I exhale, and nod, pushing everything away to pay the taxi fare and help Liz out. I refuse the driver's help, even for prepping the wheelchair. Call me possessive, call me somewhat allergic to men now, whatever the case, I reject any help, and finally push Liz to our doorstep, stopping before it again after days not having seen it.
I frown a bit, then look down at Liz.
"Sis, why don't we go to a hotel? Let's renovate the house, okay?"
"Hm?"
Liz looks up at me, then smiles as she turns to the door.
"Let's go in first. You have been in a bad mood since you came back to pick up clothes for us. Let's go in first. I want to see how it is before agreeing."
I silently click my tongue and pout, but I push Liz to the door. After unlocking it, it is opened once again after a while, putting on display the remnants of the chaos from day again.
The dust of time seems to have rendered the spectacle less appalling. Like the dusty box of an event that has left its mark, and which is now unwrapped, leaving people silent. Liz and I say nothing for a while.
"Let's go."
Her soft voice breaks the silence. Though I'm reluctant, I push her in. The traces have not faded, not from when it happened, nor from when feet have gone around trampling our home.
Liz looks around, and despite the calm smile she has carried throughout everything after what happened, her gaze lingers on where she has fallen then woken up on the floor. It is an impossible-to-miss spot. The silence stretches, and she turns again, this time to look at where I have fallen that day, when the bullet had torn a wound on my leg.
Even though there is nothing there, I can almost feel the despair of that day lingering on the spot. I blink, letting Liz to her reminiscence, and look into the kitchen. That is somewhere I have not been when I came back a few days ago. That gets me recalling the perishable that are there and must have failed to survive through our absence.
I seem to catch a smell, but that is not what makes me wrinkle my nose. The smell can be dealt with. It is the look of the things that might have gone bad, and the idea I will have to pick them up when cleaning.
I catch Liz looking up, she has a smile that seems to read my mind. I pause, but don't care about that. I return to what matters to me at the moment:
"Sis, apparently, the police only help clean for those who are dead. Why don't we go elsewhere and renovate everything? Let's make it a fresh start, what do you say? A new year with a new start."
She looks at me a while longer, and finally laughs.
"Alright, let's make it a fresh start for a new year."
"Then–"
My eyes light up and I make to push her chair around to leave immediately.
"However…"
When I pause, she continues:
"Let's go to the second floor first. If we have to stay away for a while, we will have to take some luggages, right?"
My face wrinkles, and I look at the flight of stairs with reluctance.
"Sis, why don't we just buy new clothes? You have already been feeling tight in your bras. Let's hit the shops, alright?"
Liz looks at me, then with a smile, pushes against the armrests of the wheelchair and stands up with difficulty. My heart skips a beat at her action, and I forget everything to catch her arm and support her.
"Careful, sis! Calm down! Where do you want to go? What do you want? Tell me, I will get it for you."
Liz simply looks at me and reiterates with a smile:
"Let's go upstairs."
I look deeply at her, then lose the energy to continue being against it. I walk her to the stairs, carefully climb up, and arrive on the floor where the traces of dirty footsteps are still glaring.
I look at Liz, and I find her calmly taking in the spectacle. She follows the traces that reach my room, but mostly are around hers, which I have been sharing with her, and subtly around the door deeper inside the corridor.
With my hand around her waist, I can feel her calm breathing, and I can also feel the long exhale she lets out after a moment.
"Let's go to my room. I will pick up some things and we will go. You should also think about what you will want to take with you."
I say nothing this time. I help her walk to her room.
"There, help me pick up that book, and that one. The one beside it too, and that one. After that, look into the drawer beside the bed. I have my notebook inside. Take it too. Then take the laptop and the accessories."
Though she is calm while speaking and directing me from the doorstep, I can feel she is down, a little tired and disappointed, though I can tell at what exactly. I calmly follow her instructions, then run to my room to pick up books and laptop, before I come back to hold her and help walk through the dirty corridor again, then down the stairs.
She doesn't say anything. She sits in the wheelchair again, and after we both take one last look around, I push her out. We take a while to find a taxi because I have not called any beforehand. Standing in the cold air, the warmth of the holidays suddenly seems foreign. More than warmth, it is desolateness that I feel is wrapping around us.
That makes me more aware of my breathing than usual. The up and down of my chest, the clammy handles of the wheelchair, the emptiness behind me, not just literally, but also figuratively, that source of loneliness more apparent than ever, as we stand alone by the road, without parents, without family.
Liz's movement pulls me out of my thoughts. The taxi she waved at stops, and she turns to me:
"Max, let's go."
"Hm."