More Than Him
Page 4
"Amanda." My real name leaving his mouth made me pay attention. "I should've been there to protect you. I'm your brother."
"I love you, Ethan, but you're right. You're my brother, and that's all you are. It's not on you to be more for me. Don't do that to yourself. Promise me."
He crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. "Okay." He nodded. "But I need you to do something."
"What?"
He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a brochure, then walked over to me. "Self-defense classes." He handed the papers to me, and then waited.
I looked up at his anxious face. He looked so much like Dad; he always did. "Sure," I agreed.
***
So that's where I found myself two days later. Ethan was with me. He’d wanted to check out the place before I’d agreed to lessons. It was at the same gym I went to for yoga, so I was familiar with the building. Ethan didn't even try to hide his protective stance in front of me as the instructor introduced himself. "Jordan," the instructor said, shaking hands with Ethan.
"This is Amanda." Ethan pointed at me. I raised my hand in a wave.
Jordan smiled warmly. "Amanda," he repeated. He was only a few years older than us, and well built. Good looking guy, if I cared—which I didn't.
Ethan cleared his throat. I rolled my eyes.
Jordan continued to discuss my future lessons with Ethan. Sitting back, I let him have control. I think he needed to know that he was doing something to help fix me. Honestly, I really didn't think I was that broken.
***
"I don't like him," Ethan stated, from the driver’s seat of his car. We were on our way back home.
"Who?" I asked.
"That Jordan guy."
"What? Why?"
"He looked at you funny."
I laughed.
"Not funny, Dimmy. Last time I was pissed at a guy that looked at you funny it was Logan. Look how that turned out."
My mood switched. "Okay," I told him. I wasn't going to argue; he was right.
"Just don't get involved with him—"
"I don't even know him."
"Just say you won't start dating or whatever, not yet, okay?"
"Okay," I said again.
Dating was the last thing on my mind.
***
I was home half an hour before I started getting bored. Thanks to Logan's leftover rent money, and the money he’d put into my tuition, I was able to cut back a day or two on my shifts. This made Ethan happy. It made me insane. Especially now that I was alone, most of the time. Ethan was in the house, but it wasn’t like we hung out, or anything.
The urge to listen to my music set in, but my iPod was in his room. It'd been there since that night. I hadn't been inside since the day I’d got home from hospital and found he was gone.
"Come on, idiot," I said, whispering to myself. My hand was on the doorknob. "Just do it. It's just a room." I took in a deep breath and mustered up all the courage I had.
I turned the knob, blindly stepped forward, and let out all the air in my lungs.
Then I felt him.
Wherever he was in this world, he was only there physically. Everything else was in this room, with me.
My hand brushed against something soft, causing me to open my eyes. My breath hitched, and all the memories came back. I focused on the bed, not wanting to take in too much at once. It would overwhelm me. It would break me. My iPod sat in the middle with my headphones wrapped around it, right next to my e-reader.
I had been reading and listening to music when he’d come in from a run. He’d said he wanted to tell me something. He’d wanted to tell me that it was his birthday, but I’d already known. Of course I’d known—I loved him.
I loved him too much.
I ignored the ache in my chest and looked around the room. Everything was so Logan. Not a single thing out of place. He was meticulous, and kept his room so clean. I’d always wondered why he did. Even his pool house was like this, but I’d figured his housekeeper kept it that way. I’d never asked. I should have. I should have done a lot of things. I guess it had never occurred to me that our time was limited.
I did this sometimes—thought, or talked about him like he'd passed away. Dead. Never coming back. I think it was my way of dealing with it.
Without knowing, my feet had me walking around the room, towards his desk. He kept a framed picture of us right in the middle. Micky had snapped it when we were at their house once. We didn't know she'd taken it until she showed us weeks later. I was sitting on his lap, with his arms tight around my waist. My head was thrown back, laughing at something he'd said. His face was so close to mine we could've been kissing, but we weren't, he was just watching me.
