Chapter 213: Hotel Room II: Hannah
My father hated when people would call me Han instead of using my full name. The only person who had gotten away with it was Martin, because he didn’t care what my father said.
I looked up from the bed, and with the light from the window behind him, got a good look at my brother.
For a second we just stared at each other. He looked bigger and muscular as well as older than I remembered.
It was like seeing a ghost. How could it be that Martin was alive?
All I was told was that he had died, and my father basically never talked about him again. Lori and my brothers never mentioned him in front of my parents either, but sometimes when we were alone, we’d tell our favorite Martin stories.
He was the only one who would stand up to our father. At that time, I hadn’t even realized the extent of my father’s abuse, but we all knew he could be stern, and he had precise rules that we all had to obey. With Martin around, though, we often felt as though we had a guardian angel.
One time, Lori and I had been playing with our hair, creating various braids and updos. When we came down for dinner that night, Lori had styled my hair into a long messy side braid with wisps of hair spilling out, framing my face. It was a stylish but bohemian look.
As soon as we sat down at the table, my father growled. "Take out that braid. Are you trying to look like a hippie or something? That is not the look for a young lady in this house."
I could see that Lori’s feelings were hurt, her face in a soured pinch. She had spent a long time fixing that braid and making it perfectly beautiful. Frowning, I brought my hands to my head to unravel it when Martin spoke up.
"Groovy. I think it looks great. Good job, Lori. You really have a talent," he said nodding at her. "Han, your hair is gorgeous any way you style it, but I like the ’do. It’s quite refreshing if you ask me."
"No one asked you," my father had grumbled as he stabbed at a piece of potato on his plate.
Martin had looked self-assured in his comments and didn’t mind disagreeing with our father.
I had flashed him a grateful smile before taking out the braid. While our father hadn’t liked it, getting a compliment from Martin was like finding a gold nugget in a bucket full of coal. He provided a shiny glimmer of hope amongst our often cloudy upbringing.
Staring at my long lost brother as I sat on the bed, I reached out my hands and pushed him with my palms with all the force I could muster.
He stumbled back a little, and looked in my eyes, willing me to recognize him.
"What the hell?" I said. "What is going on? You have A LOT of explaining to do."
My eyes bulged out at him, showing how frightened he had made me.
"It’s okay, Han," he said, giving me a playful punch in the shoulder like he used to do to me as kids. "I’ve kept you safe. No one can get to you here. No one can hurt you."
While I was sort of relieved that my kidnapper was my brother, someone who had been my protector when I was younger, I couldn’t believe he had lied to us and disappeared for so long.
"It’s not okay," I yelled, standing up on the bed. Martin was standing on the floor beside it. Looking down on him, I felt more in control. "You were supposed to be dead."
He blinked. "What are you talking about?"
I pointed at him and stepped back, putting some space between us. I was confused and hurt. I had thought he was dead for years, when he was alive and well, and now he’d returned to my life by kidnapping me. It felt like some twisted sort of betrayal.
"Show me you’re not a ghost," I demanded. "Everyone thought you were dead! Lori, Freddy, Edward and I thought you were gone. I mean, we had a funeral and everything."
Martin frowned. He tried to reach his hand up to me, but I wasn’t ready to accept him yet.
"No!" I slapped at him. "I can’t believe you put us through all that!" I shrieked. "I cried for days. We all did. I mean..."
I started to get choked up at the memories and sobs started escaping my chest. "I - thought - you - were my protector - the only one who stood up to dad - and then you were gone."
I took a deep breath, the tears streaming down my face.
Martin stood there his head down. It made me so mad to consider the idea that he had faked his death.
"Why did you do it?" I shouted at him, heaving my words his way. "Why would you hurt us like that?"
He looked up, and our eyes immediately connected. I could see a calm sympathy in them, something that told me it hadn’t been his fault.
"I’m sorry Hannah, but I didn’t know."
"You didn’t know what?" my voice grew more needy, more sympathetic, as I dropped to my knees on the bed.
He shook his head, his brows furrowed. "I didn’t know you all thought I was dead. I never planned for that to happen. I just - Dad didn’t want me around. I..."
I could see he was sincerely sorry, and I realized in that moment that it was Court, our father, who once again had manipulated things. In the process, he had severed our relationship with our own brother.
Crying, my face turned to mush as I decided I couldn’t blame Martin for the awful decisions our father made.
Martin was standing next to the bed, and I looked him over. I just couldn’t wrap my brain around the fact that my brother was alive.
What he was saying to me didn’t make sense. Why was he there? What had happened all those years? Why did he feel the need to protect me?
All of my questions swirled in my head, but the one thought that seemed to push all the others out of the way was the fact that my sweet, protective brother Martin was still alive. I rejoiced at the thought of having my brother back, and I launched myself forward, wrapping my arms around his body.
I clung to his back and shoulders, which were much more broad and toned than when I last saw him. In fact, my mind was so hazy, I couldn’t remember the last I had seen Martin.
His musky scent brought some memories back like the time we argued about a specific toy, and he hoisted me up on his shoulder and carried me away. It was kind of like what he had just done when I tried to run out the door.
Martin’s hands were big enough then to nearly cover my back, and he welcomed my embrace. My head fit in the crook of his neck where I could feel his vein pulsing with blood.
We had both been so nervous, our blood pumping at our altercation. I just didn’t understand why he would have gone to such lengths to hide me.
After a minute or two of feeling that my brother was in fact alive and well, I pulled away.
Tears were in my eyes, and I swiped at them, not wanting my blurry vision to effect having a clear view of my brother. I held onto his shoulders as I stood looking him over. I just couldn’t believe it.
"Martin, I have so many questions." I smiled. "But seriously, you didn’t think I’d be surprised to see you? I mean a little heads-up, would have helped."
He was not only more muscular, but also more rugged-looking. Living with my father included formal dinners and learning the business trade. My brothers were not required to do outdoor work or heavy lifting; however, it appeared Martin had been doing both.
Martin had a short crew cut and a little bit of scruffy facial hair. In addition, he was wearing cargo pants and what looked like a flak jacket.
As I looked at him, I could tell he felt a little self-conscious. I noticed a scar down his nose, and I wondered how he had gotten it. I didn’t remember that from when we were kids.
"You’re as beautiful as ever," he said to me. I blushed and punched him hard in the chest.
"Seriously, though." I stepped back and sat on the bed. Next, I patted the spot next to me, offering him a spot to sit down. I knew we had a lot of catching up to do.
"I mean there’s so much I have to ask you," I squealed, "but the most important thing is that I love you, and I’m glad you’re back."