All My Broken Pieces (FindingLight #2)

Chapter 15

Fallon

I’m going to be sick.

This is not how I imagined the night going, not by a long shot.

I sit in the chair, my back ramrod straight. Arriana sits beside me, my hand clasped in hers a small comfort that does nothing to quell the terror as we sit and wait to find out how bad it is. How bad he is.

My mind keeps flashing back to our last conversation and his text I never answered. He had tried so hard to open up the communication, but I didn’t listen. Instead, I brushed him off, and now…

A choked sound breaks free from my chest. Arriana immediately pulls me into her arms, pressing a kiss to my forehead and rubbing soothing circles on my back.

I can feel my family’s stares at the familiar way she comforts me, but I can’t bring myself to care.

I’ll have to tell them eventually, why not at the same time we wait to find out if Hudson’s habit killed him this time.

A hysterical laugh bubbles up.

Forever the disappointments.

Scarlett sneers at me as my parents watch me like I’ve lost my mind.

Maybe I have. Maybe this is what it feels like to go crazy.

Before I can get too lost in the thought, calloused hands cup my face, tipping my head back. I blink around my tears at Arriana as she watches me with a worried expression. Reaching up, I run my thumb over her furrowed brow, only making her frown deepen.

“Baby,” She whispers, her eyes shifting to my family and back. “Are you okay?”

I laugh again, shaking my head. “No. No, I’m not okay.” My voice comes out louder than I mean, but I can’t stop it, can’t keep back the words screaming to be heard. “This is all such bullshit. If he never…if he didn’t have to…” I take a deep breath, trying to piece together the right words from the jumbled mess of my mind. “If he hadn’t been forced to hide himself, to fight against who he is, then he would never have turned to those goddamn drugs and we wouldn’t be here now.”

My words hang in the silent room, a heaviness settling over us as everyone soaks in their meaning.

My mom speaks first, gaping at me. “Are you seriously implying this is our fault?” She gasps.

I turn my gaze to her, the mental exhaustion and alcohol still buzzing in my system allowing me to voice what I never thought I could. “Yes. He’s here because of you. Because of what you did to him.”

Scarlett scoffs, rolling her eyes while my mom and dad share a look. My dad turns his gaze back to me. “Fallon, you can’t possibly blame us for your brother’s reckless actions.”

Leaping to my feet, I ball my hands into fists. “Actually, yes I can.” I snap, shaking from the anger and sorrow coursing through me. Arriana places her hand on my lower back but doesn’t say anything, simply showing her support with the touch. I relax slightly, knowing I’m not alone.

Taking a deep breath, I move my gaze over my family, the ones who have hurt us so deeply I’m not sure the wounds will ever heal. “You forced him to push down who he is. You sent him to that goddamn camp . No fucking wonder he turned to drugs to numb the pain.” My voice shakes as I all but scream the words in their horrified faces. “Sure, you might not have put the needle in his arm, you might not have forced him onto that motorcycle. But you did cause this. You caused it all.”

When the last word leaves my lips, all the anger flees with it. I’m left with an endless hollowness inside, a never ending despair. Sinking into my seat, I drop my head in my hands.

Please be okay, Hudson.

My heart cries out for my brother, wanting him to have the chance to find himself. And wanting, more than anything, to get the chance to reconnect - to show him he’s not alone in all this.

I send up a silent prayer to a god that doesn’t care about people like us. About those who don’t fall into his perfect little cookie cutter human mold. But even still, my agonized pleas rise to the heavens, desperate they’ll be heard.

Please.

Hours pass and no one says a word. The only time we speak is when the nurse comes out to provide updates on Hudson’s condition.

A police officer stopped by at one point to discuss the accident, only serving to fuel my frustration with this godforsaken world as he all but painted my brother as the run-of-the-mill junkie.

Asshole knows nothing.

I had to bite my lip to keep from lashing out at the beat cop for just doing his job.

I hardly recognize myself anymore, the revelations of the last 24 hours hitting me hard amongst the emotional turmoil I find myself in. Pushing back up to my feet, I stumble toward the restroom. I can sense Arriana following behind me and can feel the stares of my family boring into my back. With a shake of my head, I realize I don’t care. It doesn’t matter what they must be thinking, it doesn’t matter what they’ll say to me the next time we’re alone.

Fuck them.

Why did I care for so long what they thought?

Pushing open the door, I make a beeline for the sinks, splashing cold water onto my face. Arriana rubs soothing circles on my back as I collapse against the counter. Burying my face in my hands, I sob. The sound of my cries echoing in the tiled room accompanied by the running water.

Arriana doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer me empty words of comfort. Instead, she stays with me, not leaving my side as I break apart.

Gripping the counter, I peer at my reflection in the mirror. Noting my bloodshot eyes, disheveled hair, and blotchy cheeks. I look such a mess, and I can’t bring myself to care.

“Why?” I whisper to no one in particular, staring into my blank eyes.

“I don’t know, baby.” Arriana murmurs, stroking her hand down my hair.

I nod my head, because of course. Who the fuck knows why anything happens.

My mind wanders to the books I love so much, remembering the trauma and tragedy my favorite characters had to go through to get their happily ever afters.

A watery laugh slips from my lips as I can’t help but wish this was a book, that I could somehow know that I was destined for my happily ever after. My mind drifts to my brother once more.

That we both are.

But I push aside the thought, because this isn’t a story, it isn’t just words on a page, and in life you’re not guaranteed happiness.

My chest spasms as I stumble away from the counter and toward one of the stalls.

Maybe life will be kind, maybe it will imitate art.

Maybe, just maybe, we’ll all make it out happy in the end.