At first, everything seemed fine. My uncle's house was quiet and clean and nobody bothered us. His wife always spoke gently with a warm smile that never reflected in her eyes.
Their older son was two years ahead of me, he was in college and was barely around. The younger one was the same age as my brother, he was loud and cheerful.
A year and a half had passed since we moved in with my uncle and his family. My brother was now twelve and I was eighteen. Here, no one raised their voices, no one slammed doors or reeked of alcohol. Compared to where we came from, this place seemed perfect. It was obvious that the family loved each other so much. There was always laughter in the house.
And that irritated me.
I kept my head down. I wasn't interested in forming bonds or pretending like I was someone I wasn't. I was only in this house because they said I had to be. In my head, I was already gone. I was counting down the days I left for university, where I'd finally be in control of my own life. There would be no father or father figure, no forced relationship, and the sounds of laughter and happiness that choked me every day would be gone.
My brother, on the other hand, was adjusting to this place quite differently. He was quieter and more composed. He also stopped smiling as much as he used to. It was an abrupt stop, one I thought was too sudden. He kept his head down and still didn't stir up trouble. However, his grades started to drop. He also stopped trying to get my attention, little by little.
I thought it was good how he didn't try to force himself on people like he used to. My uncle and his older son also spent more time with him. It was good for him. He needed male figures in his life. He needed attention, which was something I would never be able to give him.
And if he found that something in a stable household like my uncle's, then maybe I could stop feeling guilty for the years I'd kept him at arm's length. He started spending more time with my uncles older son, whether it was to play video games or to read comics or to wrestle.
My uncle always praised him, ruffled his hair and invited him on errands. They were close. All three of them.
I didn't think my brother was suffering. I wasn't paying attention. I had my own life, my own distractions. I wanted my own freedom, and I was happy that for the first time in forever, he wasn't clinging to me.
As for my father's fortune, my money hungry extended relatives had managed to share it amongst themselves without leaving a share for either me or my brother. Not that I ever wanted a share of the inheritance, anyway.
My uncle's younger son was closer to his mother, they were practically inseparable, which struck me as odd. But I wrote it off, everyone had their weird characteristics, after all.
Before long, I left for college and I never called home. I didn't hear from my brother for the whole of my first semester. I thought about him on occasion but I never tried to reach out, and he didn't reach out to me either.
I thought something was wrong, I thought it was weird that he didn't even try to call me once. I thought he'd finally gotten the message and he didn't want to be a nuisance to me anymore. But still, this change was too sudden.
It was as if my uncle's family had replaced me in his life, and I didn't know how to feel about that. It wasn't that I particularly missed him, or that I wanted him to go back to how he was, but it was still unsettling.
So I took a break from school in my second semester, I decided to go home to check on my brother who I hadn't seen or heard from in close to a year.
It was in the middle of the day when I arrived. The front door was unlocked but the house was oddly quiet. I called out my brother's name a few times but there was no response. I figured that everyone was either out or asleep, and I could sneak in without getting unnecessary hugs and interrogations from them.
I went upstairs to check if my brother was home. His room was dim, the curtains were drawn. He was sitting on his bed with his back hunched and his shoulders were trembling.
He was crying.
He was thirteen at the time.
I stopped by the doorway as I debated whether to leave him before he noticed me or to go over and comfort him. He looked up and the moment he saw me, he ran to my arms. I didn't know how to hold him because I never had. This was the first time that I would be hugging my brother.
I let him wrap his arms around me and sob into my shirt. He kept saying that he missed me, that it wasn't the same without me and that he was glad I was there.
But I didn't know what to say. He had a phone, he had a number and yet never contacted me. If he missed me as much as he said he did, he should've reached out.
I patted his back in an awkward manner. I did know why he was crying and I wasn't sure I wanted to know, I knew that I wouldn't know how to react if he told me.
He stopped crying after a while and led me to his bed, he flashed a smile and asked me about school.
I told him about my school, about my friends that I reconnected with and about how I was adjusting to everything. He listened intently and told me that he couldn't wait to go to college.
"Even though you have people who give you attention here?" I asked.
His smile dwindled just a bit and his eyes twitched. He looked down at his hands for a bit before nodding in affirmation.