My Brother
SARAH
I think I must have dozed off again, because when I woke up, it was not to see Cullen inside the room. It was not even to see my father, whom I had expected.
The person who was in the room wasn’t the person I expected to see.
It was my brother, Ronan Sullivan Jr.
He was on his phone while his other hand was flipping and unflipping his pocketknife. He loved playing with that knife, and when he did, I always got so scared to get anywhere close to him. So I immediately pretended I was asleep.
He kept talking on the phone. It was low-volume whispers, and he was far from the bed, so I couldn’t tell what he was saying until he hung up the phone. And then I heard his voice as he said,
" I know you're awake."
I opened my eyes and looked at him, and the two of us just stared at each other. I don’t know why, but there was something in his eyes that usually just scared the hell out of me. There was something wrong with his eyes, I think. I was just scared of him.
“There you are,” he said with that voice of authority that he liked to overly use.
The last thing I wanted was to be in this room with him. Especially with me sick, IVs hanging from my hands, and being in such a vulnerable state.
“What are you doing here?” I asked because I doubted that he was here because he cared about me, because he wanted to know how I was doing.
I nearly laughed at the thought, until I remembered where I was, alone, with him.
“Oh, come on, dear sister,” he said. “I’m your brother. And everybody seems to be fighting about you. Everybody seems to be talking about the Irish princess and how she nearly drowned. How her life could be what eventually led us to an all-out war... Of course, I would want to see you. Of course, I would want to know how you’re doing. Of course, I am here because I’m your brother.”
I scoffed. “You don’t care about me,” I said.
“Maybe. But I’m still your brother. And if you were to die foolishly, I would still have to avenge you.” He pointed back.
I shook my head. “Well, thank you for checking in. I’m not dead. You don’t have to kill anyone. You can go now.”
He smiled then. That wicked smile he had.
“Look at you, thinking you have all the power. Now you think you can tell me what to do?”
Now this was the Ronan Sullivan that I knew. The one everybody was scared of. He was scary. That’s the only word I had for him.
So I kept quiet.
“What now? You’re going quiet on me? You’re not going to respond anymore? Is that it? Am I not worthy enough of your attention?”
“What do you want, Ronan? Just leave me alone. Why are you even here? Where’s Dad?”
He smiled before he said, "Dad is not here."
"Where is he?" I asked. "He's always been there when I woke up."
"Yes, he has," he said, standing up.
He started to slowly walk closer to me, still flipping and unflipping his knife, which made my eyes concentrate on it and what he was doing, on his movements...
"And do you know how much that has cost me? Has cost us? The whole Irish family? Do you know what it cost the syndicate? Do you know how much it has cost us that the head of our family was in Cincinnati territory playing nurse for nearly a year? Do you know how much that has cost us?"
This felt like he was blaming me again, as he has always blamed me for everything. I get sick, and it's my fault. I get... Everything has always been my fault with him. So I don't answer.
He walks closer and stands there above me, still playing with his knife, as he says,
"I wonder what's so special about you."
His tone starts getting more dangerous, colder. "Sometimes I wonder if I could carve out your face. You know, just pull it off and see if it will be such a big deal anymore. And see if you will be such a big deal."
I swallow. I have seen Ronan do some stupid shit. I have heard even worse things he has done. And I'm scared of him for a reason. Get into the program.
I didn't want to be here.
"Okay, Ronan. I know you hate me. I hate myself too. It's why I tried to kill myself. So if it makes you feel better, maybe you could finish the job, you know? Killing a weak woman on her deathbed because you're the big bad wolf will be very impressive."
That's when he smiled.
The jaded smile. A smile that showed I had impressed him. He was always impressed by weird shit.
He took two steps back then and sat on the chair beside the bed, Dad’s chair. The one he used to occupy. Ronan made himself comfortable, spreading both his hands and his legs. Still playing with that knife, of course. And then he just stared at me.
I stared back at him until I got tired. I looked up at the ceiling and then closed my eyes. And that's when he began. That's when he opened his mouth and said,
"You look so much like her."
The moment he said that, I already knew who he was talking about. Our mother. The woman I had never met. The woman who had left a wound.
I didn’t say anything. I kept quiet.
And then he said, "When Dad took us to say goodbye..."
I realised he was in his moment now. He was being honest.
"She looked just like you right now. Eyes closed, sleeping peacefully. Only that she wasn't breathing, you know? Because she had died.... Just so you could be born," he said.
His tone, of course, was accusing but it wasn't a very surprising statement. Because yes, I knew. I knew that he and my other brother Ryan, blamed me for her death.
Even though I had absolutely no power. Nothing to do with her death.
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