, "Yes, mom…I promise you that I canceled it."

My 'Wizface' page was indeed deleted, but in the sense of a technicality, I created another one following the incident she'd found me logged on and forced me to rid of my addiction. It'd been weeks since I accessed the new page—my addiction was basically nonexistent.

"Good," she smiled, ebullient and pleased, "You know, this breakdown you've encountered reminds me of Alex's rut with Dean…"

The train smacked against me with that slight incorporation of my baby sister's name. Arms trembling, all things she provided for my brain to nibble on: the anger, the frustration, the confusion…the tenseness of a rivalry, all dashed back like a returning gust of wind. My reaction was unknown to mom, of course.

"Wh-What about it…?" I dared ask.

She sighed, "It was an unfamiliar sight, she was on the verge of tears but not quite there. I mean, she talked about how she thought he was perfect for her. All that I could tell her is what I've just told you: there will be many, many more."

On that list of "many mores" I was close to the top priority. Such a thought scared me. Mason's predicament was very much just like mine-both being in love with a vampire, the same one, at that. His instinctual overdrive equaled my pose concerning tradition and newfound phobia with taboo. Tonight a metamorphosis had taken place: I'd finally looked down upon it. Wherever she'd been-in her room I'd bet—she was dreading in the same pool of discrepancy I was in. But I had to think:

Rejection is sometimes so much harder than you presume.

"But do you understand?" She concluded, adding with wit "…because this is beginning to draw back like some big lecture…"

I nodded accordingly; she rose from the bed with a light sigh.

"Ok," she accepted my mild response, "I'll give you time alone to let it sink in…"

Her exit fell quiet upon my ears; all I heard might've been her heels growing fainter. Didn't process it though, of course…the void re-engulfed my focus as I took it all in. Decided to stand about a minute later—eventually pacing the room, miming words of reassurance to myself. Encircling the space, amidst my mental rehab, the hallway floor moaned.

The first thought that touched my head fought a balance between to of my emotions—hatred was the victor.

My bedroom door made a thump on the opposite side and it slowly opened wider. I was more than aware of the presence—it was just…witnessing it in its certain state wasn't something I was prepared to do.

A low, delicately chilling mutter lined my ears softly, "So I'm not your sister, am I?" it spoke to my back.

An Immediate action, I groped up the wizard manuals on my side dresser and moved towards the shelves to archive them back in order with the numerous other volumes. "So you got the text did you? Well done."

"Shut up!" She snapped, loud enough to provoke mom's return or dad's excuse to cut in for once. Her voice then deteriorated back into a chilly quality, precariously perched near the showering of a blubbery cry. Anger shook her following statement in a plead. "You can't—disown me, Justin, you CANNOT!"

Alex's possibly murky brown eyes, were glued to the back of my head, I presumed. They induced a minor headache that was aching into creation. The awkward elephant was knocking at my noggin. Yet, I remained silent.

Hands trained and repetitive, I logged the books away by the alphabet, not a word spoken.

"The cold shoulder, huh?" She prodded, "I've given that before. Answer me this: Where's your spine in all of this?"

That insult weaved its way in but I happened to avoid its intention narrowly—it hit, just not a harsh impact.

I have a spine—or else I'd not be living. Your spine is involved with the actions with your brain cord, and—

She meant literally, genius!

She chuckled mockingly, sadness still tensing her voice, "Oh, wait, allow me to rephrase—you definitely have no spine—that's right."

The words pierced more anger, oddly. My brain was full of witty comebacks but dishing them out now seemed like reading blurred scribbling.

She continued still. "And not to mention you lack a heart too…? Kind of two-faced, if you asked me."

My fingernails skidded off of the rough material binding the books. "No, because, see, that's where you're definitely wrong—you obviously have absolutely no idea what you just said…."

Alex, arms crossed, gave me a wily smirk along with piercing eyes. She was apparently rising past her heartbreak for the moment being.

"You think I'm not aware of the display you put on for mom in here?" She stated knowingly, stepping an inch closer, "Or how you're just starving for attention?"

"Wh-what?" I barely spoke.

Her responding scoff riddled nearly every fiber of my being. It was as if she was staring straight through a giant tear in my stomach. She wasn't acknowledging the pumping, burning, bleeding organ showing through my chest. Its secretion showing in the form of my insecureness was as evident and obvious as Alex was at trying to put me on self-destruct.

"How dare you!" I objected, "Juliet actually left me!" a subconscious trail of tears crept down my face, "She's going to some godforsaken country and you have the nerve to tell me that my behavior exhibits that of yours!"

Alex's eyes moved into different directions as if she couldn't look at me. Taking on a gentler, open façade.

"M-Maybe we can get you through this, big bro…" She eased those words out as I turned back to my tedious work of alphabetizing my books. A Hot fume emerged more anger.

