Two days after.

I had not slept. I had not eaten. I had not existed.

I hadn't even moved from his bed, which smelled like his hair and weed and some syrupy smell I've never found anywhere else in all the years since. Once all the emergency crews were gone, his body rolled away in a disturbingly cheerful blue bag, I just curled myself into a ball, wrapped myself in his blankets, and cried.

I cried until I couldn't breathe. I cried until my eyes swelled shut. I cried until there was nothing left.

Nothing left of me.

Two days after. I finally wandered out to the family room, my body demanding sustenance. It was still and silent.

And for the first time in years, I wanted my mother. I needed her.

I walked to her door. Her voice resonating through the closed door stopped me in my tracks. "The counselor at school said he hadn't attended class for over a month," she said. "And he had been cutting his arms. Again. So yes, there were signs." Again? And who the fuck was she talking to?

I pushed her door open, my blood boiling with rage. "What? Why didn't you tell me?" My voice was shaking with emotion. My hand on the doorknob was shaking, rattling. My whole body was shaking, dissolving.

She lowered the phone from her ear, resting it on her lap. "It wasn't something you needed to worry about," she scowled at me, her eyes scanning over my body in that judgmental way she had perfected.

I lost it. "Are you fucking serious?" I screamed at her. "Then why the fuck did you send me to check up on him?"

I mean, my god. I was twelve. He should have been checking on me.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes. "Don't speak to me that way, Madelyn."

"Whatever, Meredith. It's not like you have a job. What could have been so fucking important that you couldn't be here yourself?" I got right in her face, which was streaked with tears. "Huh?" I wanted to hit her, to scratch her skin off, to bite her. I wanted to hurt her as I was hurting.

"I had no idea checking up on your brother would be such a burden," the sarcasm dripped from her words like spilled orange juice. Like an overflowing faucet. Like blood.

"Fuck you, Meredith. Why don't you try being the parent for a fucking change? Why don't you fucking take care of your children?" My voice broke, and I stumbled from the room sobbing.

Child. Why don't you take care of your child...

There was just me.

And barely.