I See You, Elizabeth

We were a family unimaginably close – we lived within each others’ minds. Closeness can sometimes be unbearable, but it is always a reassurance. At times our family could be so close that it felt claustrophobic, as though I was being suffocated silently, but it was reassuring. We never complained openly about a lack of space or privacy, but each of us had our confidants: mine was Elizabeth.

*****

A never-ending silence haunted the grand house in which we lived. Even at times when our home was packed full of people, the spaces between scattered conversation were filled with a deafening scream of inaudible sound.

Humming a gentle tune into the silence, I sat in my cold bed, immersed in layers of winter clothing. The biting cold always crept its way into my room in the winter months, almost as though it disregarded the overwhelmingly high temperatures of the radiators and electric heaters that attempt to provide me with comforting warmth.

Through the unseen gaps between my door and its frame, the sound of soft weeping leaked into my bedroom. The controlled whimpers forced an icy shiver down my neck. Remaining in my position, I continued to listen to the echoes of my brother’s cries. I could not bear its torment any longer, so I bravely forced my toes out from under the covers. Placing both feet on the harsh wooden floor, I stood and began tip-toeing across the landing.

I did not knock, but entered the room of my younger sibling without making a sound. I found my way to his bedside and gently took hold of his warm hand. His eyes remained shut as he moaned fearfully into the darkness.

“James,” I called out his name in a faint whisper; the only reply I received was a slight shift in his unconscious position.

I often found myself sat on the edge of his bed, cautiously holding his small hands through the night. The frequency of my visits had greatly increased over the past month – sometimes two or three times a week.

Abruptly, James sat up.

“No, please don’t take me. I’m sorry.” He violently shook as he spoke.

Every night terror was the same: “Please don’t take me.” Each time, he looked desperately into my eyes and begged for forgiveness.

I hushed him, quietly urging my brother to calm. His eyes darted into the dark corners of the room, flashing a pale grey.