Monday morning came and with it so did work. I arrived at my usual time, painfully bright and early. As the minutes ticked by others filed into their cubicles and booted up their computers. I always put in headphones to drown out the noises of morning greetings and the occasional gossip, but this morning I needed it to silence my brain. It was almost that day. I couldn't believe that it had snuck up on me. I was usually so aware, so sensitive to it that when I logged onto my computer and saw the date flash across the screen, I nearly spilled my notes and a few folders onto the floor. I had a vague sense that it was approaching thanks to my mother's annoying call, but I didn't realize it was this week. I had barely thought about him at all since all this nonsense with Ian started.

By ten, I unplugged my ears and stretched back in my roller chair. Janiel continued plowing away on whatever draft she was working, but her key strikes had almost a violent smack to them. It wasn't the soft click, click, tick like every other day. Today was tac, tac, thwack, tic, tac, thwack.

I glanced over at her, but she too had headphones in and seemed to give off the 'Do not approach or death' atmosphere so I decided I ought to walk down to Tiffany and Trish's corner. Maybe they knew if she'd had a rough weekend too.

Even from one cubicle away, I could tell something was wrong.

Normally two sets of keyboards would be ticking away and yet, there was only one. I also couldn't hear Tiffany's music blasting through her headphones. She claimed she needed it that loud because of too many rock concerts in her youth. I figured she just wanted to permanently have an empty cubicle next to her so she could sneakily chat with Trish whenever some juicy gossip came up. With neither gossip nor loud rock music, it was obvious she wasn't here.

"Hey Trish, got a minute?" I asked, stepping inside her seemingly private space. "Where's Tiffany and what's up with Janiel?"

Trish never wore headphones, she said she didn't need them with Tiffany's music loud enough to be heard across the way. Her typing stopped and she slowly turned to face me. "Nobody told you yet?"

I shook my head, confused that she was being so hesitant. She practically never withheld information like this. It wasn't her style.

"I figured Janiel would've told you by now. She must be taking it really hard." Her eyes gazed in the direction of Janiel's desk and a worried half-smile crept onto her lips. "Tiffany's sick. Really sick."

"Oh my gosh, what happened?" I asked in a frenzied whisper. Fear squeezed my heart like a wet paper towel causing my chest to ache. Something nagged at the back of my mind, but I cut it off with another question. "Is there anything she needs? What can I do?"

"Find the asshole and get him arrested."

I cocked my head to the side. "What?"

"Some dickhead roofied her." She forced the words through her teeth. Her hands clenched into fists. "I should have realized she wouldn't have gone that overboard. Nathan was beside himself when I called yesterday. She was still getting sick. I haven't called yet today because I know what I'm going to hear. One of my friends in high school experienced it. She wasn't even drinking alcohol. She was the goody-two-shoes of my group and our DD. Monsters who prey on others like that need to be thrown across burning coals."

I flinched, noticing the tears welling up in her eyes, but she wasn't sad at all. There was a fire that burned blood-red, the same one I saw consuming Janiel. I tried to think of something to say. Nothing came to mind though. That ache in my chest grew and echoed as if the whole cavity had hollowed out.

Without another word, I returned to my desk and picked up where I left off. Some small question squirmed in a dark corner of my mind, but when I put my headphones back in, everything was silenced by the crashing of cymbals and the base drum.

Tiffany didn't come to work Tuesday either.

~

This was too much. It was too quiet, both the apartment and the office. Guilt hung in the air like a thick fog, choking me every time I tried to move.

Normally I would've enjoyed the peace and quiet, but not right now, not this month, especially not this week. There was too much to think about, too much that I didn't want to think about.

Even if Mother wouldn't have called, my mind still would've dragged these thoughts kicking and screaming from the pit of my brain.

I didn't have much in the way of family photos at this place. Really, I hadn't wanted to think about them, which was why I moved to this apartment about two years ago. To get away from them. To get away from it.

Unfortunately, it had still happened. Nothing could change that.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but the images still flashed before me. Memories flooded me. Tears streaming down my face as I watched everything. Philip and Isla sat on their knees in the living room, playing with her brand-new bright blue and purple tea set. She'd been so excited the moment Phillip had shown her the plastic changed color when in contact with ice water that she sprinted to the fridge and started reaching for the ice trays. Luckily, he'd followed her out and caught the tray before it fell on her head. Once the ice had been doled out, Philip beamed as he extended his pinky each time he took a sip just to make Isla giggle.

