The Sins of Us

TWs: Swearing, murder, implied substance abuse, implied parent abuse, mentions of suicide (brief)

July 6th, 2015 – Michael

Metal against metal. The constant air of unrepentant rage, it’s own tension throbbing through the wards. 15 days of freedom. That’s all the time I was left to rot in this hole, yet I’d come right back at the look Michael McKenzie sr. staring down at me like I was a maggot beneath his pristine Oxford’s. A bag was thrust into my arms, and I felt the familiar weight of my belongings rattling inside. Guards milled about at the front of the house wearing deceptive scrubs. But they weren’t fooling anyone, they’d beat you senselessly if they could get away with it, and they do- often.

McKenzie sr., as I’ve taken to calling him, made a big show of stepping towards me with open arms and the fakest smile I’d ever seen. It was blinding against the stark LED’s that reflected off perfectly straight, white teeth.

“Michael! I am so glad this misunderstanding was cleared up! We missed you, this misunderstanding was an emotional time for your mother and I.”

I gritted my teeth, feeling blood well from biting my cheek too hard as I barely suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. If this motherfucker says the word ‘misunderstanding’ one more time, I’ll pop him one and show him a fucking misunderstanding.

The words blared inside my mind, begging to be set free, but I knew better.

We reach the car, and I search my belongings for my cigarettes knowing full well they won’t be in there. They aren’t. McKenzie is alone, Corrin probably at home swallowing antidepressants like candy and Piper none the wiser, they probably told her I was on vacation or some shit.

“Get in the car.” McKenzie grits out.

I grunt a reply but slide in sensing the buildup of frustration and anger like a second skin on McKenzie. I can’t help but prod a little deeper. “Something you wanna say, McKenize?”

He clenches his teeth so hard I’m surprised they don’t break. “If you’re going to use my last name, at least use my title.” He punctuates each word with a slap to the steering wheel. “Mayor. McKenize.” “You are a fucking waste, an embarrassment to the family!”

He continues his tirade, right in the parking lot of Juvie and I drown out the comments and sneers directed my way. He thinks the ranting helps build character, I think it makes him look like an asshole.

5 more years.

5 more years.

5 more years.

It was a mantra to survive at this point. I was narrowly counting down the days until my 18th birthday and then I would be gone, gone, gone.

January 10th, 2020- Piper

Hyperthymesia. A condition where I can remember every single moment that happens in my life.

The good.

The bad.

The traumatic.

Finding my brother lying soaked in a pool of his own vomit plays over and over in my mind, a constant loop of anguish and sorrow. I’ve been in therapy since that day, every day, for a week since I found him. My therapist is the best on this side of the country- apparently. But he doesn’t listen.

“Piper, I would like go through the events of your brothers accident.” Dr. Timalt’s voice is like a well-tuned machine, it flows and dances around yet goes nowhere.

“It wasn’t an accident. He was murdered.” I firmly reply.

The fine lines around gray eyebrows scrunch and I see the heavy rise and fall of his chest. Putting to use his own bullshit. I won’t be swayed. I know what the truth is, even if no one else believes me.

I feel almost petulant as I go through the list of facts that have gathered in my mind, reciting each one as the dates flash through my mind with another stream of memories.

“One- Michael would never miss my recital, it was marked on his calendar. He had already pre-ordered daisies”

Michael sitting in the front row, a beaming smile on his face my entire performance. Mom smiles politely and dad engrossed in his phone again. A bouquet of daisies clutched tightly in Michael’s hand. From that first recital onwards, he always brought me some.

“Two- Michael was careful, he kept home and work separate. He would never have brought drugs into the house. Especially if there was a risk I would find him.”

Michael looks angry. I can see the rage coming off of him in waves as he clutches his phone so tightly, his fingers are white.

“No, fuck off Snake. I’ll stop by yours tomorrow. No! Just-“, He glances towards where I perch at his doorframe, his features softening and he hangs up the call without another word.

“Why do you have a mad face?”

He tries to smile, he always tries for my sake, but it falls flat. “Just work Little Brainiac.”

“What do you do? Mom won’t answer when I ask.” Mom avoids the question and bribes me with cake. Like I don’t notice.

That spark is there and gone again, a gripping sadness in pale blue eyes that match my own. “Nothing. You will never have to worry about it. C’mon let’s go look at your stupid bugs outside.”

Harsh words but there is a grin on his face as I chase him outside to catch bugs together.

“Three- Michael would never leave me alone. Never. Ever. Ever. He always keeps- kept his promises.”

Michael’s smile; a crooked quirk of lips and hint of teeth.

Forcing him to color blindfolded as he shades Cinderella in purple and gray scribbles.

Taste testing cookies with a straight face even though I forgot the sugar. “They’re terrible Brain.” At least he’s honest.

That circled date on his otherwise empty wall calendar hanging above his bed. A red “x” marking each day closer and closer to his 18th birthday.

“You’re going to leave me Michael.” The day grows closer, every day marked, another notch in my heart. I can’t let my big brother leave me.

“Nah, I’ll bring you with Little Brainiac. You can study dance like you want to instead of something stupid like finance or economics.”

“Promise?”

He doesn’t say it, just holds out a pinky. We clasp and I know he will always be my big brother, and he will never leave me behind.

January 3rd, 2020- Michael

“You are a disappointment to this family Michael. Useless. If I have to clean up another one of your messes, I’m cutting you off!” McKenzie roars.

I can’t hide my smirk, his irritation swells and bubbles over, face a brilliant red. Jackson Bulegard deserved more than a concussion and broken ribs, he shorted Snake by a grand.

