Irritability.

One of the most common side effects of recovery, or whatever the hell everyone was calling what I was currently going through.

And here I sat, irritable. Pissed. Mad.

I placed my tongue in my bottom lip, looking over at Dad when I heard his footsteps.

"Hey," he greeted, "Mom made you something light."

With an angry brow, I watched as he placed the bowl of oatmeal in front of me. It was really beautiful- fruit arranged nicely, a drizzle of chocolate syrup covering the entire dish.

"I'm not hungry."

He sat at the table next to me, leaning forward on his elbows. "Well, if you don't eat it, I will. Your mom worked hard on that."

I pushed it towards him, leaning back in my chair. I folded my arms over my chest and blinked a few times, my tired eyes almost completely closing.

"Hero, come on, champ," he said, "we promised we'd stay on a schedule with eating."

I looked over at him, knowing that my eyes were piercing and angry. It wasn't intentional- I didn't want to treat everyone the way I was treating them.

He nodded towards the bowl. "Come on."

Mom walked over to the table, gently rubbing Dad's shoulders. "Hey, can I replace Dad?"

Dad stood up and she sat down, resting her chin in her palm. "I have a bowl of my own. Do you want to eat together?"

She stood up and grabbed her bowl from the island, sitting next to me.

I looked over at her, my arms still crossed over my chest, my drained eyes still boring into her.

She took a spoonful, slipping it in her mouth. "It's so good. The chocolate drizzle with the blueberries, it's awesome."

I leaned forward, clenching my jaw as I looked down at the dish in front of me. It did look appealing, but that never really made much of a difference before.

"Just one bite," she said.

I stabbed my spoon into the oatmeal, scooping up a spoonful. She bit down on her lip, rubbing the back of her neck. She shot me an encouraging smile, nodding.

I dipped the spoon in my mouth, my eyebrows furrowing together at the texture. So many textures, I'd forgotten what they felt like.

And that made me terribly sad.

I took my time in chewing, placing my hand on my neck as I leaned back. I swallowed and cleared my throat, grabbing my glass of water.

"That was good, yeah?" She asked, smiling, "I'm proud of you."

"I forgot what food feels like, Mom," I angrily said, tears clouding my eyes.

Her smile slowly faded, making her tilt her head over. "Hero."

"No, that's fucking sad, Mom," I sobbed, standing up. I couldn't control anything I was feeling- I was constantly weak. In front of everyone.

I sobbed, placing my hands over my eyes.

"Hey, hey," Dad muttered, "hey, it's alright."

He wrapped his arms around me and I fell into him, unable to control my cries. I hated this- all of it.

"You are so strong," he said, pushing himself away from me, "alright?"

"No, I'm not, Dad," I adamantly said, letting out another sob, "I am not strong. I can barely stand up. I cry about everything. What the fuck does that make me?"

"It makes you able to feel," he softly said, "and that's strength."

~*~

I walked downstairs, seeing Dad standing in the kitchen. I slipped my hands in the pockets of my sweatpants, smiling when he looked up from the cookbook he was extremely interested in.

"Hey," he said, "hey, tell me if this looks like something you'd eat."

"Dad, I'm really not hard to please when it comes to food," I said, "yeah, I'll eat really anything."

"And your sister?"

I nodded, jutting my bottom lip out.

He slid it back over to the stove, nodding. "Okay. I think your mom and I are going to try to make it. Emphasis on the try."

I smiled, leaning against the bar. "You guys are cooking together again."

He smiled over at me, nodding. "Yeah."

I clenched my jaw, and we sat in a few seconds of comfortable silence.

"Any new girls?" He asked.

I lifted my head, my eyebrows instinctively raising. "U-uh, no."

"I don't think I believe you," he said, "you've been acting a little different."

I chuckled. That chuckle faded, as soon as I realized I couldn't keep this from him forever.

That was one of Dad's best qualities- I could tell him anything. He didn't understand judgement, he never judged anyone, and I loved that about him.

But something about this made me nervous. What if he looks at me differently?

I cut off my own thoughts, speaking without hesitation, and seemingly without thought, as well.

"I'm bi," I blurted, my eyes locked on him.

"Hm?" He muttered, looking up from his book for a split second, and then back down at it.

"I'm-I'm b-bi," I stuttered out, rubbing the back of my neck.

"Oh," he said, never looking up from the page he was invested in, "best of both worlds."

My face contorted so many ways in a matter of seconds. I eventually settled on a simply confused expression, tilting my head over. "What?"

He looked up, his eyes meeting mine. "I said oh, best of both worlds."

"Did you hear me, Dad?" I asked, my eyebrows knitted together.

"Were you joking?" He asked, matching my confused expression.

"No," I adamantly stated, "no, I wasn't joking. I-I'm bisexual."

"Okay," he said, nodding, "yeah, best of both worlds."

"Are you joking?"

"No," he said, "what-what is going on?"

