Liam Carter's POV
Every novel possesses a quality that I particularly appreciate: the element of unpredictability. Each day is akin to a battle for survival. You have the opportunity to leave the world a little better than you found it. Yet, it all comes down to survival. The objective is to endure, not to live forever. Life is and always will be this way.
"Dead!?"
I was frozen in place. I had no words, no trace of emotion on my face. Everything was unraveling.
"Dad, my mother isn't dead! I saw her, why won't you believe me?" Lucas whimpered. I bit my lip, struggling to contain the overwhelming despair within me.
I couldn't feel like myself. It may sound absurd, but whatever happens to my brother, happens to me.
I just wanted it to stop. I wanted him to say it was a joke because he couldn't be insane. At least, that's not how I wanted to see it. But the situation was becoming painfully evident.
"Son, there's no Allyna! You saw her dead, didn't you? You witnessed it!" Dad bellowed, thrown off balance, much like myself. It made my brother hesitate for a moment. His face spoke volumes, and it was frustrating that I couldn't do anything. He was unraveling, his composure slipping away.
"No... no, that's not true..." He retorted, shaking his head.
"If she's not dead, then where is she? Come on, Lucas! Snap out of it! I know you miss her dearly, but Son... you still have a family, we are here."
"Oh, really? Now that I'm in this mess, you suddenly become my family? Where were you all this time? Where were you when I was growing up? Damn it, Dad!"
To live is to suffer, they say. What hurts more to you? Experiencing the suffering yourself, or witnessing it happening to someone you love? I thought the moment Lucas woke up, it would put an end to everything. I was wrong.
"Son, I had no idea. Allyna never told me anything about you, she simply vanished. Please... have mercy on yourself," Dad pleaded, his eyes filled with pity.
"Then if only you had been a better man, if only you hadn't cheated and abandoned us, none of this would have happened! I shouldn't have even existed!"
"Brother, enough."
"Mom is here. Accept it."
"Lucas—"
He walked away and locked himself in his room. Dad held his head, exhaling loudly through his pursed lips.
No, I wasn't trying to defend our father. Lucas had every right to say those things, but I didn't think it was the right time. As they say, trust is like a crumpled paper—once it's wrinkled, it can never be perfectly smooth again. Our father's actions weren't just a mistake; they were choices. But the thing is, I am his son.
"Dad, do you think we should consult a mental health professional?" I asked, clutching at straws. It was the only option that came to mind. My brother wasn't insane—I refused to see him that way.
"Do you believe Doctor Smith was right?" he countered, and I averted my gaze.
"He needs help," I uttered, consumed by dread.
Dad sank onto the couch. I understood why he felt contempt; accepting that my brother might have a mental illness would be challenging. But the first step in helping him was acknowledging it.
I made my way toward my brother's room, hoping he would listen to me, but my body froze right as I was about to knock on the door.
I didn't know what to do. I stood there, listening to my brother's soliloquy. It became painfully clear that he wasn't okay.
Tears welled up in my eyes. What had my brother done to deserve this?
Why him?
"Son." I glanced at my father in the living room, tension evident in his eyes. "I contacted Doctor Solomon. He's on his way."
For some children, having a sibling makes them feel invincible. For me, it's different. I've always had eyes on me, and yet I still felt invincible. It means the world to others to have a big brother, but what does it mean to have a little brother?
Lucas, he's the only one who truly sees me. No matter what you do, no matter who you become, you'll always have a little brother looking up to you. That's why, even though we may share only half the same blood, he means everything to me.
I just wish he knew that before all of this happened.
"Based on what you've told me, it seems that Lucas struggles to distinguish between what's real or not. That's a strong indicator of schizophrenia," Doctor Solomon explained. I rested my elbows on my knees, bowing my head. We were all gathered in the living room, listening intently.
"Schizophrenia?"
"Yes, the symptoms can include delusions, hallucinations, disorganized speech, cognitive impairment, and lack of motivation. It can be triggered by various factors."
Dad couldn't fathom what he was hearing.
"D-Doctor, how did this happen? Is it hereditary or something? I don't understand," I stammered, my nerves frayed.
"It's not solely hereditary. It can depend on multiple factors—how he lives his life, the level of stress in his environment, or even his brain's capacity to handle these factors," Doctor Solomon clarified. I pressed my palms together, covering my mouth. It was difficult to process what I was hearing. "Think of his mind as a computer desktop... if it becomes overloaded, it crashes and shuts down. In Lucas's case, it happened because his mind reached its maximum capacity to endure pain."
"He has amnesia, Doc. He can't remember anything except his mother. How is that possible?" I interjected.
"That's precisely the point. His amnesia prompts him to ask questions, yet the answers are deeply buried within his mind. Additionally, the trigger of his memory associated with his mother causes his mind to shut down—it's a defense mechanism to avoid further pain. Unintentionally, he begins to hallucinate, creating his own world as a means of self-preservation." I swallowed the lump in my throat, struggling to maintain composure. Every word weighed heavily on my heart. "Lucas has reached his breaking point due to the flashbacks he's experiencing from his past. The flashback involving his mother is just one example; there may be other painful memories that are overwhelming for him to process. That's why, at times, he spirals out of control... and when he's feeling most miserable, he sees his mother. All these factors, along with the physical trauma from his accident, have contributed to triggering schizophrenia."
"Stop saying that!" Dad growled, unable to bear it any longer.
"I understand it's difficult to accept, but he requires medication and therapy. It needs to start as soon as possible, or else he'll retreat even further into his own world, becoming unfixable. Worse, he might continue to harm himself..." I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. "...but, Sir, the decision is ultimately yours. You need to give us consent to treat Lucas."
...