“Yea, you’re going to cut me off.” Fat chance. “Hey, how’s Ronnie by the way?” I edge closer to the desk, tracing my fingers against the polished wood and golden trinkets that line the front like an altar. Only one picture stands proudly in the corner. Corrin, McKenzie and Piper. A family photo done years ago, I can’t remember where I was, only that I wasn’t invited.

The question shuts him up and I finally look up to catch his gaze. I’m amused at how ashen he can become in a space of seconds. “G-good. He’s on paternity leave.”

I hum in response continuing my thorough look around in the office. Snake wouldn’t mind a souvenir from the bastard; I might find something worth of value to tide the monster. But I can’t help but poke the bear, to see how far I can go. How much I can push before we all go tumbling down the edge and into the tumultuous sea. I really don’t care about the money, but I need to get away as soon as that check comes through on my 18th, me and Piper are out.

“Ah, explains why you’re so pent up then, your little boy toy is being a responsible parent.”

“GET OUT! GET OUT!” I cackle as my feet hit the marble flooring, catching the side of his desk where I let a tumble of papers and trinkets fall. He’s fuming and barely restraining himself; I don’t blame him. I am a little shit.

I don’t have time to look for something to snatch; it won’t make much of a difference anyways. The door slams shut behind me, and I can still hear my poor excuse for a father cussing up a storm in his office. Piper’s at school so I don’t worry about her overhearing him. Even at 15, she shouldn’t see that side of him, should only ever know him as the father she grew up with. Not the one I did: the cold, ruthless bastard who used his own son like a proud object. A shiny new thing to boost his career and kiss babies.

“Michael?” I turn to see Corrin standing just inside the day room, a distant look in her eyes and slight smile on her face. She’s stoned out of her mind. And dad thinks I have a drug problem. “It’s time for tea.”

I don’t fucking want tea, but mom seems lucid enough through the fog to beckon me over. She’s obsessed with tea even though she hasn’t been in the UK since she married McKenize, despite the promises otherwise. She holds up a hand, and I wait like requested, always the boy wanting to appease the absent mother. I scoff searching my pockets for my cigarettes and lighter. I’ll take the fucking tea and wallow in misery all the same while chain smoking in my room until Piper comes home. I promised her I’d help her with her homework. Even though we both know she’s smarter than me. She’s graduating high school in the spring, at 15, and I barely qualified for a diploma, even with a hefty donation to the school from father dearest.

Corrin comes back with the finely painted teacup still steaming with an herbal smelling tea. She smiles again as she hands it to me, clenching my hands in hers. “You’ll drink it?” It wasn’t quite a question, not quite a statement either. I nod, because what else should I do? To prove it, I take a hearty sip, making all the slurping noises on the way down to prove I’ll drink it. She seems appeased. Tea was always a family event as a kid, Corrin wanted to pass something down that she did when she was with her family. It never stuck. McKenzie was busy with doing whatever political shit he does, Piper was always at school, dance, or extra lessons our parents make her take. And I was out with the twins or Snake getting high behind the bleachers to make the world hurt a little less. To make the loneliness disappear for that much longer.

There is a loud chime at the door and Corrin rushes towards it, feet gliding across polished floors.

“Thanks, mom.” I whisper and head towards the stairs, delicately balancing the cup of tea and my cigarettes.

January 13th, 2020- Piper

No one believes me when I tell them Michael was murdered. The police ruled it suicide, my dad said it was a “rather unfortunate accident”. I knew dad and Michael didn’t get along, no matter how much they tried to shelter me from it, it clung to the air like a thick smog. Choking the life out of the air. My memories do not lie. I added the times of awkward tension and bitter words, the tallies of snide remarks and fierce glares. But I knew Michael. I knew him like no one else because he was my brother, and he may have protected me, but he wasn’t as secretive as he thought. Dad wanted to save face, I knew that. A suicidal son does not make a campaign, especially with drugs involved.

In Michael’s room there are two calendars. His wall mounted one that counts down the days until his birthday, the red marks forever stuck on January 3rd. And another, one he doesn’t think I noticed which he hurriedly hid away when I came into the room. “Calendar” is a strong word. A pocket-sized notebook shoved between the mattress and frame. Its cracked and worn with time; little doodles adorn the front in marks of blacks and blues. My heart seizes as my finger traces the indentations of cartoon creatures and skater signs. I feel the tears well in my eyes as memories assault me as I stepped into the room.

“Michael!” I rush up the stairs to get ready for dinner.

I knock, but there is no answer. There are no lights that breach under the door and I almost retreat back downstairs assuming he isn’t home. But a niggling sensation in my brain makes me pause. He promised he would be here today to help with homework, he promised he would be at my recital and he has never let me down. No matter what.

“Michael?” I whisper against the door, feeling the cool handle beneath my fingers.

I hear my name being called from downstairs, but I can’t stop my forward momentum as I push open the door. The lights are off, and black-out curtains are closed. I can’t make out anything in the clutter, my hand drifts towards the switch. The prone figure catches my eye, and I can almost pretend he’s asleep but the vomit staining the floor and permeating the air says otherwise. I know before I reach him its too late.

I think his name tears from my throat; I can feel tears staining my cheeks as I reach for his pulse point begging for even a thready beat. He’s cold to the touch. So cold. Arms circle around me as dad pulls me from my brothers body. I thrash and scream to “let me go”, but he hangs on tight as 9-1-1 is called.

What’s the point of a perfect memory if it haunts every waking moment with memories of my dead brother?

My memory lapses and I collapse in the very same room, panting as cool air hits my lungs and my hands shake so hard the notebook slides out. The floor has long since been cleaned, but everything else remains the same. I poured through every inch of space in my mind and in the room, but nothing is different. Everything has been frozen in time, like Michael just stepped out and will return soon with a huge bouquet of daisies and a mischievous smile.

But I know better.

My big brother is dead.

Murdered.

And I’m going to prove it.