LOGAN

When I woke up the next morning, the first thing on my mind was that girl. Aurora. How she'd felt, how warm, and tight, and more importantly how good she made me feel. I dragged myself out of bed. I turned the shower all the way to cold, hoping to get rid of how hard my dick was. A trick, not shockingly that Elijah had taught me. Then I remembered my brother, my dead brother. I turned the water colder. As I stood there in the shower, I allowed myself to wonder why the fuck everything went down like it did. 

Once out of the shower, I dressed and ran a comb through the tangled mess of curls that was my hair. Looking in the mirror, I didn't see myself. I saw seventeen year old Elijah looking at me. Down the hall, was the closed door to my brothers room. It had been closed for a year now. The last time I'd seen him, he'd shown up in the middle of the night, coming off of who knows what, and begging for a place to sleep. My parents, my ever loving parents had taken him inside, made him something to eat, gotten him a shower, and let him stay the night. When we woke up in the morning, the safe was empty, the cash and jewelry in it was gone, and so was he. 

I opened the door to my brothers room. Immediately, once the cold air hit me I shuddered. Inside, everything looked untouched, and dusty. an empty bed, with his navy blue comforter still in disaray from the last time he'd slept in it. I walked over to his desk, I sat down in his chair. I opened the first drawer, in it there was a pack of Trojan Bare-skin condoms, I rolled my eyes.  One thing of mild interest, was a small box, I set it on the desk and opened it. Inside was a stack of photos, I thumbed through them. One was Elijah, with some girl who was holding up the tongue through two fingers pose. I rolled my eyes again. Another was of him in a car, looking like the re-incarnation of death itself. Again, eye roll. 

I didn't spent a whole bunch more time in there, instead I put everything back, even the condoms. Using condoms my brother owned, was weird in my mind. I shut the door behind me, but before I did. I said my last goodbye to my brother. What I knew of hm anyway.

Downstairs, my parents sat at the kitchen table, because only my mother would be wearing heels on a saturday morning. Not a hair was out of place, as per usual. My father, not quite as extreme still looked profesional as ever. 

"Good morning sweetheart." My mother said, standing to greet me. I knew what this was, it was them gaging my level of okay-ness with my brother's death. 

"Morning mom." I said, making  a beeline for the coffee pot. Pouring myself a large mug, I sat down at the table with them. In front of my mother and father, were pamphlets, and brochures. I raised an eyebrow. This looked a lot how they looked when sending my brother to rehab. Picking out which was the best place, and how much money they would have to shell out. Only a drop in the bucket however.

"Funeral planning already?" I asked. My mother nodded. Most people, would've taken time to grieve, and they were. Makeup and Chardonay can only hide so much of someones emotions. But I had the pressing feeling, that they wouldn't tell me they were grieving but somehow expected me to tell them that I, was too. Normally, I was acustomed to keeping up appearances and pushing everything below. But I remembered that even my father, had told me I didn't have to act tough. I'd seen my mother cry. But now, we weren't even going to talk about why she'd been crying, why for those moments in my bedroom. They let down their gaurd and showed me it was okay to grieve. But now...

"Yes. Something to honor your brother, remember who he really was, before... the circumstances." My mother said. That's what was funny about her, to me anyway. She always called my brothers addiction "The Circumstances" I didn't really see how it applied.

"You mean his addiction? The meth? The Heroin? The Cocaine? The Alcohol? Every drug known to mankind?" I quipped. My father looked at me sharply. 

"We, are not going to mention that at his funeral. It'll serve you well not to mention it to your friends either. We don't need people knowing our families dirty laundry." He said. Maybe it was the slight hangover, or the fact that I was still tired from the emotional rollercoaster that was my life for the past three days. I slammed the coffee mug on the table.

"His death, was not fucking dirty laundry! He was a fucking drug addict! Don't fucking lie because it'll make you look bad!" I shouted. Both my parents looked at me in shock. But I wasn't dead.

"I mean fuck! You just don't want to look bad. All our entire fucking life you've only cared about yourselves, your son died. My brother died! And your gonna make it a fucking "accident" what the fuck?!" I screamed. 

"Logan. That's enough." My father said sternly, standing up. I stood up too. Still pissed. I didn't even know where the  siege of anger had come from. 

"Fuck you Dad! I'm fucking done." I said, I grabbed my car keys and stormed for the door. 

"Where are you going?" He asked. I turned to face him.

"Out." Was all I said, before slamming the door behind me so hard the glass rattled. I needed a fucking drink, I needed a fucking break, I needed to know why the fuck I was mad, why I was defending someone I hated, someone who hurt me, my parents, and ended up killing himself. Yet I was mad, and not at him. What the fuck was wrong with me??