Then it flashed to Christmas ten years ago, when he'd started taking off with the piano. All of us gathered around him at the upright piano that Dad had finally paid someone to professionally tune. Even though he'd learned with an imperfect instrument, he had an excellent ear and just made the keys sing with every note, whether it was an old classic or a Philip original.

Finally I saw the moody, high school Philip, his clothes too big and his hair a bit too long, brushing well below his ears. He'd become twitchy and more withdrawn. His answers were always noncommittal and vague like he'd lost interest in everyone and everything.

"Just taking after you, Sis." He'd say as he'd walk out the door when I'd be home for the weekend to visit and I never knew how long he'd be gone.

Most of the time, I'd barely see him at all. I'd tried asking him about the song he'd wanted us to learn together, but he just rolled his eyes at me and said he was over that. That was when I realized he'd stopped playing piano. Whenever he was home, he'd lock himself in his room and you'd just hear video game music blasting. That was how I found him the first time.

Mom and Dad had gone to card night with some friends and Isla was having a sleepover at the neighbor's house so only the two of us were home, and he'd apparently wanted nothing to do with me.

The door had been locked, but all you needed was a paper clip and you were in. I'd thought I heard a loud knock and a gag. When I had called at the door, nobody answered.

"Look if you're masturbating at least keep it down." I yelled, trying to egg him into responding.

Nothing.

"Phil, what's the deal? What was that noise?"

More background music from a game, but no voice, no Philip.

"I'm coming in. You better be decent." I shouted, panic starting to invade my voice. Picking the lock was easy, dealing with what I saw, not so much.

The lights were on, but the TV was off. His computer was on some Youtube channel playing background music. Then my eyes settled on his form, face down on his bed in a pile of vomit.

My heart stopped and screamed. I ran over to him, stubbing toes on bottles I hadn't bothered to notice. "Phil? Philip? Wake up."

I lifted him up as chunks that clung to his face dropped onto his comforter. His breathing was barely noticeable and uneven.

"Phil? Phil, come on, wake up. Please." Tears streaked down my cheeks, my own breathing shallow and quick. I tried to force a smile while I choked out, "Haha, some joke. Now quit it."

His body lurched and more vomit spilled from his lips, but he didn't wake up.

He was too heavy for me now that he'd grow up so I set him to the side of his vomit and leaned him against me. I looked around for a phone, his cell lay face up on the desk a couple feet away. If I moved, would he fall over again?

I leaned away from him and his limp form slid with me. "Damn it, Phil. Wake up."

But he didn't flinch until another wave of puking hit. With my arm supporting him, I stretched as far as I could for the desk. My fingers brushed the phone until it slipped off the edge onto the floor. I used my foot to kick it closer. As I reached down for it, his body tilted more onto his back and I heard a gurgle.

"No, no, no choking." I shoved him forward and tipped whatever had been in his mouth out while I dialed 911.

A man's voice came through on the line. "911 Operator. What's your emergency?"

"My brother won't wake up and he's barely breathing. He, he was drinking and puked everywhere. I found him in it, face down. I don't know what to do."

"How slow is his breathing? Is he cold to touch or have bluish skin?"

"I, I don't know. Very slowly. I almost didn't notice it and kind of, he's clammy and I think his lips turning purple." I wiped the excess vomit off his face with my sleeve to see better. "Yes, they're purple."

"Okay, turn him on his side in case he vomits again and wait for the emergency vehicle. Where are you located?"

"2275 North Carolina Street."

~

I blinked and I was staring at my blank TV screen again. An empty wine bottle sat on the coffee table before me. It was dark. Who knew how long I'd been asleep this time? My eyes blurred as I sat up from the couch and looked around.

"I'm sorry," I whispered and broke into another round of sobbing. Wasn't alcohol supposed to numb you? Wasn't it supposed to make you black out and not have hellish nightmares like these?

"It's all punishment for me, isn't it, Mother?" I called out to my phone that had been flung from the coffee table. "Right? After all, it IS my fault. I'm the bad apple that caused the others to rot."

My legs were wobbly as I stood up and stumbled over to the kitchen. I pulled another bottle out of the cabinet and freed the cork. "Then let me rot on my own."

And I took a long swig from the fresh bottle.

"It doesn't matter that I'd moved out years before so I couldn't even be there to monitor him. But don't worry, it's still my fault. I set the bad example. I suggested he try it with dinner with us and you flipped shit on me. Don't take into consideratino that Dad had a secret stash because you're a controlling psychopath." My voice grew until I was nearly shouting. Then I walked back to the living room, tripping and sliding a few times. "Stupid feet. Walk."

