Free Havoc by Stella Rhys Page A

tears were for him or me but I looked up and gave a defeated shrug.  “I won’t be whole again,” I said matter-of-factly.  “Elle saved me.  She made me the person I am and she was bettering me every day till she died.  Now it feels like I’m just… incomplete.  Like I’m walking around without an arm or a leg but no one can see, so they don’t understand.”
    Abram shook his head.  “We’ll both be one piece again, Isla.  It’s just going to take time,” he assured gently.
    Maybe.  I paused to look out at the bright grass.  I couldn’t see the birds but I could hear them chirping.  I stood there listening to them for a moment, letting myself revel in Abram’s touch.  “When did your brother pass?” I murmured out of nowhere.  I could feel it was a brother.  I could feel that they were close.
    There was a long silence before I got his dark reply.  “He didn’t pass.”
    For some reason, the words chilled me to the bone.  I wasn’t sure why but I couldn’t wonder because suddenly, I heard voices coming from the end of the road.  I looked behind me to see my mother just reaching the top of the hill.  She made eye contact with me before I rushed into the car, Abram following and obliging as I urged him through panicked tears to drive away, away.

chapter thirteen
    I was the bad mistake.
    Elle was a mistake too.  My parents were still too broke to raise even me by the time she was conceived.  But from the day she was born till the day that she died, she was perfect.  She never talked back, rolled her eyes or slammed the doors.  She minded her own business but came running if you called her, smiling at everything and everyone.  And I hated that.  I hated her for proving that my parents were in fact capable of love – they just had none for me.  I resented her for making me realize that I did want my mom’s attention.
    It wasn’t till I was seventeen that I even started liking Elle.  But shortly after, she was diagnosed with leukemia.  The bright little girl who was friends with every kid in class, who planted tulips for our widowed neighbor every spring, was suddenly weighed down by sickness and stripped of the childhood she’d have flourished in.
    For her, I stopped doing all my terrible shit.  I stopped stealing pills.  I stopped taking them.  I stopped sneaking into college parties just to flirt with boys and pocket their phones.  I stopped being pissed about how poor we were and realized that no amount of hocking stolen goods would pay for chemo, or the time my parents would have to take off of work to care for Elle.  So I got a job and went to college.  I wanted to be a teacher because Elle dreamed of going to school.  I helped my mom with bills and did whatever she asked.  And the cancer went away.  When it did, my mom was done speaking to me again, but that was fine.  Elle still FaceTimed me every night so at least my dad would sometimes wave in the background.  And by now, I had my students to adore, to shower with the love and attention I wished I could give Elle every day.
    “You had their pictures in your wallet,” Abram murmured.  I blinked.
    “I did,” I realized softly, remembering the school portraits and notes from my favorite students.  There were half a dozen shoved into the part of my wallet that most people kept their bills.  “I loved them,” I said, a flood of memories suddenly filling my head with full names, birthdates, favorite colors and foods.  Silly stories about what the class hamster probably dreamt about at night.  I laughed quietly.
    Abram glanced at my expression and smiled.  “I’d teach if I was cut for it,” he said to my surprise.  “Do you think you’ll ever go back?”
    I hadn’t considered it till now.  “I think so,” I replied.  Back at the school, my class had become my life – the kids my kids, their parents my parents.  They were the substitute family I had in Elle’s remission and I would happily