Sometimes jealously runs deeper than just the surface of the skin. If surrounded by it long enough would it become a permanent part of a person very begin? I think i knew the answer to that question, because I am fuelled by jealously, I am fuelled by anger and a sense of abandonment. All my like I have been nothing but a tool in my parents tool box, ready to use when they need to fix her. But in all honesty i didn't mind being her tool because it wasn't her fault. She didn't ask for me to be her fixer upper-er, thats just the life we were dealt and when life gives you lemons you pick up those lemons and you don't just stare at them but you make lemon aid outta them.
I guess that is easier said than done, right? Sometime the things that life throw at ya are just to much for you to handle. You don't need to tell me that because I already know. Sometimes the things that life throw at ya are things that look almost possible to over come and sometimes they are, causing you to fall into fits of depression and withdrawal… usually that was cause your parents to worry- wouldn't it not? But not mine because their minds were already to busy, already preoccupied by their daughter who was dying, slowly but inevitably.
I guess that did require more attention than a child that was healthy right? Why worry about a girl who would live life to an old age than one who was slowly leaving this work no matter how much people begged her to stay. Sometimes I wished that it didn't have to be like this, but once agin, life threw me into the hands of a family who had a child who was dying, and a consequence of that is neglect to those who were healthy, who could take care of themselves.
If only I wasn't useful to them then I would as sure as hell be a shadow to her, a mere ghost that lurks, nothing but a pieces of dirt tucked away under the carpet. But you see I was useful to them not by being their actual daughter but by begging there walking living shopping centre. They took what they needed from me without even asking if i wanted to do it. All my life I have ben dragged around on a tight leash, always waiting to be needed, to help her keep her living. It was always about her. Her. Her. Her.
I often wandered what it would be like if she weren't alive, but then I take it back because despite all this I still loved her, I just didn't appreciate being nothing to them. I knew that she was grateful, she often told me that she was, holding my hand has she lay in the hospital bed, her lips pulled back in a rare smile. That smile that she could only summon for me because she knew that if I weren't here she would be dead. In a way it hurt to think that was why she smiled at me, but in the end I push it away because at least she was smiling.
Her name is Harlow, Harlow Porter and she is the person who came not the world by my side. Like me, blonde locks of hair frame her pale face. And like me her eyes are the colour of chilled ice, but unlike mine they do not glow with life, they are dim, death evident in the corners, sucking the life out of them ever so slowly. It was another grim reminder that soon my help would no longer be required as she will no longer be breathing the same air as me. What will become of me then? What will become of this family? This family which has known nothing but the need to keep her alive for the past 15 years? I don't know- or maybe I do, but the answer just scares me too much.
The other day Harlow needed me, her red blood feel count was extremely low. It happened in the middle of the night, and I could badly open my eyes as my parents dragged me out of my bed and down to the hospital where she lay waiting for me to offer- no, I never offered, I never got the chance to offer, my parents, the doctor, not given two shits abut what I want but saving her like- for them to take my blood. They prod me with needles, ones that will only add to the row of brasses that flower the top of my left arm, from all the other times I have been prodded and posted for this exact reason. They should have healed b now, thats what your thinking, right? But how could they even have the chance to heal? Only a few days would pass before she be needing my attention again, a week if I (she) is lucky.
That night the episode had been worse than normal, and a plastic tube linked the both of us for more than a few hours. That tube alone was symbolic of our relationship, because where ever she was I was, and that was not only because she needed me but because I wanted to be there for her. I know that it may sound like that I don't want to be there for her most of the time, that the whole situation seems to take up more effort than it is worth, but in reality i don't think that because I love her and my sister- my twin is the best thing that ever happened to me. I can tell her everything… but in saying that she pulls me down, the clamp death has on her is also connected to me, and i despise that part of her.
Her arms, thinner than my own, lay beside her, tubes poking out of her skin and it was sad. Most of her life she was in here, fighting to live another day… One day she will take more than my blood though, she will take organs and then she will take my heart, she’ll break it in two and I will watch as it shattering into millions of pieces. She wont mean to do it, and I bet, i she would have it her way she would tell everyone to fuck off and give her some room.
I couldn't blame her- I wasn't meant to blame her, but how can I not?
I hate the fact that she is sick, I hate the fact that she holds me back, and out of all I hate the fact that her sickness, her terminal illness, absorbs any sort of attention my parents might of been able to spare for me.
Like I said I am nothing but a toll for them, they pull me out when they need me, pack me away when they are done.
At the time I didn't realise that that was the precise reason to why did it, but I realise it now. A few days after Harlow’s major episode I found the go-to group of people when in search for drugs. Thy asked for money, I handed it over then they handed over the white powder. I had no idea what it was, but they told me that it would make me feel better, they said that it was make me happy, it would make me feel like i was on top of the world. And the only thing I could think as they told me how I would feel was that I had found an escape- my escape.
They explained how i was to use it and i took every word to heart, memorising it because I wanted to do it right, I wanted to be able to experience it to its fullest. Never in my life had i actually had a moment to myself, it was like I lived my life for her, always to be on her beck and call. Never before had I been able to make my own decisions so the whole idea of taking this drug, of doing something for myself didn't only excite me but made me feel nervous. I told myself that I wanted this, that I wanted to be able to control of my own body and I wanted nothing more in the world than to make my own decisions, but just like when you do anything for the first time, my heart began to flutter faster and my stomach did nervous flips.