When I sat down, the bottle jostled and I nearly spilled red wine everywhere. I set it down on the coffee table. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe we ought to know about alcoholism in the family? Maybe then it wouldn't have been a forbidden fruit?"

"But yeah, I get it. I can't do anything right so just leave me alone." Shouting at no one, but the voices in my head as another sob burst from my mouth.

My shoulders shook, head bobbing to the side until this wave of tears slowed and I took another sizable drink from the bottle.

As I set the bottle down hard, my body rose from the couch and wandered to my front door. The lock only troubled me once as I finally managed to undo it and step into the hall. My feet twirled and the walls spun until I found purchase on the wall. Practically pulling myself up the stairs, I slumped to a halt in front of Ian's apartment. My fingers gingerly knocked so nobody else would hear.

"Ian, you want something to drink? I won't even care if you take too much. Come on, I deserve this. Everyone thinks I do. I think I do." I whispered through the crack around the door. "I won't judge you. Just make this stop."

But nobody answered and I just laid there, my face smashed against the door as silent-oblivion took me.

~

A sharp pain woke me as my back twitched. I fell asleep outside his door again. For several weeks after the incident I'd sleep walk and collapse in front of his door, hoping he'd grumpily come by and tell me to go back to bed. But that never happened anymore.

Dragging myself up took some time, but soon I wandered back to my door. Did I always have to go down stairs to get to my room? When I pushed the door open, my bed wasn't there.

"What's going on here? Where did it go?" I asked, looking around, but nothing looked familiar. There wasn't a dresser or my closet and the room was bigger. Turning around to the door, I figured I must be lost. With only a few steps to go, something big blocked the open door.

"What are you doing up still? Oh shit, how much did you drink?" The figure said.

Philip? I blinked and shook my head. "Apparently not enough if I'm seeing you now. Or maybe I did. Am I dead?"

He stepped into the room and steadied my swaying. "No, you're not dead. What are you doing?"

"I couldn't stop thinking about you. You've been on my mind all week. Do you even know what month it is?" I blinked, his hands were cold. Dead people would be cold though. "I just didn't want to think anymore."

"And you decided to drink to that end?"

"Didn't you? You're just as bad, but I can't blame you because it's my fault. I was the bad influence. If I hadn't showed you how to bust into Dad's secret liquor cabinet all those years ago may you wouldn't have gotten the taste for it. I just thought it was better to test it out in a safe environment like at home before you were shipped off to college. My bad, I didn't want you to make the same mistakes I did. But no, if not for me, you'd still be here." I smacked his chest before hugging him. "I'm so sorry I failed you. I'm a terrible, big sister."

More tears spilled out as I broke down again in my dream. It had to be, otherwise, there's no way Phil would be here.

"I can't imagine you're that bad." His arms wrapped around me in an embrace. "Let's get you to bed."

"They got rid of it. They didn't want anything to do with me after you... after you left us. They wanted me out so they just made it vanish." Another sob choked me and I coughed.

"It couldn't have been that bad." He led me through the big room to another door. "See? There it is, where it's always been since you lived here."

"How come you're here?"

"Because I can't stand seeing you like this. Now go lie down."

I stumbled towards the bed and flopped onto it. Gripping the sheet as if my life depended on it. I couldn't look at him. I was afraid to. "Do you blame me too? Do you blame me for what happened to you?"

"I'm responsible for my own actions, not you." He sighed, then stepped closer. "Now tuck yourself in."

I crawled forward and slipped my legs beneath my sheet. A few more tears blurring my vision as I laid my head back. It was so nice to get to talk to him again. He didn't even sound angry. Maybe he really didn't blame me after all.

I watched him pull the sheet up to my shoulders and start to turn away. My hand snatched the back of his shirt.

"I know you have to leave, but could you at least stay with me one night? I promise I'll contact Mom if you do. I just don't want to be alone with all these bittersweet memories, not tonight. Not since you took the time to come see me. Please." I sniffled and let out a deep breath.

The walls were falling into deeper shadows. I was going to lose him already. Philip was going to leave me. Of course, he couldn't stay. It was stupid of me to ask. Who knew if he had any control over that? I tried to keep my eyes open, but the hoods dropped and darkness consumed me.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Not really sure why the first part is underlined... Nor why I can't change it... I'll try to adjust it later.

** Scratch that, I think it's right? Anyone see unnecessary underlining?