A H.E.R.O.S PROJECT 12

30. Selfish

I can feel Number Twelve flattening my neck and spine, seeking to restrict my muscle movements. Walking is too strenuous, and I've been reduced to sitting and waiting, endlessly pushing the up-down window button so I don't have to talk.

Tris is silent, turning up the volume on the radio, buying me fast food because I can't go out in public. We stay hidden in the woods outside of town. I find my burger repulsive and hand it to Tristian. We're different in this regard. When I'm upset, I starve myself. When Tristian is upset, she eats. We're the most unlikely likely pair.

As the day dawns and the sun sinks behind the mountains, a telltale of the dilemma I will soon face, Tristian says, "We should start heading back." Tristian is ready for Richie and me to reconcile our differences, but for what? Richie and I said things we shouldn't have. We have problems we're too scared to resolve.

Problems bigger than us.

Our past haunts us to this day.

Dad died before Richie was born.

Richie never heard my father's voice. Play daddy dinosaur in the backyard. Eat his famous enchiladas, dance on his toes, and cuddle in his arms after a nightmare. Hear, "I love you." I did, and Richie is jealous.

The unfortunate truth surrounding Richie's pregnancy—my Dad never knew him. Dad passed before Mom told Dad the good news. Dad's death robbed mom of the love and joy she should have experienced during Richie's pregnancy. Mom drowned herself in a bottomless pit Grandpa Solomon nor I could save her. When Mom gave birth to Richie, saw him, and bore at Richie's eyes, my father's hazel eyes, Mom refused to hold him and cried. The nurses—I don't like talking about it.

I held Richie first. I told Mom and Grandpa to name him Solomon in honor of Dad when I was seven.

I was Richie's mother when his mother couldn't be. I held Richie when Mom was too weak to. I bathed him. I bottled him, I—

What about me?!

Can't I cry? Why can't I have the sadder story?

Richie doesn't have to miss Dad, but I do. I have memories. I know what Dad's voice sounds like. I had to grow up. Where was my childhood? I lost mine.

Mom needed help. She had to take care of two kids by herself. And Grandpa Solomon was a mess. Grandpa and Dad served in the same Army unit, and Grandpa had to come home and tell Mom what happened to her husband.

Grandpa used to drink. All day and all night. In town, in different cities, at his house in Argus. That's why Grandpa lives by himself in the woods, why he used to. To get intoxicated because he can't stand living without his boy. But I saw Grandpa. I bled alone in their grief, and Richie couldn't help me or understand what was happening.

A drunkard grandfather and a career-consumed mother raised me. Instead of mending her fractured heart, Mom figured being unavailable and busy was a healthier antidote than being present for her hazel-eyed children.

Me! I lost! I had to grow up!

"Anaya, we have to get back." Tristian's index gently brushes my hand, hoping to make me feel better.

I can't feel Tristian's finger gliding on my hand. She holds my wrist, squeezing.

My new body has lost one of the most important senses that distinguishes humans from robots, touch. I can't feel her touch.

"Please. Unless Lee thought of something new, Richie would pass in a few hours."

"I'm dying, Tristian." Tristian's eyes water. Tears wet her cheeks. "This is it."

"The boys might have found something else. You can't stop believing..."

"Do you hear me? Tristian, I'm dying." I steady my voice and exhale, turning my head to look at the window. I won't panic or go into a frenzy. There's no time for tears. I won't ask God to save me. I don't deserve saving, honestly. After what I said, what I did—

I could have been a better sister to Richie. Richie's right. I should have spent more time with him. And not just the babying stuff but listened to him when he needed a kind ear. He has a lot going on, being the only eleven-year-old in high school, bullies picking on him because he's special, coping with our dead father, a father who never knew he existed—dealing with our distant mother.

I'm a selfish adult. I should have put my issues aside and been more for him.

Richie tried to be my hero, and I treated him like a villain.

"Before we go home, I have to tell Adonis goodbye."

Tris blankly stares at me, drinking her chocolate shake and eating my fries. "Anaya, I usually don't give advice. I'm not that good at it, but—the boys need us and..."