SILENTLY FALLING TO YOU

Stretching my limbs, I'm rewarded with a popping sound at the give of my stiff muscles, providing some relief after a long night of sleep. Yawning, I get a taste of my morning breath and instantly cringe. You'd think that toothpaste would do a better job ridding people of that. walk over to the mirror on the back of my closet door. I would have a stand-alone mirror that didn't have to be shoved into my closet, but my room is only big enough to house my full-size bed, my four-drawer dresser, and a desk on the far side of my room against my windows. My room isn't extremely small, but the neon green paint I begged for as a child makes it feel much more closed in. I plan on re-painting my room every summer, but every summer I conveniently have some sort of excuse. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I have to double-take at the horrific sight staring back at me. No, I look like Medusa. Maybe even Ursula from The Little Mermaid. They're all the same. Identical to the image staring back at me in the mirror. My curls, dark brown that fade gently to dirty blonde as my hair reaches mid-back, are all tangled and make my scalp ache from the awkward angles they found themselves in last night. The mascara smeared over my face makes my light blue eyes stand out even more than they should, and I contemplate going for a smoky-eye look from now on, and there's even a bit of drool caked on the corner of my mouth. Every morning. Once I'm able to get my hair dealt with, I move onto cleaning my face in the hallway bathroom, washing away the mascara from the day before and being sure to scrub off the drool and any toothpaste stains from the bit that dripped down my chin as I brushed. Some people wake up looking like princesses, I am not one of those people. I walk back into my room and to my white dresser with random nail polish stains from the times I accidentally spilled through the years, reminding me that I need to invest in a new dresser. Preferably one that isn't 16 years old. Once I'm able to get my hair dealt with, I move onto cleaning my face in the hallway bathroom, washing away the mascara from the day before and being sure to scrub off the drool and any toothpaste stains from the bit that dripped down my chin as I brushed. Some people wake up looking like princesses, I am not one of those people. I walk back into my room and to my white dresser with random nail polish stains from the times I accidentally spilled through the years, reminding me that I need to invest in a new dresser. Preferably one that isn't 16 years old. Delicately, I pick up the necklace in its rightful place on top of my jewelry box. I lift the small pendant and hook it around my neck, feeling the cool touch of the diamond hitting the skin on my chest. I fiddle with the small charm, feeling closer to my mother with it on. The clock next to my bed reminds me that I need to get going if I don't want to be late for school, and from the lack of noise down the hallway I realize my older brother isn't even up yet. I walk down the hall, my feet comforted by the carpet as I pass pictures lining the wall of memories I can never get back, and I stop at my brothers room. With no response after waiting two minutes after knocking, I open the door to Toby's room. In seconds, I regret my decision when I see two naked bodies in his bed and I quickly retreat back to my room. One clearly belongs to my brother, and the other to some girl that found herself in his bed last night. I wish I could say I was surprised, but my brother is notorious for this. I love him, but he has no shame. I realize Toby most likely forgot to set his alarm last night since his mind was...occupied with other matters at hand. So, I fish around in my desk for the air horn I keep on hand for moments like this. I can't exactly crawl over the naked girl to shake Toby awake, and I can't yell for them to wake up either. I haven't been able to speak since my freshman year of high school. Three long years of silence that I would give anything to break but an unable to. Three long years since that one fateful night that stole my voice, my pride, and my innocence. There's some sort of mental block that won't alloW me to speak, a PTSD of sorts. At least, that's what the doctors said when it first happened. I believe them. That night still haurnts me when I close my eyes to go to sleep. I was at my first party. My older brother, Toby, has always been with the 'it' crowd. Even as a sophomore he was being invited to the senior parties, and he rarely turned them down. One day he finally gave in and let me and my best friend, Alyse, tag along with him and his best friend, Warren. Warren was a big part of the reason I wanted to go so badly. He was my brother's hot best friend, and I wanted the cliché love story where we fell in love and lived happily ever after. I figured a party would be a good start to that, he would finally notice me as more than just his best friend's little sister. I was so naive. Much to my surprise, it worked. Warren was all over me. He was constantly making sure my drink was full, taught me how to play the drinking games, and had me attached to his side the whole time. I felt like I was on cloud-nine. I had a crush on Warren since he and Toby became friends back in fifth grade. Toby didn't think twice about it, he was off on his own flirting with the senior girls that would give him the time of day. He figured I was safe with his best friend. So did I. However, soon enough I realized I drank too much. I started to feel sick, I was incoherent, the room was spinning. Warren quickly noticed and offered to take me away from the party and upstairs so I could lay down, and I let him. He seemed worried about my disoriented state of mind. I soon passed out, only to wake up to a throbbing pain down below, and it didn't take long for me to realize what had happened. My innocence was gone, snatched from me against my will. I haven't spoken since. Memories of what happened came back to me in waves in the days after it