He'd made Micky e-mail him the picture right away. We'd stopped by a store on the way home and he'd asked me to pick out a frame for it. He'd said that the picture resembled us, who we were, and how he wanted to remember me for the rest of his life. He wanted to put it somewhere he'd see every day, to remind him that not all memories are distinct moments. Some are moments just worth remembering. My laugh—he'd said—is a memory that should be treasured—not just remembered.
That was one of the moments that led to me falling so deeply in love with him.
I felt the sob creep up my throat and I held it back. Gripping the frame to my chest, I quietly shut the bedroom door and walked into his closet, and shut that door, too. My crying was the last thing Ethan needed to hear. I sat on the floor, turned on the flashlight app on my phone and looked at the picture in my hand.
Then I let it out.
The hurt, anger, sadness and the loneliness of it all.
I missed him.
I missed him so damn much, and I couldn't even cry openly about it. My tears landed on the glass of the frame, and I wiped them with my thumb. "You asshole," I whispered, figuring if I could feel his presence in the room, then maybe he could hear me, wherever he was. "I hate you." Lie.
Then I saw the box I'd put his birthday present in. It was the last thing I’d given him.
Stupid present.
Stupid stethoscope.
I laughed bitterly, and studied my wrists.
Stupid.
I cried so hard that I ended up in a ball on the floor. I don't know how long I was there for, until finally, the sobs wore me out and I fell asleep.
***
The vibrating of my phone woke me, right before music filled throughout the small space of the closet. I was in a daze of half-sleep before I realized what was happening. My head pounded and my eyes hurt. I felt drunk, but I wasn't.
I was just stupid.
I picked up the phone and sat up—and only then did I work out that Hey There Delilah was playing.
For some reason, I smiled. "Tyson." I spoke quietly into the phone.
"Dimmy," he sighed out. He was less enthusiastic than I was. Something was wrong.
"Tyson? What's wrong?"
"Nothing." Looked like I wasn't the only one in the mood for lying.
I stayed quiet and waited. Tyson was like that; he just needed time.
I heard him sniff. "I just walked in on Ally and some guy in our bed."
"I love you, Ethan, but you're right. You're my brother, and that's all you are. It's not on you to be more for me. Don't do that to yourself. Promise me."
He crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. "Okay." He nodded. "But I need you to do something."
"What?"
He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a brochure, then walked over to me. "Self-defense classes." He handed the papers to me, and then waited.
I looked up at his anxious face. He looked so much like Dad; he always did. "Sure," I agreed.
***
So that's where I found myself two days later. Ethan was with me. He’d wanted to check out the place before I’d agreed to lessons. It was at the same gym I went to for yoga, so I was familiar with the building. Ethan didn't even try to hide his protective stance in front of me as the instructor introduced himself. "Jordan," the instructor said, shaking hands with Ethan.
"This is Amanda." Ethan pointed at me. I raised my hand in a wave.
Jordan smiled warmly. "Amanda," he repeated. He was only a few years older than us, and well built. Good looking guy, if I cared—which I didn't.
Ethan cleared his throat. I rolled my eyes.
Jordan continued to discuss my future lessons with Ethan. Sitting back, I let him have control. I think he needed to know that he was doing something to help fix me. Honestly, I really didn't think I was that broken.
***
"I don't like him," Ethan stated, from the driver’s seat of his car. We were on our way back home.
"Who?" I asked.
"That Jordan guy."
"What? Why?"
"He looked at you funny."
I laughed.
"Not funny, Dimmy. Last time I was pissed at a guy that looked at you funny it was Logan. Look how that turned out."
My mood switched. "Okay," I told him. I wasn't going to argue; he was right.
"Just don't get involved with him—"
"I don't even know him."
"Just say you won't start dating or whatever, not yet, okay?"
"Okay," I said again.
Dating was the last thing on my mind.
***
I was home half an hour before I started getting bored. Thanks to Logan's leftover rent money, and the money he’d put into my tuition, I was able to cut back a day or two on my shifts. This made Ethan happy. It made me insane. Especially now that I was alone, most of the time. Ethan was in the house, but it wasn’t like we hung out, or anything.
