Why am I here? I think.

I take my seat on a soft, lavender lounge chair and begin looking around the room. The walls are plastered in portraits of individuals chiseled by perfection. They smile carelessly as if they’ve never run over any potholes on the road of life. Such an idea is stricken with false pretenses. Not even a utopian society can fulfill the desire for a life without hardships. Their faces are merely a façade meant to steer us away from the reality that all dreams end in the same fate, they crumble.

Sighing, I turn my attention towards the window, which is slightly ajar. Beams of light shine through the polished glass. Daffodils along the windowsill stretch their necks upwards towards the blissful radiance. A gentle breeze slides under the glass with a whistle, tracing its warm fingers along my jaw line. In the distance I can hear the muffled voices of children playing, and the soft lullabies of birds in a nearby maple tree. The breeze hits me again, this time carrying the scent of freshly cut roses from the garden.

A soliloquy of high-heels clicking against the floor orchestrates down the hall, obnoxiously tap dancing towards the room. I clench my fist and turn my head towards the door. A tall, attractive women strides in, followed by a parade of clicks.

Her oval-shaped face is adorned with a wide, glossy smile with dimples on either side of it. Her black hair is pinned into a bun which is neatly tucked behind a pair of red-rimmed glasses resting on her head. She’s dressed in a white blouse which gently folds around a black pencil skirt. My eyes glide down her long, muscular legs until I reach the source of the noise; a pair of red pumps.

“Evron Groll, I presume?” she asks, taking her seat in the armchair across from me.

“Yes,” I answer uncomfortably, fidgeting in my chair.

Moments pass in silence while my eyes aimlessly wander around the room. I feel her marble eyes tracing my figure, taking me apart, inside and out, piece by piece. After what seems like hours, she smiles and taps her pen against her clipboard.

“Tell me your story, Evron.”

“It was autumn of nineteen eighty two. Leaves painted the sidewalk in shades of red, yellow, and orange; scattering about as cars passed by. They flew through the wind, never knowing where they’d end up, traveling freely and unbound by consequences.

One day, when the last leaves of October fell from their branches, I walked in on my father cradling my mother in his arms. They were sobbing into each other’s chest, holding one another closely. His fingers were intertwined in hers as he whispered softly into her ear. Wiping her tears away with one hand, he proceeded to brush her golden hair from her angelic face, placing a loving kiss on her forehead.

That night I discovered that my mother had been diagnosed with pelvic inflammatory disease, causing her to become infertile. My parents had been trying to conceive for over a year; and being unable to do so pushed them into a state of moderate depression.

My parents remained bed-ridden for weeks, pampered with anti-depressants and hours of sleep. Like a scissor, infertility had torn our closely knit family apart, causing us to drift away into a sea of isolation. Our usually talkative breakfasts became ghostly quiet, and cold. I was only a child, but I knew that the fate of our family rested in my hands. I took it upon myself to care for everyone, holding us together by a string. I walked myself to and from school, got a job as the local paperboy, bought the groceries, prepared dinner, and cleaned the bedrooms along with several other tasks a six year old normally wasn't accustomed to.

Those nights when my parents’ tears flooded the house haunted me in my dreams, I couldn’t bear it. I thought our family would never replenish our happiness, until one day my parents were acting differently, almost like their old selves again.

I awoke to my mother’s exhilarating voice, which carried the rise and fall of a familiar, delicate chime with every word; just like it had before she found out she was sterile. She took my hands in her own and led me down the staircase. As she descended the last step, she twirled into my father’s arms with a giggle.

They led me onto the porch and smiled. My father reached into his back pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, then proceeded to tie it around my face, obscuring my sight.

“We have a surprise for you, son,” he chuckled, leading me towards the driveway.

The car ride was long, yet smooth. I kept asking questions but neither of my parents answered. I rested my head against the window as I listened to their warm laughter. A smile tugged at the corners of my cheeks once I realized that this was the happiest they’ve been in a while.

Somewhere along the way I must've dozed off. I awoke as I lurched forward when the car came to a sudden stop. My mother apologized for my father's deprived parking skills and proceeded to unbuckle my seatbelt. Once out of the car, they placed their hands on my shoulders, and I was led, still blindfolded, into a musky building.

The air was colder and smelled excessively of pine-scented candles. I sat in a secluded room, ear against the wall, listening to the muffled voices of my parents. Eventually, their voices died down and with a gentle creak, the door between the two rooms opened.

I focused my attention on the various footsteps approaching me. Once they stopped, I felt a pair of soft, cold hands caressing my face. The unfamiliar hands brushed through my thick, brown hair and untied my blindfold. As the veil of obscurity fell from my hazel eyes, I found myself gazing up at the face of a boy, about my age or so, smiling down at me.

The room’s lighting sparked a twinkle in his brown, almond-shaped eyes which gleamed under blonde strands of hair that curved around his round, olive-skinned face. He anxiously stared into my eyes while chewing on his chapped bottom lip.