The powder had no more than touched the tip of my tongue when my mother came bursting into the room, her face etched with worry. Something must be wrong with her, was the first thought that came to mind, you arm dropping to your side, the powder showering your already pale skin. Words formed in her mouth as she grabbed my wrist tightly preparing to drag me from where i sat and into the whole way where i would be sheared out the door and too the hospital. But today she stops, her infers closing ever so tightly around my thin wrist. Pain surges threw my arm but I barely flinch, my body used to begin prodded and pulled and touched in ways that it did not appreciate.
The woman hissed, pulling me towards her roughly (this time I do flinch, my eye screwing up in the corners.) She rips the bag from my hands, her eyes wide in shock and anger. “What the hell do you think you are doing!” Her voice is laced with anger- and for the first time- shock. Turning my perching blue gaze to my mother, I try to hide my own disbelief because she was actually looking at me. Never before had I ever been able to capture her attention, her eyes, her thoughts and her worries usually occupied by Harlow, my just an after thought.
My mouth was wide as a small shrug slips past my narrow shoulders. “Nothing.”
“This doesn't look like nothing,” her anger intensifies and it takes all I have not to rip my hand away from her and rub my aching wrist. She thrusts me towards her, her eyes flashing dangerously as she shoves the bag in front of my face. “What the hell, how stupid can you get! How much did you take? How much- Ariel tell me? How. Much?!” Suddenly her voice was no longer full of anger but desperation and the burning of tears fill me. “Ariel tell me!”
“I didn’t do anything! I didn’t take it! I didn't do anything!” I rip myself away from the woman, anger surging through me to match her own. My hand instantly closing around my injuries wrist, tears slipping down my pale checks which were dusted with a soft pink colour. “I didn't do anything. I never do anything. I never get to do anything.” I say viciously, my eyes flashing with hate as I stare at the woman who couldn’t care less about me.
"I didn’t do anything! I didn’t take it! I didn't do anything!” I rip myself away from the woman, anger surging through me to match her own. My hand instantly closing around my injuries wrist, tears slipping down my pale checks which were dusted with a soft pink colour. “I didn't do anything. I never do anything. I never get to do anything.” I say viciously, my eyes flashing with hate as I stare at the woman who couldn’t care less about me. But despite all that something inside me had warmed because she was actually talking to me and me alone.“Why do you even care?” I spit, a face that could have belonged in a trash can slipping onto my soft delicate features.
“Why do I care? Are you serious?” She ask incredulously, her voice raising until it filled the whole room. “We need your blood and you blood cant be contaminated when we give it to your sister! Sometimes I wonder-“
“You wonder what?” I curt her off, my face red. “You barely pay any attention to me, sometimes i am almost positive you forget i even exist- oh wait no, god forbid i say that as you need me. I am nothing more than a go to body, a living life support machine which you can wheel around and drag all over the place whenever you please. So don't give me that- that shit!” I was done.
So very done.
So I left.
I walked right out the door my mothers pleads and cries following me until i could hear no more.
I stayed out all day, meet feet aimlessly carrying around the district that hand’t really felt like much of a home. No where was home to me because no where would I can be free from the responsibilities which were thrusted onto me. I knew that I had most likely made the wrong decision by walking out of that because it was because of my sister that she was actually in my room in the first place. By walking out had i caused much more harm than I could ever imagine? What if she was almost dead because of me? My blood runs cold and I look up into the sky, I had been out for a few hours now- maybe it was time to head home?
But I didn't go home, because I knew their would be nothing their for me, instead I go to the hospital, my feet carrying me much quicker than they had all day.
The hospital is dark, the only lights are the ones hat have been stationed in the hallway. No visitors were allowed at this time of the nigh (well there weren't meant to be, but that wasn't going to stop me.) My footsteps had echoed around me, drilling into my skull until I came across the room which was marked with the name ‘Porter.’ I took a peak in, my eyes seeking out the deathly pale skin of the almost mirror image prefect me. She looked so weak. Silently i pushed open the door, my hands fumbling with the handle for a moment longer than it should have.
“Harlow?” My voice is not louder than the quiet laboured breathes that scape her dry cracked lips. “Harlow I am so sorry, I should have been here, I am so sorry.” I cloth her hand now, terse once again filling my eyes. “I am going to make it better, okay? I am going to stop it from hurting. I’ll be back.” Then I left without another word, searching for one of the few nurses which would be working the graveyard shift.
When I walk back into her room a nurse is at my side and almost instantly sits me down next to my sister before continuing on with the procure which seemed so familiar to me, like take a shower. All the time I watch my sister chest rise and fall with weak breath, hoping that I hadn't waited to long, hoping that she would pull through to see a new day.
I woke the next morning to Harlow’s hand in my hair, brushing away the blonde steads from my face.I keep my eyes closed a moment longer, enjoying the feel of her hand in my hair, a clear sign that she was alive, that I had come in time. “I’m sorry I came so late,” i mumble lifting my head and feeling the pinch of the needle which was still implanted into the soft skin of my wrist.
She says nothing but she doesn't need o because I know. I know she is happy that I came, I know that she knew I would.
There are many things that I dislike about my life, but Harlow is not one of them. Yes there are times I wished I wasn't connected to her, I wish I could be free, free from all my restrictions, but in the end I have her and until I dot have her I will try not to live to regret the decisions I make.