The urge to listen to my music set in, but my iPod was in his room. It'd been there since that night. I hadn't been inside since the day I’d got home from hospital and found he was gone.
"Come on, idiot," I said, whispering to myself. My hand was on the doorknob. "Just do it. It's just a room." I took in a deep breath and mustered up all the courage I had.
I turned the knob, blindly stepped forward, and let out all the air in my lungs.
Then I felt him.
Wherever he was in this world, he was only there physically. Everything else was in this room, with me.
My hand brushed against something soft, causing me to open my eyes. My breath hitched, and all the memories came back. I focused on the bed, not wanting to take in too much at once. It would overwhelm me. It would break me. My iPod sat in the middle with my headphones wrapped around it, right next to my e-reader.
I had been reading and listening to music when he’d come in from a run. He’d said he wanted to tell me something. He’d wanted to tell me that it was his birthday, but I’d already known. Of course I’d known—I loved him.
I loved him too much.
I ignored the ache in my chest and looked around the room. Everything was so Logan. Not a single thing out of place. He was meticulous, and kept his room so clean. I’d always wondered why he did. Even his pool house was like this, but I’d figured his housekeeper kept it that way. I’d never asked. I should have. I should have done a lot of things. I guess it had never occurred to me that our time was limited.
I did this sometimes—thought, or talked about him like he'd passed away. Dead. Never coming back. I think it was my way of dealing with it.
Without knowing, my feet had me walking around the room, towards his desk. He kept a framed picture of us right in the middle. Micky had snapped it when we were at their house once. We didn't know she'd taken it until she showed us weeks later. I was sitting on his lap, with his arms tight around my waist. My head was thrown back, laughing at something he'd said. His face was so close to mine we could've been kissing, but we weren't, he was just watching me.
He'd made Micky e-mail him the picture right away. We'd stopped by a store on the way home and he'd asked me to pick out a frame for it. He'd said that the picture resembled us, who we were, and how he wanted to remember me for the rest of his life. He wanted to put it somewhere he'd see every day, to remind him that not all memories are distinct moments. Some are moments just worth remembering. My laugh—he'd said—is a memory that should be treasured—not just remembered.
That was one of the moments that led to me falling so deeply in love with him.
I felt the sob creep up my throat and I held it back. Gripping the frame to my chest, I quietly shut the bedroom door and walked into his closet, and shut that door, too. My crying was the last thing Ethan needed to hear. I sat on the floor, turned on the flashlight app on my phone and looked at the picture in my hand.
Then I let it out.
The hurt, anger, sadness and the loneliness of it all.
I missed him.
I missed him so damn much, and I couldn't even cry openly about it. My tears landed on the glass of the frame, and I wiped them with my thumb. "You asshole," I whispered, figuring if I could feel his presence in the room, then maybe he could hear me, wherever he was. "I hate you." Lie.
Then I saw the box I'd put his birthday present in. It was the last thing I’d given him.
Stupid present.
Stupid stethoscope.
I laughed bitterly, and studied my wrists.
Stupid.
I cried so hard that I ended up in a ball on the floor. I don't know how long I was there for, until finally, the sobs wore me out and I fell asleep.
***
The vibrating of my phone woke me, right before music filled throughout the small space of the closet. I was in a daze of half-sleep before I realized what was happening. My head pounded and my eyes hurt. I felt drunk, but I wasn't.
I was just stupid.
I picked up the phone and sat up—and only then did I work out that Hey There Delilah was playing.
For some reason, I smiled. "Tyson." I spoke quietly into the phone.
"Dimmy," he sighed out. He was less enthusiastic than I was. Something was wrong.
"Tyson? What's wrong?"
"Nothing." Looked like I wasn't the only one in the mood for lying.
I stayed quiet and waited. Tyson was like that; he just needed time.
I heard him sniff. "I just walked in on Ally and some guy in our bed."
