Pain welled in Mitch's chest, swelling and slithering through his veins until it escaped through his mouth and nose as sobs. Each one tore through him like a violent wave until he collapsed on himself and gasped for air.

He wished he could travel back in time and make the right choice, but that wasn't an option.

Em was gone forever.

His apologies would never reach her ears. His absence was the last permanent memory she would have of him. A brother who always thought he knew best, but never understood her, at least not while she was alive.

He pictured her sitting cross-legged on her childhood bed in a fitted tank top and a pair of ripped jean shorts that most brothers longed to cover with sweatpants, himself included. She'd stormed off from Thanksgiving supper after their parents brought up getting her GED. It'd been over a year since Shawn, Em, and he were supposed to graduate together.

He sat on the black and gray comforter beside her. "You know Mom and Dad just want the best for you, right?"

Emily scoffed and shook her head. "I'm not like you or Shawn, Mitch. You don't get it. I'm an idiot."

"Your grades don't dictate your intelligence. You can pass this time."

Em collapsed onto her pillow and stretched her legs over his lap. His eyes gravitated to the bruise that poked out on her hip and she tugged her shirt down. When they were kids, she showed off her wounds like badges of honour, but that reaction meant he wouldn't like the story and that made his skin crawl. He and Shawn would deal with whoever did that.

"I don't understand half of what you and Shawn talk about anymore, and you think I'll pass a test that I've failed twice because everyone wants me to. Where are your big brains going with that logic? I'm not cut out for school. Just accept it." Emily rolled onto her side, draping her hand over the edge of the bed, and dug through her purse until she pulled out a joint.

"Jesus, Em, is that what I think it is?"

"It's weed. Relax, man."

Mitch cringed. Those words would never have left her lips last year.

"That will not help your situation."

Em sat up and crossed her arms over her chest. The shirt was far more low cut than anything she would have worn when he and Shawn lived here, but Mitch had to choose his battles each time he visited from Illinois to maintain their relationship.

"You think this is my problem with school?" She waved the joint around twice before she walked to the window, cracked it open, and sat on the ledge. She withdrew a lighter from a nearby drawer and lit up the joint. "In high school, I had you, Shawn, that college-dropout tutor, and Mrs. Porter after class, and I still failed. Last year, I had a bunch of stuck-up tutors, and it didn't change shit. I am and have always been dumb. I just used to be better at hiding it. At least this takes the sting out of failing to meet your expectations." She turned away, which meant she was close to tears.

Mitch's eyes drifted to the paintings up on Em's walls. She captured the sun's reflection on the lake better than he ever remembered seeing it. No matter how hard he tried, he'd never capture details in the ways she did. She drew faces from memory, and sketch a character she'd seen once, but as soon as letters and numbers entered the picture, she shut down.

"You're not dumb. I'll make time and help you pass so you see that." It was a minor hurdle.

"I can't do it again. I just can't." The fissure in her tone led down to a mile-deep icefield of pain. The argument was over.

Mitch waited a moment and sat with her by the window, despite the skunk smell. It was like passing the burn-outs behind the dumpsters back in high school. Em eyed him with a raised eyebrow and extended the cigarette. His arm tensed as he took it from her. He didn't want the high or to breathe in the nasty smoke, but they'd solved their problems together for years, and if this made Em feel more accepted, he'd suffer a scratchy throat, red eyes, and a potential lecture from his parents and his girlfriend Lisa.

Em laughed as he coughed after inhaling. "There's one thing I can beat you at other than art."

Mitch caught his breath. "Your art's amazing."

"A few people have said that. But if it's not a diploma or scholarships, like you and Shawn got, Mom and Dad don't give a shit." She took a long hit and exhaled out the window, not caring that their mother was weeding her flowers down below. "It's exhausting living in your shadows."

Her phone buzzed on the bedside table and a man's face popped up with a sad, scraggly patch of facial hair. Mitch sighed. In their small town, the deadbeat was easy to recognize.

"Mom said you've been going out with Ricky Hilegarde again."

"Yeah."

"Doesn't he have two kids and a coke problem?"

"He has one kid and knows how to party. You're telling me things don't get wild at that fancy school of yours?"

Was this what Em thought he and Shawn were doing now? "We drink, and some people smoke weed, but no one's an addict. Em, you can do better than guys like Ricky. Why don't you find a nice guy?"

