CHAPTER FOUR | ELLEN RIPLEY

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          I haven't seen Xavier in so long I don't even know how to behave around him or even how to greet him.

          I stand in front of him, on his front step, like an idiot, arms hanging limp by my sides, while Sidney glances between the two of us like she's watching a particularly interesting tennis match. She behaves well enough to stay put instead of jumping on him, like other dogs usually do, and I'm secretly glad I don't have to pull her back and make this reunion more awkward than it already is.

          He takes a good look at the sheer number of suitcases I'm carrying and then, finally, his eyes land on Sidney. Her ears perk up, tail wagging violently against my ankle as she waits for his undivided attention and a good head scratch, while he quirks an eyebrow.

          "You brought a dog," he comments.

          "I'm guessing Mom didn't tell you," I reply, setting a hand on her head, and she happily leans into the pet. He gives me a one-shoulder shrug in response. "This is Sidney. She's a psychiatric service dog. Mom got her for me because she thought my old therapist wasn't helping me much. She's not wrong, but it was all very sudden."

          My chest is so tight I can barely get a breath out.

          I'm quickly overwhelmed by the notion that I haven't seen or heard of him for so long that there are many things I no longer know about him and others that I haven't had a chance to find out about. I don't know—or genuinely cannot remember—whether he's allergic to dogs or not; if he is, things here will be far harder than they have to be. I've already prepared myself mentally for this new environment—or tried to, at least—but I understand if he needs me to turn around on my heel and go home.

          I can fly home. That's not an issue. My pride and my feelings will take a heavy blow, certainly, and I'm not entirely sure I'm mentally strong enough to take it and walk away with my head held high. Xavier isn't purposefully malicious and not everything in my life has some secret evil agenda behind it, but his hesitation isn't ideal.

          It's me, isn't it? I'm the problem.

          "She's very big," he says, crouching to be on eye level with her. Her tongue is out now, body shaking with excitement, and I wipe a stray tear from my cheek with the back of my free hand. "How old is she?"

          "I'm not sure, but she's young. A few months old, maybe six or seven. She's big for her age, but deep down she's just a little baby. Right, girl? You can pet her, if you'd like."

          He tentatively reaches out a hand towards her so she can sniff him, determine if he's trustworthy, and ultimately gets a nose bop from her. His lips curve into a gentle smile and I'm amazed by Sidney's self-control and how she doesn't immediately lie on her back to have her stomach scratched like she usually does with me. I'm assuming she can sense Xavier is not nearly as much of a lost cause as I am, that he doesn't need nearly as much external support as I do.

          This past month and a half, I've been trying to come to terms with the notion that it's okay to need help, that it's okay to not have the resources to handle all these emotions, feelings, and thoughts on my own. The intellectualization of my trauma is easy, but it doesn't help me much. It distances me from what happened, reminds me I'm not allowed to forget about it because I'd have to forget about my friends and my boyfriend, and then people tell me this is supposed to make me stronger.

          I don't feel stronger. Trying to rationalize the events of that night brings me nowhere—I can't find a reason that justifies what happened, that justifies what he did to me, to all of us, to himself—and it keeps me up until morning. It's agonizing trying to explain it to other people, let alone to myself, and it leaves me feeling like there's something wrong with me.

          "Come on in. You must be freezing," Xavier tells me, reaching out for the heaviest suitcases without me even having to ask for help. I weakly nod, letting Sidney walk in front of me, her little paws lightly tapping across the wooden floors. "Excuse the mess. I haven't had much free time to clean up."

          My bedroom back at home is a lot more disorganized than the entire lower floor of the house, but I don't tell him that. It looks like a house that's been lived in, which I appreciate, but part of me can't help but feel like I'm invading a space that has never been meant for me.

          He has decorated the house in warm tones, contrasting with the weather outside and the gray paneling—everything in Alaska I've seen so far is either white, blue, or gray, which sounds so cliché when I think of it. The living room is colored in shades of yellow, brown, maroon, even beige, complete with a fuzzy rug Sidney doesn't hesitate to call her own, right by the lit fireplace, and I only realize how cold I am until the heat seeps through my clothes. He has his plants and his paintings, things someone just passing by wouldn't bother getting, and there are the occasional splashes of different odd colors, like green and teal vases.

          It's nice that Xavier has made himself a home here, but it still hits me like a shot through the heart. His home is here now, thousands of miles away from me, from our family; though I'm here now, for God knows how long, it's just not the same. I'll go back eventually, and he'll stay. There's a reason he's stayed away for as long as he has.

          "I like your living room," I tell him. It's not necessarily an attempt at making small talk, but it's enough to make him look back at me over his shoulders. "It's nice. It's very you. The rock garden outside was a cool touch."

