HE STANDS AT THE SINK, the careless flow of water shattering like fragments of glass into the silver of the sink below. The scrape of the scouring pad against the dishes from dinner resonates throughout the silence, and drowns out each of his withering breaths.
But in the kitchen's fluorescent lights, our reflections are drawn in pale white light on the window, though beyond the glass the world is a mauve and black oblivion. Ebony sees me as I see him, and just like that, the opportunity to run evaporates right in front of my eyes.
His scars remain though, crystal-clear even when the transition between day and night is a harsh line that encompasses all.
"You defended Rebel." He tosses the green scouring-pad in the sink and whips around to face me, a plate still clutched between his soapy fingers. For the first time in sixteen years, there is a storm in my brother's eyes, a turbulent hurricane obliterating everything in its path. "You rejoined the Witches. You broke a promise. You walked away from me. You defended Rebel. You really are the perfect little lap-dog, aren't you, Ivory?"
"It's Blue," I grit out, "and Ebony, it's not like you and Archer had much faith in me anyway."
"You seriously thought that? All I've done for years now is worry about you when, really, if everything was normal then it would be the other way around!" He exasperates, dragging a hand through his shaggy black hair. "And Archer―Archer just wants what's best for you. Instead, you ended up right where you began!"
"Because that's where I belong," I argue, taking a few steps forward in my wild, disoriented state of my mind.
"Yeah," he spits back. "In Rebel Montenero's shadow."
"Because you and Archer don't think I could ever be my own person. You just expect me to deal with all this―all this stuff, and I'm going to be all nice and trusting and quiet about the fact you literally lied to me that stuff had died down, so I had to go back and deal with it."
"It's not like you ever try to be your own person. And, okay, we shouldn't have lied, but seriously? You went back to Rebel. Rebel, who hurt you, and broke your heart, and who kicked you out and demeaned you. And even after all that, you went crawling right back!"
"She said that too!" I shout, frustrated tears burning at the back of my eyes. "What does it matter anyway? You have no faith in me, and at least she has some!"
"Why are you settling for such a terrible, manipulative, horrible excuse of a human being?" My brother seethes, advancing on me too. Though he's a year younger than me, he's tall enough that I feel it now―really feel it, like he's mustering all his power, and using it to make me feel small. Small, and worthless, and insignificant. Not worth caring about. Not worth giving a single damn about.
"Because it's not like I have much choice!" In spite of my anger, my voice wobbles. No matter how much I swallow, I feel the tremble of my lips and the moisture of my eyes, and he sees them too. I hate that more than anything, because it makes it so much easier for my brother to treat me as if I'm weak. "Screw this, Ebony. Screw you, in fact. I don't need you to pretend to worry about me, and I don't need you and your best friend Archer to lie to me anymore. Honestly, it was so much easier when we just didn't speak at all."
In one charged moment, his expression melts from the molten, coalescent depths of anger, becoming hurt and stricken. "Wait, Ivory―Blue―goddammit―,"
His hand is outstretched, trying to beckon me back, but I'm done with listening. Though his lips stumble over words, and he seems ten years younger and like my little brother again―we are both too far gone.
He won't explain himself. I won't even give him the chance to try.
Instead, I storm off, and in my wake, a plate shatters.
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