HOME | DD

Description
Consequences

He always had to know everything. He lived for that sense of omniscience.
I had done the right thing, hadn’t I? It was wrong of our family to keep this from him. And he would have found out anyway, he would have come back at some point, to visit our parents, or Ellie.
And then what? What were they planning on telling him when he came to see little Ellie and she was gone? He would loathe us for not telling him. He hated not knowing everything, no matter how good or bad, no matter how trivial, he always had to know.
They didn’t want him to know, they were afraid of his reaction if he found out, they knew what he was like; a dramatic, know-it-all prone to over-reaction.
A dangerous combination.
They would be angry when they realised I had told him. But I had to do something; I needed him to come back, to fix things, to make my father smile again, and stop my mother crying, and make my brothers laugh.
Our family couldn’t stand up straight without him, like we were missing a leg.

He had always been Ellie’s favourite, even though she had two other older brothers and an older sister, she worshipped him, her hero.
And he loved her most too, I think. If I was completely honest with myself, something I usually avoided, I was jealous, just a little. I was his sister too, his twin, didn’t that mean anything? Shouldn’t we two be the closest? Weren’t we supposed to have some deep-rooted psychic connection? Or was that just identical twins? Not that we weren’t almost that, we were so alike that if I were to crop my hair short and dress as a boy, it would be almost impossible to tell us apart.
I glanced at where my mirror stood, facing the wall, I had taken it down and flipped it around the day he moved away. I couldn’t look at my reflection, it only reminded me I was alone, one half of a whole. Because even if he did love Ellie more, he still meant everything to me.

I thought about what my father had said last night, about over-reaction. I had pretended not to know what he was talking about, but of course I did, we all did.

When we were only ten years old, and Ellie was seven. We were home sick from school; we had both caught the same cold. Our brothers were already at intermediate and Ellie didn’t want to go to school by herself, some kids had been harassing her and she was scared.
He wanted to go with her, but Mum made him stay in bed. He promised her she would be okay, he would be back at school tomorrow, he would protect her, she didn’t need to be afraid.
That afternoon Ellie had come home with a painful red mark on her arm where the bullies had twisted the skin. At first she tried to hide it from him, but of-course he found out, he always had to know.
He locked himself in his room, refusing meals and not speaking to anyone, not even me. And even Ellie couldn’t convince him it wasn’t his fault. His guilt and self-loathing overshadowed any sense of reason. He punished himself for three days.
That was over seven years ago, and I don’t think he has ever really forgiven himself for breaking his promise and for Ellie getting hurt.

When he left Ellie didn’t want him to go, she tried to convince him to stay, we all did. He went anyway, but not before promising Ellie she would be alright without him. He promised he would be back within the month, he would see her again.
So many promises.

For what felt like the millionth time I wondered what he would do now that he knew, several possibilities came to mind, none of them reassuring. I shuddered.
I was being silly, it was right to have told him, what were they going to do? Not invite him to the funeral? He was her brother dammit! They couldn’t keep this from him.
And if I hadn’t told him, he would have found out from someone else, and he would never forgive us.

He hated me now, I knew it, I could feel the tension when he hung up the phone after I gave him the worst news he could imagine.
Probably when he got over this he would thank me for being brave enough and honest enough to tell him. Because he would get over it, we all would, Mum and Dad and me, we would get past this tragedy as a family, including him.

He couldn’t possibly blame himself for what happened, it was an accident, even the police said so, so he couldn’t blame himself for what happened to Ellie. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t save her from the bus.

It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t save her from the bullies either.

I just wanted him to come home. Was that so wrong? He was my rock, and I needed him, now more than ever. I wanted him to come home and tell me Ellie had gone to a better place, and not to be sad because he would always be there.
Maybe when he realised this he wouldn’t hate me so much. He had always been able to read me like an open book. Maybe there was some sort of psychic connection after all.

He would come home now, and he would be glad to know.
In reality he would be absolutely miserable, but he would be glad I had told him. My family would understand why I had done it. They would realise I had done the right thing.
I had, hadn’t I?
Of course I had, he would want to know. He did want to know. He hadn’t said anything when I told him, he just hung up the phone, but he wanted to know. I had to believe that or I would go insane, he wanted to know.
He always had to know everything.