          "Thanks."

          He hasn't changed that much since the last time I saw him. We still look eerily similar—same strange shade of red-blonde-brown hair no one can pinpoint exactly what it is, same greenish-blue eyes, same strong jawline—but the hair is a bit longer than I remember and he can now grow almost a full beard.

          I assume I'm almost the same little sister he left behind, except for the effects the lack of sleep and inability to live like a human being have had in my appearance. He didn't look half shocked when he opened the door just then, so I'm guessing he was either brought up to speed on what to expect or he did his own digging. I want to believe he has asked about me, most likely to Mom, but I'd hate to get my hopes up. For all I know, it might have been my fault he left.

          "I haven't had much time to get your room ready, either," he confesses, as we walk up the stairs. "It's not as messy as downstairs, but I think you'll find it a bit . . . bare. You'll have time to redecorate, if you want. It's the guest bedroom."

          "It's okay."

          I've brought some of my favorite decoration items, just to have something positive that reminds me of home, but I wasn't expecting him to throw me a full welcoming party, complete with a perfectly decorated room. It's a miracle he even agreed to let me stay with him, and I don't want to push my luck by taking ownership of the house.

          The room isn't as barebones as he made it sound like, but it's deprived of any personality, as he hasn't had a reason to even use it . . . until now. He carefully sets my bags by the bed—white and blue covers and duvet—and turns around to face me, arms open for dramatic effect.

          "Welcome to your crib," he says. "You can do whatever you want with it. If you want to go shopping, we'll go shopping so you can turn it into the pinkest room known to mankind. Again."

          "My room hasn't been pink for, like, two years now, but I appreciate the sentiment."

          His face falls almost imperceptibly, a clear reference to how much he's lost and how much he doesn't know about me—the same way I don't know half of what's been going on in his life. "I'll let you get settled in, then I'll go through the house rules. It's not as fancy as it sounds, but I like my peace and quiet."

          I sit at the end of the bed, hands on my knees. "Go on."

          Xavier sighs. "I usually work late shifts, so you'll have the house to yourself for a few hours." My nails dig into my jean-clad thighs. I've grown used to my dad's presence in the house, in spite of all my protests about him needing to return to a regular routine instead of sacrificing himself for me, so being alone in a house, away from everything I've ever known, isn't exactly first in my list of exciting things to do. "I'll be home around three in the morning, but you'll probably be asleep by then. It's windy up here, so there will be a lot of noise during the night. You get used to it after a while." He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans, slightly swaying back and forth on his heels. "No parties in here. Small get-togethers are fine while the sun is out. If you go out, leave a note."

          "I don't know anyone here."

          "Yet. Mom says you're applying to UAS. There's nothing better than college to meet new people."

          It's my turn to sigh. "I haven't finished my application yet."

          I don't mean to sound icy, especially when I've been longing to catch up with my brother for so long, but I don't know how to sound nicer when I'm the only person in the world who knows how his nonchalant departure affected me. Regardless of our closeness status before all of that went down, he's still my brother, and it hurt like a bitch to have him slip out of my fingers without any prior warning or explanation. Him not flying home for the funerals, especially Emma's, was one of the final nails in the coffin.

          I don't want to force us to have a relationship he's not comfortable with. If he only wants me here as a guest, not as a sister, then I'll have to do that, even if it stings. I don't know for sure if I'm holding on to the sliver of good memories I have with Xavier for the sake of reminiscing about normalcy, but I sit there in front of him, perfectly willing to toss away whatever is left of my dignity and beg him for a chance.

          Nothing of the sort comes out of my mouth.

          "Anyway," he continues, the air between us shifting once it's clear neither of us are being fully honest with each other, "today was a special day because I had to cover for a coworker, but I'll be heading back to work in a few hours. I'll leave some leftovers in the fridge for dinner, or you can order takeout. Just make sure everything stays clean."

          "What do you do?"

          He shrugs. "I'm a bartender. It's my bar, at the end of the day."

          "Do you make it a habit out of covering for every single one of your employees?"

          His eyes glint with mischief. "Not all of them. Maybe you'll get to meet her someday."

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          It's only after Xavier leaves for the bar that I realize two things.

          First, he didn't mention a thing about this new therapist I'll be seeing here in Alaska, which I'm certain Mom won't approve of. Second, Xavier's house doubles in size when it's just me and Sidney here, even with the fireplace burning in the living room.

          I spend some time curled on a couch, with her next to me—I don't suppose Xavier will be too happy about all the dog hair scattered on the pillows after that whole warning about keeping things clean—but I quickly realize I'm unable to tune out the harsh blows of the wind outside. It's supposed to be worse upstairs, hence why I've lingered here for so long, but I'm not sure how one is meant to get used to this. Whenever tree branches slam against one of the windows, I jump where I am, startling Sidney and nearly causing myself a heart attack.