“This is Angelo. From here on out he’s family,” my father smiled, hugging my mother tightly as his hands brushed through Angelo’s silky hair. “Say hello to your brother, Evron.”

The ride home was uncomfortable, to say the least. We sat in the back of the car, side by side, never saying a word to one another. Angelo kept glancing at me, then shying away as his cheeks turned a rosy-pink. My blank stares and lack of interest seemed to bother my father, however, my mother was too immersed in giddy delight to even notice.

Once home, my father pulled me to the side, gripping my arm tightly as he told me to behave better. We walked inside, following Angelo and my mother upstairs into my bedroom.

“You’ll be sharing this room with Evron, sweetheart,” my mother smiled, giving Angelo’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Wow! That’s so ni-,” he began to say, but I cut him off.

“But, Mom!” I whined.

“Evron!” my father hissed, flashing me a stern look. I pouted and stomped out of the room, purposely making as much noise as I possibly could as hatred coursed through my veins.

My dislike for my family grew as the years passed by. I watched as I became a ghost on the sidelines of everything Angelo ever accomplished, from elementary writing awards to scholarships. I observed the world through the perspective of a wallflower, always fading into the background, losing my sense of existence.

Angelo was simply more honorable than I was. He was a knight in shining armor, the epitome of appeal, morality, and intelligence. A flock of beautiful girls followed him wherever he went. In high school, those girls, along with the many other individuals that basked in Angelo’s greatness, would always prey on less prominent individuals, like me.

There I was, bloody and broken, lying next to nothingness. I was alone, and I blamed him. It was he who stole my parents’ love away from me, he whose friends would shatter me to pieces day after day; yet, there he was all the time, mocking me his false innocence and compassion. I thought…”
“What’d you think, Evron?” a woman’s voice asks, snapping me back into reality
I choke up as tears threaten to fall from my watery eyes. I take a moment to recollect my emotions and manage to blurt out, “I was wrong, so very wrong.”
“Wrong about what?” she asks. Her face remains expressionless, but staring into her eyes, I can feel her bleeding sympathy for my story thus far.
“One day, a year after I had moved out and severed my ties with my family, I walked in the breath of rain and blossom breezes along the sidewalk, coming to a stop at the local coffee shop. There she was, her glance flew my way, and my heart skipped a beat.

Her name was Aria. She would sneak glimpses at me from the corner of her breathtakingly gorgeous blue eyes. Whenever I glanced her way, our eyes would linger for a dreamy moment, and then she’d turn away, her pale cheeks rosy-pink.

My heart fluttered at the feeling of romance. Hand in hand, we took flight into an entirely new world; a world of knowing that we had obtained a sense of purpose by being in each other’s arms. She truly was my other half.
Another year passed until I had finally collected the confidence to propose. I spent months planning this night to be perfect. Aria was returning home from her mother’s house and I was going to surprise her with a homemade gourmet dinner. Rose petals were scattered around the room and the flickering flames of the vanilla candles danced along with the pleasing sound of smooth jazz playing in the background.

Once night fell over the horizon, she arrived at our doorstep, looking as beautiful as ever. She was tightly tucked into a black pea coat that stretched over her flowery, purple skirt. Her scarlet hair was tied back into a messy bun that seemed to be on the brink of being undone. She smiled adorably as I pulled her close, kissing her deeply. To my surprise, she shied away quickly with a blush, signaling to something behind her.

A familiar man stepped out of the darkness and through the door frame behind her. His brown, almond-shaped eyes eagerly stared at me. It was Angelo.

“Evron… it’s nice to see you again,” he half-smiled.

“You! What are you doing here?” I shouted, pushing him outside, closing the door behind me. I begin to feel a strong sense of anger boiling inside of me, threatening to break free. He ruined everything, I thought.

“Ah, I’m sorry! It’s just that…,” he trails off, looking to the side.

“What?” I roar, clenching my fists.

“Evron, I-… I miss you. How have you been?”

“How have I been?” I yell, “Just fine until you arrived! I was about to pr-.” I stop as I realize my dear Aria must be listening through the door, completely horrified.

“About to what?” He says sympathetically, reaching to place his hand on my arm. I step back from him in silence, feeling intoxicated by rage.

“I’m sorry; it’s just that… Father, he’s ill. He doesn’t have much time left,” he continued, “Won’t you come visit? I have a car, we can leave tomorrow.”

“Leave!” I scream. “Neither of you have ever cared for me, so why should I care for you? Just get out! Get out!” I growl, raising my fists, feeling fury set my mind ablaze.

That night I awoke to screams that struck a chord in my heart. I quickly turned to Aria who was pointing towards our bedroom door. It flickered with orange-yellow light. The air was thick and smoky, causing my throat to tighten up. Choking on my breath, I grabbed Aria’s hand and quickly pulled her to the window. It wouldn’t budge. The restless flame had eaten its way through the door and was already spreading over the carpet.

