Dating : S2, Account 6: Cordell

I saw the pressure they put him under. The pressure he put on himself because of the guilt, and because of not wanting to disappoint our parents too. It was crushing him and I was scared for him. When I got sentenced, they told me to stay away from Cory and I did because I didn’t want to make his life difficult. He seemed to be thriving, succeeding, and I was so proud because it meant my sacrifice had turned his life around. Even though I didn’t go near him, I always watched him. I asked mutual friends about his progress, was ecstatic when he got his GCSE’s, told all my friends about his A-Level results, and was incomparably proud when he finished his degree. I felt like a proud parent. The kind he really deserved. As long as my brother was good, I was good.

But deep down I could still see it. That missing identity. I thought to myself that one day, eventually, there will be a tipping point, but I comforted myself in the fact that his life was going so well, that hopefully the tipping point wouldn’t be so damaging. And then I started to hear that Cory was buying coke from dealers I knew, and all my hopes and dreams for him crashed like a lead weight. I was furious, not with him, but with the dealers. I went to every single one of them and told them not to sell to my brother. I begged them. Some I even paid off, but he would find new sources. I couldn’t pursue every one of them. My brother was spiralling and now he had the means to keep doing so.

One day I got a call. Saeed said he saw someone who looked like me counting skittles all along the bar one by one, giggling and laughing at a bar. He said he wasn’t altogether sure at first it wasn’t me as the resemblance was striking, but then he remembered how I always strongly refused to take any kind of drugs. He was confused (he didn’t know about Cory), and instead of explaining, I asked him the name of the bar, and locked the call off. I drove down to the bar at the speed of light, and found Cory staggering around and 2 seconds from being thrown out. He looked horrific, I could tell he’d taken too much. I grabbed him under his armpits, dragged him to my car, pushed him into the back and sped to the hospital.

I should have told them. From the beginning. I should have told them. But I just wanted to protect my brother. They’re not very forgiving. We have an older sister who was asked to leave home at 18 when she became pregnant with her boyfriend’s baby. When she left, they never spoke about her again. I have not seen her since. I don’t know where she is.

It’s Cory’s funeral. So many people have showed up for him. I wasn’t invited. I watched dozens fill the church wearing his favourite colour — yellow. I followed the procession with his casket on my moped. I am standing hidden by trees, watching them lower his body into the ground. I feel like my world has now become black. I feel like I let him down. I was hanging with my friends, researching drug rehabilitation programs when I found out he had died. I received the call and I threw up, I fell to my knees, and I started screaming and crying. They tried to hold me but I punched every single person I could, I kicked the door down and I smashed the TV.

Not my brother. I screamed and screamed and screamed. Not my brother. Not my brother who just two hours before told me he loved me. The first time I had heard those words in years. When I read it, I had called him, I wanted to tell him how much I loved him too and how proud I was that he had accepted my help to get him off drugs and to speak about the options I’d found.

I don’t know if I should have told my parents from the beginning. Maybe I should have. And now it no longer matters. He’s gone.