Description
Consequences

He always had to know everything. He lived for that sense of omniscience.
I had done the right thing, hadn’t I? It was wrong of our family to keep this from him. And he would have found out anyway, he would have come back at some point, to visit our parents, or Ellie.
And then what? What were they planning on telling him when he came to see little Ellie and she was gone? He would loathe us for not telling him. He hated not knowing everything, no matter how good or bad, no matter how trivial, he always had to know.
They didn’t want him to know, they were afraid of his reaction if he found out, they knew what he was like; a dramatic, know-it-all prone to over-reaction.
A dangerous combination.
They would be angry when they realised I had told him. But I had to do something; I needed him to come back, to fix things, to make my father smile again, and stop my mother crying, and make my brothers laugh.
Our family couldn’t stand up straight without him, like we were missing a leg.

He had always been Ellie’s favourite, even though she had two other older brothers and an older sister, she worshipped him, her hero.
And he loved her most too, I think. If I was completely honest with myself, something I usually avoided, I was jealous, just a little. I was his sister too, his twin, didn’t that mean anything? Shouldn’t we two be the closest? Weren’t we supposed to have some deep-rooted psychic connection? Or was that just identical twins? Not that we weren’t almost that, we were so alike that if I were to crop my hair short and dress as a boy, it would be almost impossible to tell us apart.
I glanced at where my mirror stood, facing the wall, I had taken it down and flipped it around the day he moved away. I couldn’t look at my reflection, it only reminded me I was alone, one half of a whole. Because even if he did love Ellie more, he still meant everything to me.

I thought about what my father had said last night, about over-reaction. I had pretended not to know what he was talking about, but of course I did, we all did.

When we were only ten years old, and Ellie was seven. We were home sick from school; we had both caught the same cold. Our brothers were already at intermediate and Ellie didn’t want to go to school by herself, some kids had been harassing her and she was scared.
He wanted to go with her, but Mum made him stay in bed. He promised her she would be okay, he would be back at school tomorrow, he would protect her, she didn’t need to be afraid.
That afternoon Ellie had come home with a painful red mark on her arm where the bullies had twisted the skin. At first she tried to hide it from him, but of-course he found out, he always had to know.
He locked himself in his room, refusing meals and not speaking to anyone, not even me. And even Ellie couldn’t convince him it wasn’t his fault. His guilt and self-loathing overshadowed any sense of reason. He punished himself for three days.
That was over seven years ago, and I don’t think he has ever really forgiven himself for breaking his promise and for Ellie getting hurt.

When he left Ellie didn’t want him to go, she tried to convince him to stay, we all did. He went anyway, but not before promising Ellie she would be alright without him. He promised he would be back within the month, he would see her again.
So many promises.

For what felt like the millionth time I wondered what he would do now that he knew, several possibilities came to mind, none of them reassuring. I shuddered.
I was being silly, it was right to have told him, what were they going to do? Not invite him to the funeral? He was her brother dammit! They couldn’t keep this from him.
And if I hadn’t told him, he would have found out from someone else, and he would never forgive us.

He hated me now, I knew it, I could feel the tension when he hung up the phone after I gave him the worst news he could imagine.
Probably when he got over this he would thank me for being brave enough and honest enough to tell him. Because he would get over it, we all would, Mum and Dad and me, we would get past this tragedy as a family, including him.

He couldn’t possibly blame himself for what happened, it was an accident, even the police said so, so he couldn’t blame himself for what happened to Ellie. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t save her from the bus.

It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t save her from the bullies either.

I just wanted him to come home. Was that so wrong? He was my rock, and I needed him, now more than ever. I wanted him to come home and tell me Ellie had gone to a better place, and not to be sad because he would always be there.
Maybe when he realised this he wouldn’t hate me so much. He had always been able to read me like an open book. Maybe there was some sort of psychic connection after all.

He would come home now, and he would be glad to know.
In reality he would be absolutely miserable, but he would be glad I had told him. My family would understand why I had done it. They would realise I had done the right thing.
I had, hadn’t I?
Of course I had, he would want to know. He did want to know. He hadn’t said anything when I told him, he just hung up the phone, but he wanted to know. I had to believe that or I would go insane, he wanted to know.
He always had to know everything.