Where The Dandelions Grow

16 - Flowers

Echo's POV

I pace the sidewalk outside fiercely nothing processing correctly in my head, Brandon trying to reassure me as Sara... my half sister... stands to watch me take it all in.

"You're lying to me," I stop pacing. "My mom died when I was born, she died because of me."

Sara shakes her head, crying. "I'm so sorry she did what she did to you. I swear when I found out you existed I-I did everything I could to find you even when she told me I couldn't."

I back up against Brandon's car and exhales, looking at Sara. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

Two years after having me—abandoning me, making me go my whole life believing my mom wasn't alive—that I was the one who killed her, she was starting a new family elsewhere with a new daughter.

"You look nothing like me," I spit. She's not black. Clearly my mom changed her taste in men to someone more like her. Someone who's blonde with blue eyes if I were to guess just by looking at Sara. The only thing we have in common I'd say was our face shape. It's soft and rounded with a jawline peaking through.

I shake my head. "So not only did I have one dead beat parents. I had two?" Rhetorical question. "Why did she never want to find me? Why did she tell you not to?" Why was I such a disappointment to her?" I was a infant, what else could I have done besides exit her body for her to hate me so much. Somehow this outcome is worse than if she were dead.

Sara speaks. "She's felt guilt every day since you were born she told me. That's why she had another baby to try to make up for not being there."

"Bullshit." She couldn't came any time. She chose to disappear."

"I wanted to get to know you. That's why I was asking so many questions when we met." She says quietly. "You're my only sister. My only sibling. This entire time I thought I was alone—"

I scoff and push myself off of Brandon's car. "Don't you talk to me about being alone if there's anyone who've felt alone it's me. You have no idea what I've been through. None!" Tears pool down my face as I sob. I'm not angry at her, I'm angry at that woman—the woman who birthed us. I'm angry at my dad who probably knew she was alive and never told me.

Brandon steps in front of me and holds my face dearly. "Hey, hey. Call down, beautiful. Calm down."

My eyes closed and my mind racing, I try to let Brandon enter my head. I need him. I need him right now. I want him to be the only person here. Forget the people walking past, forget Sara, forget the cars passing. Him. My Brandon.

His head drops to my ear as he holds me close. "I'm here, alright? Just remember that. Calm everything down, breathe. She's not here to cause you pain, she's here to try to fix some of it."

I look up, my tears still running down my cheeks. "I feel worse than ever, B—Brandon." I gulp. "Did you hear?"

He nods, "I heard." Is all he says. "Whoever you want to go back to mind, I'll take you." He steps back, giving me space and I look at Sara who's crying as well.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I shouldn't have come." And in seconds before I could say a word, she takes off down the street to her car, and drives off.

Brandon takes me to his apartment; we don't bother trying to get my things from mine first. He rushes to get me as comfortable as possible after what just happened.

His apartment is clean. I expected nothing less from him, to be honest. Except for on his coffee table in the living room lays several beer cans.

"I thought you didn't drink."