happened. My dad put me into therapy. Through nmeeting with me therapist, I was able to recall certain details that I wish I never did. They thought that having me remember and writing about what happened would help my voice come back, but soon my therapist diagnosed me with PTSD that was blocking me from being able to talk and shortly after that I stopped trying. I ended up learning sign language as my way of communicating, or writing things down since the majority of people don't understand ASL. Toby and my dad learned it with me, as well as my closest friends. I shake my head and walk back down the hall and into Toby's room, blaring the air horn into the silence. Flinching at the noise, I watch as they both shoot up in a panic, but seconds later Toby's blue eyes land on me and he groans, burying his head under the pillow while the girl next to him tries to hide under him, frantically asking what's going on. I suppose I could havechosen another plan of action to wake them, one that may not have been as traumatizing for the girl, but nothing beats the sound of an air-horn. I go downstairs to start cooking breakfast for Toby and me. I would make some for the girl too, but I know my brother's ways. She won't stay for longer than another few minutes, repulsed by my brother and his player ways. As though acting out my thoughts, angered footsteps come storming down the steps and an equally pissed off voice follows. "Lose my number, asshole!"" The front door slams shut, echoing in the house. I'm surprised the poor girl was even allowed to stay the whole night, Toby usually kicks them out after he's had his fun. I don't condone what he does, but I've learned that I can't necessarily stop him. I frown and pour the pancake batter onto the griddle, shaking my head slightly at my brothers antics. He hasa new girl at least once a week, and this girl lasted one night before being kicked out. Most don't last longer than that. Toby is famous for his record of one night stands. It's not exactly a superlative I would want to have, and it's not exactly something I like to brag about at family reunions. I flip the pancakes onto a plate and set it in the middle of the counter, counting the seconds until my brother will come bounding down the stairs. I'm sure the scent of our breakfast has drifted up through the ceiling and is just now reaching his room. Five. Four. Three. Two- Here he is. He comes sauntering into the kitchen, his eyes set on the pancakes. He looks to me and smiles gratefully, messing up my hair. "Thanks Raine," he says, taking his seat at the counter before digging into his breakfast. "I think this is your best batch of pancakes." I smile and nod my response. He keeps shoveling them into his mouth, the large stack getting smaller with each passing second, and my eyes divert to the fridge. I look at one particular picture sticking to it with a blue magnet, standing out against the black of the fridge, and a frown etches its way onto my lips. It's of Toby and I with our parents. I'm no older than four years old, and he's no older than five. If you didn't know he was a grade above me you would think we were twins with how similar our looks are. My free hand comes up to play with the necklace around my neck; my mother's necklace. She passed away when I was five, car accident. She was driving to pick Toby up from his soccer game that my dad had to leave early to go get me from daycare. A truck ran his stop sign, barreling into my mom on the drivers side. My father instantly jumped into care mode for my brother and I after the funeral, never really giving himself the chance to grieve. I knew her death affected him greatly, he loved my mom so much I wondered if he even loved her more than Toby and I. I don't ever remember a sour moment between the two; we were kind of like the golden family. But when she was killed, we lost that reputation. Our father didn't take his anger or grief out on his kids, nor did he end up drinking his sorrow away. He cared for Toby and I the best he could being a single father with a full time job, and yet he refused to marry anyone else to get help. He wasn't used to being a single father, and he had a tough time adjusting. There were times he would forget to pick Toby or I up from practice or school, or he would forget to buy certain groceries at the store, but we loved him regardless because he was there for us. When I turned 12 his business took off. It became a big name in the business world, and he was forced to get an apartment in New York, leavingShe shakes her head, "I ate before I left. So, who was it this time?" She asks, referring to my womanizer of a brother and his girl of choice. "Some girl" Alyse rolls her eyes. "Well obviously. I meant like does she go to our school?" I shake my head. She purses her lips and nods, getting lost in her own head, but I don't miss the flash of sadness that crosses her eyes. I frown and put a hand on her shoulder to get her attention. When she looks back at me I drop my hand and sign to her reassuringly. "He's an i***t, he will realize what he's doing is wrong and stop it one day. Then he can come running to you." She laughs sadly and shakes her head at me. "Yeah, right." "You two ready to go?" Toby asks as he comes back into the room with his hair wet and no longer messed up from his fun night. We nod and he grabs his keys and backpack, Alyse and I following.We get into his Ford F-150 Raptor and start driving to school with the radio cranked up. I look over at my unusually quiet friend and my lips turn down. Usually she's jamming out to the music along with Toby, but now she's looking out the window sorrowfully. I'm not the only one with family problems. Alyse's father passed away when we were in 8th grade, and her mother hasn't been the same since. But I know that's not what she's upset about right now. She has a hopeless crush on Toby, a cliche just like mine was with Warren. Of course, what happened to me will never happen to her. My brother is a womanizer, but he would never do to anyone what Warren did to me.