Hate, Lies and... Him

There is no comfort in lies or in hate, but, I find comfort in him.

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1. Table.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

The constant drum of my sisters fingers on the oak table top puts me further and further on edge.

How did it get to this?

My Darling sister is in more trouble than I could ever imagine.

Shortening her life with every drag of those bloody cigarettes. Killing her liver with the bottles she drains. Now she survives the day by inhaling powdered poison.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. 

She wont sit still.

My mind casts back to 2 days ago when I carried my baby sisters nearly lifeless body into the hospital E.D. then, I silently watched as they plugged life support and drips, needles and various tubes into her limp body. Slowly I moved to the exit dragged my phone from my pocket taped in dads number and hit call.

Then sitting in the relatives room with my father we called all who needed to know, my twin brother (and his girlfriend) my half sister and step mum and Cara a close friend of mine (and my sisters). Nanna and Granddad were on holiday in Spain there home country and we thought it best not to tell them right now.

My father looked like a child in that waiting room, a child who had seen and heard too much. His head rested in his hand, his hair an unbrushed mess. This man was no longer my father but a child, I could see no trace of my father left behind. Somehow though I wanted to comfort this strangers child, tell him it would all be okay.

But there is no comfort in lies.

The doctor walked in the with the results of a blood test.

It was these results that broke that child's heart and the same results that finally filled in the last pieces of the puzzle. 

My baby sister Christiana, the girl who only a year ago I laughed and chatted with, the girl I confided in is no longer here. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

And with her agitated beats of an oak table surface I am shaken back to reality.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap...

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