          All people talk about is how brave I am. I wonder what they would say if they could see me now, trembling with fear over the typical weather in Alaska—and this isn't even the worst version of it. It's still summer, after all, and I need to brace myself for one of the harshest winters of my life.

          I devote some time to my UAS application and draft an email to the University of Chicago, preparing myself to ask them to have my transcript ready in case UAS decides to move forward with my admission. The essay I was recommended to submit remains unwritten, with me refusing to send in a sob story, twisted into a toned-down version of what actually happened so it will make me look better and more desirable as a student. It might not even be what they're looking for and all this hesitation is self-created, but I haven't been sure of a lot of things lately; it's all they want from me back home, but this isn't home.

          With all the patience in the world, I look it up.

          I look up how to make this pain mean something. I look up to make it stop hurting. Needless to say, I'm not feeling any more enlightened than I already was previously—not at all—and, like with everything else in my life, I have to let it go.

          When I finally find the energy to drag myself downstairs, I'm tiptoeing like there's someone else in the house that the sound can bother. I even open the door to my new bedroom as carefully as possible, even though it doesn't creak, and the fireplace downstairs is nothing but ashes now. Houses always feel a million times bigger when they're empty.

          Big, empty houses are also a lot scarier, but no one talks about that. You're not supposed to be scared of what's meant to be your home.

          I can't sleep.

          I don't know how much time has passed since the moment I curled into a cold bed, with Sidney sleeping soundly at my feet, but I open my eyes not feeling well-rested in the slightest. It's still dark around me and out there, and the wind doesn't sound like it will calm down, which might explain why I'm still awake.

          A loud crash coming from downstairs sends me flying upward, sitting on the bed with a start, and Sidney immediately raises her head. I hold my breath, then exhale deeply, in a feeble attempt to replicate the breathing exercises my former therapist tried to convince me would help whenever I feel anxious, and I almost believe the noise came from outside—it's okay, it's okay, it's just the wind knocking something over—but then it echoes again.

          I crawl out of bed, praying my feet won't be too loud as I stumble towards the closed door. My trembling fingers clumsily reach out for the key and I fumble with it, refusing to turn on a light to help me lock myself in the room, but even I know a simple lock won't do much to protect me against certain types of threats. Guns, axes—they all can break my hiding spot.

          My heart is beating so hard, so fast against my sternum I fear it might jump out of my mouth. The ringing and buzzing in my ears aren't nearly loud enough to mask the heavy sound of footsteps downstairs, getting closer and closer, and I know I'll have to stop holding my breath at some point, but I can't allow myself to do it. Breathing too loudly can alert an intruder to my presence, after all.

          I mentally curse my mom for ever attempting to convince me this was a safe neighborhood. Safe neighborhoods don't usually feature house invasions on my first night, cementing my theory that I'm a magnet for disaster, and there's not anything in the room I can use to properly defend myself with—not against actual weapons. The baseball bat was a fickle of luck, and no one gets a second chance. Not even me.

          Then, Sidney barks.

          My tears well with tears as I turn to her. "Girl, no. Be quiet." She grunts, a low growl rising from her throat getting progressively louder, and I barely choke out a sob. "Sidney, please. Sid—"

          Sidney jumps from the bed, stepping next to me, and barks at the unknown threat, while I fall to my knees in front of the door. Both my hands are still firmly holding the door handle, like there's a version of reality where I'm strong enough to hold my own in this situation, and I cannot breathe. Nothing comes out of my mouth besides pathetic little sobs that I have to muffle against my shoulder, with Sidney howling next to me like a siren.

          The footsteps stop right outside my door. Sidney goes quiet. I whimper.

          "Wendy? What's going on?"

          "Xavier," I breathe out, finally. The handle turns as he tries to open it, but I can't muster the strength to unlock it myself, so I slide the key under the door. When it creaks open, nearly knocking me aside, I'm a pitiful mess on the floor, and I hate that the look in his eyes confirms it. "I'm sorry. I heard—I thought—"

          "It's okay. I tripped on the two floor lamps downstairs."

          He lowers himself to a crouching position next to me as I wipe the tears from my cheeks like a child, but it all comes crashing like a tidal wave when he pulls me into a hug. I hold on to him for dear life, face hidden in his jacket like that could ever protect me from anything out there that's coming to get me, and I'm painfully aware of how childish it all feels.

          Girl hears noise. Girl is terrified beyond belief. Girl can't trust anyone.

          "I've got you," he whispers. "I've got you. You're okay."

          I'm not. For a split second, I allow myself to pretend I am.