"I just came out to you," I said.

"I heard you."

"I-I kind of expected a different reaction," I said, shaking my head, "th-that's all."

He looked as confused as I currently did, shaking his head. "Why?"

"I don't know, it's typically not so easy to come out to your dad as bisexual. Or from what I've heard."

His confused brow softened up. "Oh. Well, that's not really my business. You know, who you love and stuff. Just as long as you're happy, I really don't care who it is."

I cracked a smile, nodding. "Thanks."

He nodded, leaning forward on the counter. "So, does anyone else know?"

"Uh, no," I said, "only that guy I was with the other day."

Dad slowly nodded, his eyes wide. "Oh."

"It's not, like," I began, but shook my head as I realized I'd be lying if I told him what was on my mind.

"Nevermind," I muttered, smiling a defeated smile.

"He was, you know, generally a good looking guy," he said, nodding, "like, for your age. I don't really know how-"

"Don't even worry about it," I said, holding up my hand, "y-you're, uh, you're good."

"Is he, like, an interest?" Dad asked, looking interested.

"Um," I began, scratching the back of my neck, "you know-"

"Or do you, like, not have those yet?" He asked.

I lifted an eyebrow, making him take a breath and take a step back. "You know what? I'm gonna stop."

I laughed, nodding as I bit down on my lip.

"And maybe go look up how to have a conversation-"

"Yes," I said, "he's an interest."

He smiled, nodding. "Well, you should tell me more about him."

~*~

My sixteenth birthday was officially in two days, and I was relatively excited.

But all I could think about was what Hero was going through, and how I knew I wouldn't be able to celebrate knowing he wasn't okay.

The four of us sat in the living room, only the faint sound of the TV playing in the background.

I looked over at Hero, chewing on my bottom lip. He was seated on the couch, his head leaned against the couch cushion as he watched TV.

He held the same looks on his face, all the time now. There was a very rare change of expression from empty and sad to complete rage.

"Hey, Fran, sweetie," Dad said, breaking the defeating silence, "any last minute birthday gift ideas?"

"Um, no, thanks," I said, shaking my head.

Hero leaned his head back, rubbing his eyes. "I need to go into town tomorrow."

"Hero, you don't have to get me anything," I said, my eyes locked on him as he sat upright and turned to face the rest of us.

His eyes met mine, and I felt an emptiness from across the room. I felt like I was looking at Hero, but I didn't know him.

"You don't have to treat me like that," he angrily, yet softly, said, his eyes still locked on mine.

Mom and Dad both looked towards us, Dad's eyes toggling between us.

"I-I wasn't trying to treat you any way," I muttered, breaking eye contact. I didn't know who I was looking at, and that was scary to me.

"No, everyone is treating me like I'm- like I'm," he trailed off, bracing his elbows on his thighs, "like I'm-I'm crazy, or something. Like I'm not me."

"You're not you," I blurted, looking back at him.

He lifted his eyes, narrowing them slightly.

"Fran," Mom said, her eyes meeting mine.

"No, I miss you, Hero," I said, shaking my head, "I miss my big brother."

I knew it would light a fire under him, but maybe that's exactly what he needed. Maybe he needed a wake-up call. I wasn't entirely sure.

"Well, I'm sorry I picked an inconvenient time to fall apart," he bitterly said, standing up.

"Hero," Dad said.

"No," he said, "stop it. I'm tired of that, I'm tired of everyone missing me."

"Then come back!" I exclaimed.

"I don't even want to be here!" He yelled, and I could see tears clouding his eyes from across the room, "I don't want to exist, Fran!"

"Don't say that," I said, standing up, "don't ever say that."

He covered his eyes with his palms as he began to sob, shaking his head. "I don't want this."

I wrapped my arms around him, blinking back tears. "Hero, don't say that."

I felt safe arms wrap around the two of us, looking up at Dad. He rested his chin on top of my head, his jaw taut.

"Well, we all want you here," Dad softly said, "we need you here. You're our boy."

Hero wrapped his arms around me, sobbing. I bit down on my lip and blinked back tears, closing my eyes.

He sniffled and let go of me, clearing his throat. He shook his head and looked down, his jaw taut. "I can't."

"You can," I said, "you're the strongest person I know. I'm serious."

He shook his head, a tear rolling down his cheek. "No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are," I softly said, looking up at him.

"I'm so tired of falling apart in front of everyone," he said, shaking his head, "I-I'm supposed to be strong. Stronger-"

He cut himself off as he walked away, shaking his head. I bit down on my lip and looked up at Dad, tears clouding my eyes.

He pulled me into him for a hug, resting his head on top of mine. He rubbed my hair gently, gulping.

"I need help," Hero softly said, making me pull away from Dad.

"More than what I'm getting," he said, shaking his head, "I-I've gotta get better."

"We'll get you more help, sweetheart," Mom said, walking over to him, "I promise."

~*~

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