My brother Benny (Weekend freewrite)

My brother was doing that thing he did. That thing with the rag in the sink. Rinse the rag three times, wash the greenish tiles around the sink three times, than again and yet again. Only when he'd be satisfied with the sink, he'd get to the coffee pot and the cups. Clean them exactly three times.
At least, that answered my question - Mom was right, Benny was off his meds. She had sensed that in his voice and in his reluctance to talk about his life. The first few weeks of college had been so exciting, the teachers, his pals - that's what he'd told Mom at least and she was so happy to believe him. Something must have happened - his phone calls were less frequent and shorter. 'Everything's fine, yeah, yeah'. That sort of meaningless talk.
Finally, Benny managed to put the coffee machine on. Good thing he was in his 'three times' stage. When things got really bad he'd wash everything three times three and, believe me, that can drive you crazy.

Back when we were both in high-school, I was forced to use the bathroom downstairs in the morning, cause Benny could easily spend half an hour just washing his face and brushing his teeth. On his 'nine times' days he would waste so much time cleaning himself he had to leave without breakfast. What pissed me off was that his face was so read from all the scrubbing and I was always scared some stupid kid might figure it out and start spreading rumors about the weirdo. Benny was one year older than me, yet I always felt it was my duty to protect him.
I didn't want to confront him and, luckily I didn't have to. Mom was supposed to talk to him over the Thanksgiving break. Benny had seemed very reluctant to come home, so I was there to make sure he came.

Only uncle Bill thought that this was funny. None of was watched Benny painstakingly separating the food on his plate - sweet potatoes on one side and the steak on the other. And no gravy at all, God forbid. The stuff would spread all over the plate and spoil all the food. We all knew how Benny's mind worked, but uncle Bill had been abroad for the past ten years. I barely remembered him and I certainly didn't like his stupid jokes or his loud laugh. I could sense Mom was tense, too. She never talked about her brother.
Even Grandma was a bit on the edge, although I caught her eyes lingering on her eldest child. The prodigal son, finally home. From what I had overheard Bill had a small bar, somewhere in Thailand. Grandma had been so worried about him and even though she had never said it out loud I knew she was afraid he might be into drugs.
From what I gathered, uncle Bill had just sold his business and was back for good.
'God, I missed that', uncle Bill said when Grandma brought her famous apple pie to the table. It was indeed famous - so full of cinnamon, ground nuts and raisins. My uncle rose to do the honors, putting an enormous slice on his plate, than proceeded to give each of us a piece. With his bare hands. Not appealing to any of us, but pure torture for Benny. Obviously he could not eat something so filthy.
'I'm going out for a smoke' he announced and rose from the table leaving his dessert untouched.
'I told you having him back was a bad idea', said Mom, glaring at her own mother.

We ate our pie in silence, yet the buzzing of the lies grew louder. I was looking at the adults, sitting there ashen-faced. Even Bill was silent and kept his eyes on his plate.
Strange, I could almost hear their unspoken words. The way they all looked at Bill. Then all the eyes turned to Grandma. Although she was 80, she was still the head of the family. It was her responsibility. She looked so incredibly sad, her lost eyes going from one face to the other.
'I'm sorry', she whispered. She had tears in her eyes, but no one rose to comfort her.
'I thought we could be a family again.... It's been ten years, after all.'
'Ten years of hell, that's what it's been and this idiot here acts like nothing happened', Mom snapped.
Uncle Bill, the idiot, rose unsteadily from the table.
'Coming back was a mistake. I'm sorry. I should have known better'.
As he walked to the door he turned to Mom:
'I'm sorry, Rose, you know I was drunk that night, otherwise I would have never hurt your boy'.
It took me a while to realize what I had just heard. I could not believe it, I could not believe they all knew.
Unfortunately, we were all so caught up in our own thoughts no one checked on Benny. When I went into the garden, he wasn't there. I found him in his bedroom, lying down in a pool of blood. Nine cuts on each arm.

Story written for @mariannewest's weekend freewrite challenge. Check out her blog and join our freewrite community.
Images: Pixabay