Her gaze hardened, and she pulled her knees up against her chest. "You and Shawn always had these perfect relationships with nice, pretty, smart women," Em said, pulling her hair back into a ratty bun. "That's who those nice guys you're talking about want to bring home and show off. Women like me? They're the ones they sleep with but never talk about except to brag to their buddies. 'Nice' guys are only good to those they deem worth it, which makes them worse than the Ricky's of the world. At least he's honest about it and doesn't hide me."

Mitch wanted to fight her, tell her it was all nonsense, but the icy look in her eyes and the smoking joint on her lips stopped him. Shawn always treated her like she lit up his world, but he'd had a few serious girlfriends in college. Their lives kept moving while her cemented feet left her in the same crap hole they pledged they'd escape together.

The Thai riverside grew clearer in his vision.

He wished he'd known how it felt back then so he could have given better advice to help her find happiness earlier than a few months before her diagnosis. He should have brought her to Illinois, set her up with some art classes, and let their family's stupid dream of a diploma go as she'd asked. What did it give her other than frustration and misery?

It left her waiting for a goodbye that never came from her selfish brother. Too worried about pleasing his perfect little fiancée, he waited one more day. A day that meant the difference between seeing her or her corpse. He was exactly like the assholes he'd told her to avoid because he didn't put her first.

What followed her death wasn't any better. After his father's phone call confirmed Em's fate, Mitch had boiled with contempt for the snake beside him who he'd blamed for missing his goodbye with his sister. He didn't buy an ounce of Lisa's concern or her apologies. Her embrace burned until he pushed her away and left the motel bed. He reached into the minibar to grab a couple of mini bottles of rum and pour them into a glass. He'd never used alcohol to cope before, but he'd also never been an only child before, nor had he let Em down in such a permanent and unforgivable way.

Mitch and Em had supported each other longer than they'd been alive. A connection shared in the wound wasn't one that broke with distance or time. He'd known when she passed, long before their dad called. She'd shouldered that pain alone when he should have eased the burden or convinced her to fight to stay on this side.

Lisa was relentless in demanding his attention. Pretending to care when he saw through her façade. Her selfish dream of their future together had ruined his sister's life. No number of apologies or reassurances would erase that. He grabbed another bottle from the fridge, a vodka that burned as he gulped.

He slammed the glass on the desk. "Stop! I wouldn't be here—hundreds of miles away from her—if it weren't for you," Mitch seethed, a low growl in his voice.

"You were in no state to keep driving."

He paced back and forth in front of the bed in the limited space this dank room offered. "I wouldn't have needed to if you hadn't been so god-damned selfish!"

"If I'd known..." Her tears were all for show. She'd considered Em a blemish or a problem to fix.

"I told you she was sick, but there's always something more important than my sister, isn't there?" He stopped moving for a moment, resting his hands on the desk behind him.

"I didn't force you to stay."

The resounding smash after he threw his glass across the room at the door rang in his ears. Booze and glass shards coated Lisa's luggage. Her eyes were wide, tear-filled, and downright terrified. His breaths erupted in shudders. With each one, more of his rage leeched out. His hand itched to throw more.

"It's not my fault," she whispered.

"Get the fuck out of this room!" Mitch's chest grew tighter.

"But Mitch!" She stepped closer, but he jolted in her direction, causing her to flinch.

"Leave," he growled through gritted teeth.

If he hadn't been irate, she would have argued they were in a motel in the middle of nowhere in the dead of the night, that broken glass and misplaced anger shouldn't end an engagement—especially when they'd already started planning the wedding—but they did. That or the spiralling alcoholic mess he became in the months to come. She'd tried again and again to contact him, but he'd refused to speak to her and to this day still hadn't.

If only you could see me now, Em. You'd be so fucking proud.

He'd hurt Becca and cracked her self-worth. Months had passed, and her hatred hadn't waned. Prae and Tom's misery was his fault. To top it off, he'd devastated Maria and broken up a relationship that could have made her happy. Now she wanted nothing to do with him. Asshole fit him like a glove, as Em had predicted.

***

Thanks again for reading, commenting and voting. There's one more part of this lengthy chapter where we'll catch up with the phone call Maria gets. I'll be updating next weekend.