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Grace
On the rickety bus, I watched the streetlights pass me by and the people on the sidewalks walking along. The whole trip back home had my mind reeling. How on earth am I going to tell my brother, Adam, about his fiancé?
Maybe my father decided to tell him, but I didn't think he would. When we were little my father left me to tell him that his pet gerbil Fred had died. When anything bad happens I'm the bearer of bad news.
How am I going to tell my only brother that while he was away in some forsaken desert with Doctors without Border that his fiancé freaked out when his camp was bombed a week later, and we couldn't get in contact with him. We tried everything we could, but she was convinced that he was killed. She told me that she couldn't live without him, so she tried to commit suicide.
She didn't succeed.
Instead, she broke more bones in her body than I care to mention. She was committed to an institute a short while after that.
That was around a year ago.
We kept hoping and one day they called my father telling him that Adam survived but he couldn't go home yet. It was only three weeks ago when they called again and told us he'd come home after his stay in the hospital. He was much too frail to be sent home.
The joy and fear we felt were just too overwhelming. My father kept his hope alive-he said he never doubted Adam was alive. He felt it in his heart and knew his boy would come home. I, on the other hand, avoided even thinking about him until I could find out what happened.
When Sarah found out she went into severe depression, she blamed herself for everything.
It was a big mess that Adam didn’t even know about.
The bus halted at my stop. My hands were clammy, and my bag shook in my hands as I departed the bus with the swarm of travellers.
My father's eyes lit up as he saw me coming closer. I did not realise how much I missed him until I saw him.
"Grace!" He waved his arm in the air so that I could see him through the crowd. I let out a low chuckle while trudging through the crowd to him. I enveloped him in a hug. My father held onto me for a moment in a tight embrace. There is nothing that his hugs could not fix.
Except maybe the whole Adam situation.
He let go of me and smiled.
"Adam is at home. He got here yesterday." His cheerful demeanour quickly changed into sombreness.
"Did you tell him?" He looked at the ground and shook his head.
"I can't break my child's heart, but I have to tell him." I took my dad's hand and gave it a light squeeze.
"That's why I'm here. Grace the bad news bringer." That’s one of my least favourite titles.
The drive home was something strange. I didn't know if I should be happy to be home for a few days or if I should be distraught about what Adam is going to find out.
We stopped in front of the house, as soon as I got out Adam emerged through the front door. He was freshly shaved with a few new fresh scars and his skin had browned due to the sun, he looked like a man that has been to war. He was a man that has been to war.
I didn't care to get my bag. I bolted to him, almost jumping on him. He hugged me so tight that when he released me, I let out a ragged breath.
"It has been too long!" He smiled at me but then eyed my up and down. He knew something was up. I couldn’t hide anything from him even if I tried.
"Always the bearer of bad news, Grace, always." I frowned. I guess it's just going to be this way, before I could say anything my father ushered us in.
"It's better if we all sit." He adjusted his glasses and followed us into the living room.
We took a seat on the big cream coloured couch that was as old as I was. Adam shook his head. "The last time we sat down like this was the day mom-", my father waved at him to stop. One of the sore spots we treaded over carefully.
"It's something like that. Adam, I wish I didn't need to tell you this since you just got back, and you need some time-" The words barrelled out of my mouth, but I could not tell him.
"Spit it out, Grace!" He scowled at me. I closed my eyes for a second. I started telling him the truth. My father left before I could finish.
Adam didn't say anything. Instead he stood up, grabbed his keys and left.
The look on his face crushed me.
I felt the tears trail down my cheek. This is the last thing that he needed to hear after coming back. My father mentioned that Adam asked where Sarah was yesterday because she should've been waiting for him. He side-stepped the issue and kept him busy with excuses as to why Sarah wasn’t there.
"Where is Adam?" My father walked back into the living room, he scanned over the room with a deeply etched frown.
"He left. I wish we could've waited a few days before telling him. He needs to adjust to being back, he doesn't need this too." I rested my hands in my face. I can’t even imagine what he was going through.
"I know sweetheart-if we could've reached him earlier...but better now than him finding out too late from someone else. I'm sorry I couldn't tell him..." I wiped away a few tears.
As if on cue, I got a message from Harper asking how I am doing, she knew something was wrong. She had this sixth sense that was quite accurate.
She didn't know why I went home and wouldn't relent until I told her, but I just couldn’t. I didn't worry about class either since I have about three a week, however as of next week I had exams, so I needed to go back to the apartment soon. Thankfully my absence is usually overlooked in class so I could afford slipping away this week.
I hoped a man named Noah also overlooked my absence.
Noah
I eyed the ticking clock on the brick wall. My eyes drifted from the clock to the canvas in front of me. When I got to the studio late this afternoon, I realized that I had started painting a face. I didn't even see it last night when Grace was here. She was a distraction for the most part but helped me ever so slightly get over my painting slump.
I checked the clock again.
My eyes drifted to the stairs. Where the hell is Grace? I swear if she doesn't show I'm going to make her life a living hell. Every time I saw the shredded canvas frame that I had set along the wall with some other paintings, I wanted to break something. After about two hours of not being able to continue painting, I pushed my chair back with a loud bang against the wall.
She is not going to show.
I decided to close my studio early. I locked the door behind me and wandered to my bike. My thoughts drifted back to last night.
Of course, she wouldn't tell me if something is wrong. She had no reason to talk to me.
I slumped down on the couch. So much for productivity. I felt a piece of paper in my pocket; I unfolded it seeing it was Grace's number.
Why didn't I just throw it away?
Maybe because when I saw the bruise, I left on her arm I felt more guilt than anger.