It’s been a week since I quit football and I miss it so much. It was my one outlet and now it’s gone. Instead, I’m stuck having to mitigate the impact my mom’s drug habit has on my little brother’s life. When I arrive home, I can hear the sound of furniture being moved or dumped onto the floor.

“What did you do?” Richard barks at me as I walk in.

I look at him with disdain. “What are you talking about?” I ask, pretending not to have a clue.

He closes the distance between us one step at a time. “You know what I’m talking about.”

I defy him because if it weren’t for him, we probably wouldn’t be in this place right now—my mom wouldn’t be in this place.

I shrug casually. “Nope, no clue.” Turning around, I head to my room but I don’t make it two steps before I’m slammed against the wall.

Richard leans in close to my ear, his forearm on the back of my neck pinning me in place. “Where did you put it?” he demands in a slow drawl. When I remain silent, he grabs my shoulder and spins me around. Trapped between him and the wall, I feel the rage pounding through my blood. I want to hit him so badly.

But I hold back.

“Where?” he shouts. Richard glares at me with red-rimmed eyes. Still, I say nothing. With a frustrated growl, he brings both of his hands to my throat, wrapping his fingers around tightly until he cuts off my air.

I gasp loudly, my breath barely a whisper when I say, “Trash.”

“You threw it in the fucking trash?”

He lets me go, walking to the kitchen. I hear him upending the trash bag, looking for the drugs responsible for destroying my family.

Tough shit.

I walk over to where he is, watching as he searches for something he won’t find. “Where are they?” he shouts, briefly turning to me before returning to his search. I look towards the yard through the kitchen window.

Richard follows my gaze. “God dammit,” he breathes. I don’t know why I’m still standing here, watching him look for it. This might not end well for me, but I don’t care.

Not today.

Richard throws open the door to the backyard, yanking it so hard it comes off its hinges. Mentally, I count down how long it’ll take for him to return empty-handed. A devious grin appears on my face as I picture him going through the trash with his bare hands, searching for his precious drugs.

It’s too bad I flushed them all down the toilet.

“What the fuck did you do with them?” he shouts, stepping back into the kitchen.

“Oh, wait, you mean your drugs?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says through gritted teeth.

“I thought you were asking about something else.”

“What else would I be asking about? Where are they?”

“I flushed those down the toilet,” I answer and pain radiates from my mouth. Richard hits me a second time, blood pouring from my split lip. Fisting my shirt with both hands, he throws me down onto the floor and kicks me in the ribs.

“You bastard! Do you know how much that was worth?” he asks, kicking me again.

One kick.

Two.

Three.

With an inarticulate scream, he turns around, grabbing his hair desperately. As quietly as I can, I get up from the floor and sneak up behind him. With lightning speed, I wrap my arm around his throat, tightening my grip as he begins to struggle. Richard tries to pry me off, but I’m stronger than he is—I have been for a while.

I let him get some hits in today, but he had to know it was my choice. For some reason, I wanted to hurt—to feel that pain, but now I’m going to hurt him.

“What the…? Aron stop right now!” my mother screams, rushing to help Richard.

“What’s going on?” I hear someone say.

Ethan.

What’s he doing here? It’s the middle of the day?

I know he sees the blood running down my face.

I know he sees the way I’m holding Richard.

The way Richard is struggling.

I look at him and feel his fear.

I can see every question running through his mind and I’m angry at myself for putting them there in the first place.

I almost don’t feel my mother pulling at me, hitting me, begging me to let go of Richard. I’m numb to it all.

“You’re bleeding, Aron.”

Those are the words that break me, tearing me from my frozen state. My little brother’s words laced with concern and confusion are what cause me to let go of Richard altogether.

Richard drops to the floor, holding his neck and gasping for air. My mother falls down beside him, asking him how he’s doing, if he’s okay.

She ignores me, though.

She ignores the fact that I’m bleeding.

Richard has all of her attention.

“I’m okay, buddy.” I try to assure Ethan but I feel like I’ve somehow torn up his image of me. I’ve disappointed him and that hurts me more than the punches and kicks Richard had rained on me earlier.

I’m an idiot.

I got carried away trying to piss off Richard.

“What are you doing out of school so soon?” I ask, wiping the blood from my face.

He ignores my question. “Why are you fighting?”

“I was just showing Richard something I learned—we’re not really fighting.”

He reaches up to touch my mouth, but I pull away. “You’re bleeding,” he says.

“Oh… I fell earlier and didn’t wipe it off.” I hate that I’m lying to him but I don’t want him to think the worst of me.

“I don’t want you to fight, even if it’s make believe,” he says innocently.

“Okay, I promise I won’t,” I assure him, guiding him up the stairs to his room and away from Mom and Richard. “So why are you home so early?"

“Water was falling all over the classroom.”

“A pipe broke?” I ask.

“Yeah, they called Mom.”

“Did she pick you up?”

He shakes his head. “No, Lance’s mom brought me,” he responds and that makes more sense to me.

“Look, I’m going to clean up and when I get back, we can go somewhere special,” I tell him, praying I can erase what he’s just witnessed.

“Are we going for ice cream?” he asks, hopeful.

“Ice cream and somewhere else too!”

He nods eagerly, and I take that as my chance to walk out of his room and compose myself. I don’t want to be the reason for his nightmares.