The sound of the old generator echoes from the back. The store was so quiet, I could hear it from the counter. My eyes wander around. The regular customers were replaced by the empty sound of the buzzing bulbs.
The computer’s lock screen displays a compilation of pictures. Every major event that had ever happened in this store could be seen here. From the first client ten years ago all the way to me putting up the mask sign about a month ago. A huge ‘All customers are required to wear a face covering when inside the store’ made of cardboard standing next to me.
I move the mouse to check the time. 6pm. Everything outside is enveloped inside its usual dark veil apart from a little convenience store across the street with the lights still on. A man looks at me through the window. Random strands of hair fall over his face in a failed attempt to cover the black circles forming around his eyes. It makes him look older, even though he hasn’t been alive for that long.
We stare at each other for a while. He looks restless, he hasn’t been sleeping well. I wave and he follows my gesture. His blue vest moves along with him, causing his nametag to dazzle me every chance it gets. Cain.
“Quiet day, huh?”
I jump, startled by Bradley’s voice. I answer with a nod as he walks up to the windows to close the blinds. He’s a man in his fifties, a full goatee and a pair of round glasses shaping his face. He reminds me of my dad.
“I think we should close for a while.” He moves towards the other window and closes the blinds “I’m really sorry, Cain.” And I know he is, an apologetic smile hiding under his mask.
All the stores around us closed within the last few weeks. I knew it was just a matter of time. I nod once again, there's nothing I can do about it.
I leave the store through the back door. The sun was long gone, and I had about an hour of pedalling ahead of me. I put my helmet on, and I unlock my bicycle from the rack, preparing to make my way home.
The road is very straightforward, no bumps or hills. The absence of cars would be astounding a few weeks ago, but I’ve gotten used to it by now. The wind blows in my favour and for a little while, I believe everything will be okay.
I drop my bike on the front porch and step inside. The house is as quiet as the rest of the world. I walk to the bathroom and wash my hands.
“How was work?” Bella peeks her head on the side of the door. Her blonde hair falls perfectly next to her.
“I’m exhausted.” I walk down the hallway to the room on the top left, my sister following behind me “I’m going to take a nap.”
“What about dinner?” Bella tries to step inside but I close the door before she’s able to.
“There’s food in the fridge.”
“Oh okay.” She murmured from the other side, and I hear her footsteps getting further.
I collapse on my bed. A sigh leaves my mouth as I reach for a blanket. I close my eyes and let the warmth hug me. My heart is racing, fuelled by everything and nothing in particular. I grab a pill from my bedside table and let it erase the world around me.
I open my eyes. The sun is up and coming through my window, I must have slept through the night. I rub my eyes, letting a yawn out.
“How did you sleep?”
I jump up, my eyes wide open. Bella is sitting at the bottom of the bed and gives me a smile once she notices my confusion.
“Breakfast?” She pointed to the tray placed on my bedside table.
A glass of chocolate milk and a slice of toasted bread. I can’t help but smile, mom used to bring me breakfast on my birthday. I thank her as I move the tray to my lap.
Bella reminds me of mom. The way she smiles and how her hair falls down her shoulders. She’s too young to remember, but I know how much they look alike. Sometimes, it’s too much to deal with.
“Have you eaten?” Bella shakes her head “Go pick what you want for lunch, I’ll be there in a minute.” She gets up and heads for the hallway.
I sit on the bed, already exhausted. I grab a pill from the bedside table and chug it down with the rest of the milk. I haven’t been able to function by myself in years, my head feels too heavy. I change to a plain black t-shirt, dropping yesterday’s uniform on the floor.
I head towards the hallway, half decorated with family pictures. Mom holding me when I was born, dad clapping for my first steps. There's about a dozen pictures of the three of us before Bella comes in. And then, there we are. The perfect family. Me holding my sister, pushing her down the swing.
It stops there, abruptly, forever unfinished. Mom got cancer after, and I look around and I wonder if it was already there when any of these were taken.
It wasn’t too bad at first, from what I remember. But the signs were there, more noticeable every day that went by. Her hair got shorter, her hospital visits more frequent. One day, she just didn’t come back. Bella was too young at the time, but I was allowed to visit her. I’d sit in bed with her, she’d read me a story. And every day before leaving, she’d say: “Don’t worry, I’ll be home soon.” She never came back home, but she’s somewhere better, I hope.
Dad tried his best, but he hasn’t ready. He never wanted to be a dad in the first place, let alone a single one. He killed himself shortly after, leaving 18-year-old me in charge of Bella. I was even less ready.
I think about doing it too. More often than I’d like. I find the uncertainty of what comes next somewhat relaxing, a better possibility than this. But I can’t let social services take Bella again, so I stay a little longer.
“Right, what we having, chef?”
I step into the kitchen. Bella is standing by the fridge, examining the ingredients we have. On the table, there’s raw past and a can of mushrooms.
“Are we out of eggs?”
I shrug, walking towards the fridge. The top shelf is empty. I check the cupboard just to make sure, but it is also empty.
“I’ll check downstairs.”
After we moved in, dad turned the basement into an industrial kitchen, walk-in fridge and everything. He wanted to open a restaurant someday. It’s a big investment so, in the meantime, he did takeaway orders. I remember making up recipes and we’d cook them together. I still use it sometimes. I never have that much food, but it helps me feel closer to him.
Bella follows me downstairs and we head to the big fridge. The shelves aren’t nearly as full as they used to, but I try my best to not let them stay empty. Fruits and vegetables on the left, raw food on the right, my sister’s body under the shelves.
I ran my hand across her icy cheek and thousand memories rush through my head. It all seems very distant, a lifetime that no longer exists. Her little purple lips stay open, gasping for air that never came. I step back, looking away. I wasn’t ready to face her today.
“It’s okay, I’m here.”
“You’re dead.” My voice is flat, deprived of any emotion.
I close the door and walk upstairs. Tears falling down my cheeks with every step I take. The sound of small footsteps follows me, no matter how hard I try to run from them. I head towards the bathroom, my shaky hands reach for the pills on the right cabinet. Cain Butcher, quetiapine. The box is still sealed.
“No, not those ones.” Her voice begs me from the door.
“You don’t even exist.” She gives me a sad smile. No. She doesn’t. It’s just me now.
I look towards the door. She’s wearing a long white dress that Bella would hate. Her hair is too long and I don’t know how I’ve never noticed any of this before. Did I just not care?
“Maybe,” she shrugs “but I’m all you have.”
And she is right.