so sing me a dirge, sing me your pain
Word Count: 1057
The cell phone sat between them, screaming in its tinny voice, its presence a pall hanging over them. Elex stopped listening to its words some time ago; the words themselves only held so much meaning until the lot of them were dismissed as cathartic wail and castigation. He cared for neither.
As Elex sat with his knuckles forming a bony mountain, one that sat against his mouth, he contemplated his position. He knew he took risks — he knew that Sinope's threat proved the better choice. He should've let the senshi tell his family of his death. To know that Elex Yorke was dead — truly dead, not this half-step of dead — meant a cleaner cut for his family. Perhaps that injury may cut to the bone, but cleaner meant fewer scars, less mess. One could process death after railing against it. One could experience all of its woes and move through it, carrying that wound. But this? Learning that he disappeared, stayed disappeared, and only returned recently with tight lips on the whole affair? He could not fault his parents or his brother for their consternation.
Would I share a fate with Lot's wife by doing this? By engaging them, am I damning them to the whims of Schörl or SpecOps?
Erol finally cut in, rousing Elex from his reflections. "Mom? Dad? I'll call you back after."
The wailing commenced with renewed effort. A woman's voice cut in over it, sharp and direct. "Please, honey. Just tell us what we did that hurt you. We won't be mad, I promise." The voice sounded cold to Elex, perhaps even intentionally.
"Love you both. Talk soon." He ended the call swiftly. "Thanks. It means a lot to them, if you couldn't tell. Maybe you want to ******** reconsider meeting them in person, Elex. You can't just keep your ******** family at a distance and not tell them why. s**t like this happens," he continued, pointing to his cell phone, "and nobody gets anything good out of it. Except maybe you. I'm starting to think you enjoy it this way, like a twisted little s**t. You were always so quiet, you know? Everyone knew something was going on upstairs but you never said anything. But this? This proves it. You just want to hurt us."
"Yes, Erol." Elex's voice sounded dry, distant. His gaze caught in the veil of the world. "I love to see you suffer. Are you finished?"
"What the ******** is wrong with you? Are you even listening? This is the part where you prove me wrong. Look, I know you're smart. But you're ******** stupid with people. All they want," he pounded the table in time with his words, "is to see you. That's it. They just want to hug you and know you're okay. Why can't you get that? Cut the s**t and go see them. I swear to God, it'd be so much easier." He finished by flopping back in his chair with a huff. His hands joined at the back of his head and he looked everywhere else.
Elex looked at his pocket watch. The minutes ticked down effortlessly. "I know." But the Elex they want to see died months ago. Died in this very city, right under their noses. This one is an insidious imposter, but you wouldn't recognize that. Not when you're still looking at me for who I was. For what I used to mean to you.
You haven't put any thought into it. You never considered what would happen if I met our parents again. Even if I never gave them the story of what happened, they'd make their own. They'd perfect their own narrative. They'd hand us scripts to rehearse — you as the protective brother that looked actively for me. Me as the kidnapping victim, the abuse victim, the self-inflicted runaway. There'd be a sordid story to tell. They'd stay tight-lipped for a while — remember that paltry way that mother kept secrets? The way she held herself so you always thought she knew something you didn't? She'd play up that look around her friends. Her acquaintances. Talk would generate for a while. The Yorkes would gain relevance. Then she'd make her big reveal.
A dinner party, of course. Couldn't happen any other way. She'd have handpicked her speech of people to thank for finding me. At the end of it all, she'd parade me out. Queue family hug. Close curtains. Show's over. My misfortune became her masterpiece.
But you don't think that far ahead.
"Well?" His brother snapped at last. The front legs of his chair crashed into the floor. "Are you gonna say something or not?"
He smiled behind his knuckles. The gesture came with teeth. "How do you take your responses, Erol? With milk and sugar, or with cyanide?"
"What the ******** is that supposed to mean?"
"It means you were never very quick to deduce nuance." Elex rose from his seat. His fingertips reached for the table's surface to ground themselves, retracting vehemently before they touched cloth. "I made my decision, Erol. And if you actually care for me, then you'll drop it. Trust that I have my reasons." He glowered down at his brother, his taller, older, better brother, and dared defiance out of his bones.
Defiance that bled from every parcel of clothing worn, yet never rose to task. "Fine. Just… Fine. Fine. Browbeat me and keep our parents on a leash." He gestured the phrase away flippantly. "If that's what you want, Elex, that's what you get. Like always."
"Lke always." That's exactly what it is, isn't it? Browbeating you and keeping our parents on a leash.
"Just promise to tell me someday? Like…" He sighed. "I'm pretty sure you're right about keeping them away. You usually are. Your reasons for keep-away were always good. But tell me why sometime. I want to know, El. I really do."
"I'm leaving, Erol." He sidestepped the table, pushed in the shoddy chair. It scraped violently against the establishment's concrete floor.
"What? Why?" Erol sat up, his chair echoing the scrape.
Because my reasons aren't good. He turned from his brother, faced the wild rancor of the bar crowd, and passed through the door unhindered.
