(before)

Three loud, hard knocks rang on the bedroom door.

I was lying on my bed, a few pillows propped behind my neck and back, a PS4 controller in my hands.

Supposedly this was bad for your posture, but I'd set up a TV next to my closet years ago, and it was the only way I knew how to play at this point. There was something about being able to wake up from a nap, roll over, turn on the TV, and just start playing.

Sure, I could bring in a chair, but I liked the extra floor space. That was part of why I didn't have a computer desk. Just a laptop I kept in a drawer next to the bed. When I needed to do work on a computer, I sat back on the bed and pulled my laptop out of the drawer. Bad for my back, but great for my living space. My chiropractor would probably hear about it somewhere down the line—if I ever had one—but not today. Today, I was just trying to relax and be left alone, on my own time, on a Saturday morning.

Please.

Three more knocks. Louder than before.

"Go awaaay!" I said. Loud enough to be heard through the door, and loud enough that Mom or Dad might even overhear and tell Gemma to 'leave your brother alone.' After all, I knew it was her. Mom and Dad didn't knock like that. They rapped on the door. Little tappity-tap-taps. Not the BAM-BAM-BAM's.

The knob turned.

Shoot. I really needed to get a lock on that thing.

"Busy!" I said, just as Gemma burst through the door.

"Nice try, biiiiitch," she said, throwing herself onto the bed. She was still in her pajamas and had her hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her hair was darker than Mom's, which was more of an auburn color. In fact, she had a lot of Dad's features, like his nose, and eye color.

One thing she hadn't inherited from Dad was his laid-back introversion.

The impact on the mattress caused me to bounce sideways. I landed on one foot on the carpet, righted myself, and paused the game. "Gemma, it's nine in the morning."

"Mom wants to know if you want to come to brunch with us."

"Did you try to text me?" I said.

"Seriously?" Gemma said. She was in a kneeling position on the bed, bouncing up and down. "You’re literally next door to me.”

Gemma and I were born two years apart, but sometimes I thought we'd originated from entirely separate societies.

"You coming,” she said, “Or not?"

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

I glanced at the pause menu on the TV. Back at her. "No. I'm good."

She stepped off the bed, one hand on her hip. "You don't want to come to brunch with us?"

"Are you trying to do that thing mom does, where she asks me the question again, but in a slightly judgmental tone of voice to try and get me to second-guess my decision?"

Now there were two hands on Gemma's hips. "Am I?"

I laid back on the bed. Un-paused the game.

"Come on!" Gemma said, openly frustrated. "You're always in here!"

"Gemma," I said, my eyes on the TV. "You can't force me to do things."

In fact, with my personality, the more you tried to coerce me into something, the less likely I was to go along with it. Something I could point out to her, but why be that helpful?

She took a couple of steps back, looming in the doorway. "Are you really not coming with us to Granite Falls this year?"

I shook my head. I was in the middle of a boss fight, and I was trying to focus.

"Why?"

I shrugged. "I just don't want to."

"Is it because Dad's not coming, either?"

I shook my head. "No."

I was pretty sure, anyway. It wasn't like I was acting out, or anything. Why should I be upset? Dad had work, was all. Couldn't take the time off, even though we'd booked the cabin several months in advance. It wasn't a big deal. Not really.

"Okay..." Gemma took another step backward, through the doorway and into the hall. Her hands were clasped behind her back. "Well...if you change your mind, let us know."

"I will," I said.

"Silas?”

She was still in the doorway.

“Yeah?”

“Is everything okay?”

I used the game as a pretense to avoid her eyes. “Why would you ask that?”

“Because you're being lame?”

I was quiet, pretending to take a minute to think about it.

“I just like having time alone.”

“I know that-“

“I’m not a bouncy ball of social energy, like you."

She gave me a hurt look. “Stop acting like I don't know you. Something's up."

“No, you're just-” I broke off. I was getting worked up, and I didn’t even know why.

Yes, you do. Something is off, and you can't explain what it is, but you know it's there, and it’s eating away at you like acid. All your insides are bubbling up.

“We’ll hang out,” I said. “Just not right now.”

“And not at Granite Falls?”

Before I could come up with an answer, Gemma’s phone beeped. She pulled it out of the pocket of her pajama pants.

“Mom wants to head out soon. Do you want us to bring you anything?”

I shook my head. I rarely ate breakfast. I was planning on grabbing a cup of black coffee from downstairs later on.

“Okay,” Gemma said, putting the phone back in her pocket. “I love you, you know?”

“You too,” I said. “Go get ready for your brunch, or whatever.”

She grabbed the knob. In the process of slowly closing the door, she blew a kiss, winked, and pointed finger guns at me.

“Gross,” I said.

“Later, bitch!” She said, and slammed the door.

Why was she so fond of that word lately?

I paused the game. I waited as her footfalls receded down the hall. Then the thump-thump-thump as she made her way down the stairs. Probably on her way to get some water or use the bathroom.

I reached down and pulled a flask out from between the mattress and box spring. Slim and black, with a matte texture on the sides, and a bronze cap.

I unscrewed the cap and took a good, long pull, three or four swallows. It was straight vodka, cheap, and with a hint of a chemical flavor, burning on the way down.

I screwed the cap back on and stashed the flask back under the mattress.

I grabbed a stick of Big Red gum out of my drawer and chewed it to mask my breath, in case Gemma came back.

I un-paused the game.

Did I feel guilty in that moment? Those moments?

Yeah. To the point where it was a physical feeling, sometimes. A sinking, pulling sensation down in my gut. An empty feeling.

And yet, my stomach was warm from the liquor, and a hit of dopamine was setting in as my brain anticipated the effects of the alcohol.

Despite every instinct insisting otherwise, I told myself three things.

Nothing was wrong. Everything was fine. Everything was going to be okay.