I tensed out a word quickly without recognizing it. "Bullshit."

She huffed predictably, "Oh, is it?"

"YES!" I exploded, dashing around to meet her body near mine, "I KNOW YOU'RE NOT LIKE THAT! JUST ADMIT IT, ALEX! JUST ADMIT HOW YOU'RE THRILLED THAT SHE'S GONE!"

"Thrilled?" She responded, "Try, 'taken aback'. Hurt."

"What did Juliet ever mean to you but a girl who found your brother attractive?" I snapped back.

She sighed, "Up until now, I found her as my friend! A very good friend—I see that she's perfect for you! And..."

The sincerity spilling from her mouth—those meaningful words, seemed real enough to take into account as more of an apology that an explanation. Alex's apologetic tone showed no signs of disrespect or a smart-mouthed attitude lying hidden somewhere. I stood immobile, my ears tuned in.

"…Knowing that I'll never have you or hold you like the way that she did I always knew that…she had a—a great taste in guys…" A few tears blinked from her eyes, I swallowed the image. "And that she chose one that was perfect in his own personal light…"

The water settled into her big brown eyes; they shown like a brilliant, near-orange crystal against my own. A huff escaped—I'd never meant to cause severe emotional harm to Alex, but…this contract—the metaphorical one I instated, had a hold over our relationship now. What was I supposed to do? With us being around an exceedingly expressive pull around each other it was hard not to observe. Especially when you see that shade of brown that's almost…puppy-like. Puppy-like, yet not the least bit deceptive. A genuine variety of puppy-like, I suppose.

My defenses dropped, descended—I tried approaching the conflict with a little realism. I've invested enough trust and faith in my baby sister to know that there was some good in her. I'm pretty sure that my letter-although not in the form of being written on physical paper-left some gashes on Alex that wouldn't cease bleeding. You officially render yourself loathsome and despicable when you realize you're deliberately hurting someone.

A smile graced my features, "Its—it's remarkable how you still seem to be so…positive about me exiling you…"

She laughed quietly, "Pushing me out of your own court doesn't necessarily mean I'm out of the castle…"

That seemed to draw two pictures in my head: "Hey, I'm still your sis!" and "Hey, my persistence and undying confidence is going to make this happen!"

Befuddlement filled the blankness in my head for the moment, then I regained stable consciousness out of my thoughts as a few fingers entangled around mine. Senses reactant as a single heartbeat I took note of the contact and froze down at my feet.

"We can get through this…" Her brown eyes drew to mine and restrained a hold, "Just me and you, Justin…I can heal your heart…" The minimal size of her palm cupped around the thunder resonating from my struggling heart—chains strangled me in a stationary position.

A raspy croak left my mouth.

Is she unaware of how desperately it's pounding?

Behind my shut lids I imagined a life filled with Alex, with intimacy—a joy reverberating from her. Along with this was a wholesome bliss, her infatuation forever present and irrelevant to everything around her. But, I—nurturing her finally, noticed the humiliation, the sheer madness of it all. How she consumed only a part of my affection left more room for my focus to attach to the faces around us.

Those faces, those husks of the populous announcement of humanity, utterly terrified me with their indifference, staring me down with stern impracticality.

And I couldn't stand under her veil without sensing eyes, sensing faces.

She was invading every nook and cranny of my insides, flushing through the streams my emotions ran—the separate streams that hadn't yet ran dry.

She was draining me of life, the pressure setting in…

Crushing.

Pounding.

Hands lovingly running up my arms had me betwixt the self-proclaimed sinister prose of my imagination and reality.

"There's nothing…" I got out. "That you could do…to make this better for me…"

Alex seemed rather surprised that I'd spoken after so long. "Wh-what?"

"There is absolutely nothing that you can do for me but get out…" I spoke shakily, nearly without recognition.

The broken-hearted chimes previously brimming Alex's tone started to re-incline in her voice. "What're you talking about, you can't just…There has to be a way…"

The voices my mind made up were a furious implosion. Layered, echoing, furious. Shouts and reminders of the apparatus of religion and general morals came bombarding my eardrums.

I could not handle my morals being shirked—I was suffocating.

"There is NO WAY!" I shouted, staring her down.

Alex said nothing at first, taking in the hurt that I was sure her body was a little used to. Tears brimming her eyelids, nodding in a forced agreement, she backed away to the door.

"This is always gonna be how it is, huh?" She got out in a small croak, "War is not the answer."

What was this coming to? My soul was pulling to Alex's room for the rest of the night. Pulling and pulling back in urgency. But every attempt to make an apology was failure.

I no longer feel I'm a healthy boy—because tonight I did not dream. Or, I did not dream in a place that wasn't my personal hell. That's what it is right? You make your own personal hell for yourself?

I ought to get accustomed to it.