Feeling helpless, I clenched my fist and punched through the glass. Scarlet rose petals rained down from the deep slices along my arm. I swung my arm around Aria and pushed ourselves onto the window’s ledge. Aria cried in pain was a shard of glass pieced her shoulder, causing her to fall backwards into the room.

“Aria!” I yelled, extending my hand out to her, but I was too late. The floor collapsed beneath her, scattering burning embers like fireworks across the room. The fire was livelier than the burning flare of my heart, completely consuming her. Ashes sprinkled over the ground, shattering my dreams and inspiring nightmares.”

I choke up. I’m crying now. The therapist extends her hand out to me, holding tightly to my own. Her sweet words reassure me and I proceed on with my story.

“My dear brother, Angelo, was always there for me. He walked, barefooted, through the hateful blaze of my heart and embraced me. He held me in his arms with tears of cooling sympathy and helped me rebuild my life by giving me financial aid for the things I had lost. He even arranged the funeral where he spoke beautiful words of poetry to Aria, who he’d only known for the slightest second before she had disappeared forever, only to remain in my heart.

He allowed me to stay with him while my house was being repaired. We sat, side by side, talking for hours on end. As midnight fell upon us, we said good night; but, I couldn’t sleep. My heart clenched into a knot of regret for how I’d always treated Angelo. I watched him sleep as shattered glass fell from my watery eyes. For once, I truly thought of him as my brother.
That morning, I agreed to visit our father. We left, with smiles on our sleepy faces, driving for hours towards the hospice; entertaining ourselves along the way with stories. Night had settled over the horizon before we were even close to our destination. I was laughing ecstatically as Angelo told me how he had forgotten to put on pants before walking out the door. The harder I laughed, the more he blushed. We were hysterical and too absorbed in nostalgia to notice the bright lights racing towards us. I caught a glance at them from the corner of my eye before we were hit head on. The impact caused our car to do cartwheels over the pavement. I blacked out.
I awoke in a vivid, white room; surrounded by curtains and machines that beeped every few minutes. Blood-curdling cries of pain could be heard in the distance. It was Angelo.
Biting my lip to avert my attention from the pain, I jumped out of the hospital bed and ran out the door. Nurses called out to me, but I didn’t listen. I continued running down the hall towards Angelo. A tall, bulky man in a surgical uniform grabbed me by the shoulders, causing me to come to a halt. I stood in front of a large, windowpane, hands against the glass, crying out to Angelo who lay, squirming in pain, on a hospital bed. His legs were covered in crimson-stained gauze, his face had an enormous gash along the side of it, and several slashes danced across his forearms, crying scarlet dew. He seemed to be on the brink of death.
“What’s wrong with him?” I whispered, feeling broken.
“His legs are beyond repair and will need to be removed. Lucky for him, he’s been slipping in and out of consciousness,” the man said. “Now, why don’t we get you back to bed?”
I held Angelo’s hand while he was once again unconscious. The area around his eyes had darkened, and his skin was almost ghost-like. As he stirred, a groan escaped his tight lips. His eyes fluttered open and revolved around the room. I squeezed his hand tighter.
“Evron?” he tried to smile, but immediately clenched down on his teeth, grinding them together as his eyes wildly stared at me, as if he were horrified yet astonished at the same time.
“Angelo, I-… I’m so sorry!” I said as I buried my face into his hand, trying to hide the tears raining down from my swollen, red eyes.
“Evron, I’ll never walk again, will I?” he patted my head, brushing his hands through my messy hair. I was sobbing severely now, clenching the bed sheets with my fists, unable to speak.
“I heard what they were saying. I don’t want to live like that, Evron,” he said soothingly. “Besides, I’m happy that after all of these years, you’ve finally recognized me. I can die happily.”
“Angelo! What are y-?”
“Evron, I need you to do something for me,” he looked into my eyes helplessly. “My coat’s inside the closet. Inside of its pocket is a bottle of pain killers, please pass me the bottle.”
I scavenged through his pockets, pulling out gum wrappers and loose change until I finally stumbled upon a blank, white container. “This it?”
“Yes, give it here,” he smiled, his arm shaking as he extended it out to me. He opened the bottle and poured bean-like tablets into his hand, then continued to drop them into his mouth. “Evron,” he gazed at me, smiling happily. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Angelo,” I smiled, my vision blurring from my watery eyes.”
“The bottle contained ricin,” I say softly, my eyes feel painfully dry like sandpaper, hurting with every blink. “He remained stable while the surgery was postponed, then died several hours later…,” I trail off, gazing out the window.
“You can’t blame yourself for that,” the therapist calmly says.
“My entire life has been one big moral, and now it’s time that I learn from my mistakes.”