He goes home.

I go home.

Because I can't stand being in this shitty predicament with Nate.

I hate that I'm angry about this. I shouldn't be surprised that he chose his girlfriend over me. It's inevitable. It's how the story always goes

but that doesn't mean it hurts any less.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that I like Nate. I basically gave it away when I yelled at him earlier. Why else would I be so upset? Nate's an absolute idiot if he isn't able to decipher my words.

But do I really want him to know?

The worst thing that could happen is that he hates me and leaves the football team. He hated me before, it wasn't too bad. I was used to that feeling of hate. But that was before I realised how good it felt being around him.

The best thing that could happen is that he likes me too.

There's a possibility. He's kissed me twice.

Yeah and he's kissed his girlfriend a thousand times more.

A little part of me thought that what he said to me before, when I was about to leave his house, was true. That he wanted to take care of me. And I wanted to let him. I wanted him to make me forget about my fucked up life because with him I almost felt normal.

But you can never really forget. Because the bruises never fully fade. Not when more and more keep coming.

That's why I like being feared because when I walk past, everyone looks away. And when everyone looks away they don't see the bruises my brother so kindly left behind.

That's when I stop walking.

The thought of what's to come when I open my front door is enough to make me want to turn back all together and return to Nate. But the image of Nate and his girlfriend kissing in his bed is enough to make me keep walking home.

Surprisingly, I would rather face my brother than Nate's girlfriend. That's got to say something.

When Derek isn't angry or in desperate need for another hit, he's quiet. Too quiet. He roams the house like a dead man. There is no spring in his step, no life to him. I'm scared that's who I'm becoming.

Before entering the house, I decide to take a ride on my skateboard which I was taking to Nate's before interrupting his make out session with his girlfriend.

The graffitied board glides swiftly on the roads and I throw in a couple self taught tricks every now and then just for fun. Skateboarding gives me a relief I haven't felt from anything else. It allows me to simply breathe.

I needed to feel the cool breeze against my skin and wheels beneath my feet. I needed control and every time I lean left or right I feel like I have that. Balance.

I ride to the park and sit down on a park bench, staring at some dogs chasing each other. The sun is beginning to set, leaving behind a warm orange glow and I close my eyes under its rays. I think about calling Stevie or Niall but decide against it because we're not the type of friends to randomly call each other unless we have an actual reason to.

I think I may have used skateboarding and sitting at the park as an excuse to delay my arrival home, but an hour and a half later I am at my front door step.

Derek isn't home.

Sighing in relief, I run up to my bedroom and close the door. I lean my back on the closed door and stare at all the mess.

My hands twitch as I feel the urge to break something but my brother already beat me to the punch, literally.

The wooden framework of my bed is broken; my mattress lay stripped on the floor with the sheets thrown off; draws are either on the ground or hanging off the edge and the contents of my bedside table have been thrown to the ground. All because one man couldn't find his drugs. The drugs which I hid.

Exhausted, I slide down the door until I am seated on the ground with my knees pulled into my chest and tears on the verge of spilling from my eyes.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror opposite my room and hate who I see.

My buzz cut. When I was fourteen I shaved my hair. The reason I chopped off my dirty blonde locks was so that my brother wouldn't pull it. One less thing to hurt me with.

When I was fifteen I stared going to the gym. I channeled all that anger and aggression I felt I couldn't take out on my brother into other things like sports or fighting. Others started to notice that I was gaining muscle. That was my intention because it meant my brother was noticing too. I thought he would get scared and back off.

My reign as the school rebel began about the same time I got into fights, so around fifteen.

I lost the little friends that I had and for a while went about life on my own. Until I met Stevie and Niall. I would frequently see them in Saturday detention and one day instead of going straight home (or in my case, going skateboarding) we hung out instead. Now we don't use the excuse of Saturday detentions to hang out.

At sixteen I had my growth spurt. Now I'm as tall as my brother and slightly bigger than him too. But it isn't much of an advantage because now I can look him in the eyes when he hits me.

I'm seventeen now but still feel like that frightened little thirteen year old boy.

I avert my gaze from the mirror. This time I don't hold back. I let my barricades down, I let the barriers open, I let the walls break, I let the tears fall and I cry and scream and yell and swear because my brother broke everything.

He broke me.

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😭