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2026-10-22 16:42:27
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Saved by Brother's Best Friend 186
MariannaMacro loves me, and I love him too.He didn't love me quietly, or subtly, or perfectly. He loved me with the loud, messy, overbearing, territorial intensity of a boy who had been told from the day I was brought home from the hospital that he was the big brother, and I was his responsibility. He was the one who held my hand when I got stitches in the second grade. He was the one who threatened the boy who called me a name in middle school. He was the one who intercepted the love letter I wrote to Duane because, in his own twisted, immature way, he thought he was shielding me from a heartbreak he knew I couldn't handle.He was my brother. And the bond between us, forged in the fires of a million family dinners and shared secrets, was the most genuine thing I possessed.I pushed myself off the sofa. My legs were shaky, but I forced them to hold my weight.I walked over to where Marco was standing in the middle of the living room. He looked up at me, his eyes shining with unshed
Saved by Brother's Best Friend 185
MariannaI sat on the kitchen floor, right in the epicenter of the blast zone, staring blankly at the disaster area my life had become.The shattered pieces of the ceramic mixing bowl were scattered across the white tile like jagged teeth. The radioactive-red hot sauce had pooled in the grout lines and splattered against the baseboards, looking like a gruesome, low-budget horror movie set. My knees were pulled up tight against my chest, the oversized, faded fabric of my sweatpants acting as a meager shield against the freezing blast of the air conditioning vent overhead.I don't know how long I sat there. Time had lost its elasticity. It could have been ten minutes.I finally forced myself to move.My joints popped and cracked in protest as I pushed myself up off the tile. My legs felt like they were made of damp sand. I walked over to the utility closet, my bare feet avoiding the ceramic shards with robotic precision, and pulled out a broom and a dustpan.I swept up the broken pieces
Saved by Brother's Best Friend 184
MariannaMarco looked at me, at my bruised eyes and my hollow cheeks. Then, he slowly turned his head to look at Duane."You son of a bitch," Marco whispered.Duane blinked, stepping forward, his hands coming out of his pockets. "Marco, wait—"Marco didn’t wait.I saw the exact millisecond his brain misfired, connecting the agonizing dots of my trauma into a completely fabricated, wildly inaccurate picture. I saw the protective, big-brother instinct.With a sudden, explosive burst of pure, feral rage, my brother launched himself across the narrow space of the kitchen.He closed the distance in a fraction of a second. He didn't square up or issue a warning. He just threw his right arm back and launched a massive, uncoordinated, devastating punch directly at Duane’s face.The sound of the impact was sickening. A sharp, meaty crack of bone colliding with bone that echoed off the custom cabinets and rang in my ears like a tuning fork.Duane didn’t even try to dodge. With reflexes that cou
Saved by Brother's Best Friend 183
MariannaThe heavy door swung open, hitting the rubber wall stopper with a loud thud."NANA!" Marco's voice boomed through the hallway, loud enough to rattle the framed family photos on the wall. "The prodigal brother returns! And I brought backup!"My heart stopped.Footsteps echoed on the tile. Marco rounded the corner into the kitchen, dragging a duffel bag behind him, his Tallahassee tan glowing, his smile wide and completely oblivious.And walking right behind him, his hands shoved into the pockets of his dark jeans, his posture radiating that familiar, terrifying fractional tension, was Duane Richter.The fork slipped from my fingers and clattered into the ceramic bowl.
Saved by Brother's Best Friend 182
MariannaI didn't go to the internship on Monday.When my alarm went off at 5:00 a.m., piercing the stale, suffocating air of my bedroom, I didn't even flinch. I just lay there on my side, staring at the digital clock face until the numbers blurred into a glowing red smear. My phone buzzed on the nightstand a few minutes later. Renate. Then Chloe. Then Jill.I picked up the phone. My fingers felt like heavy, uncoordinated sausages. I opened my message thread with Renate and typed: Woke up with a severe fever and vomiting. Highly contagious. Cannot come in. So sorry.I sent a variation of the same lie to Jill, adding: Do not come over. I don't want you catching this before your practicals. I am just going to sleep it off.Jill text
Saved by Brother's Best Friend 181
MariannaI froze, my breath catching in my throat.I pulled it out from under a pile of shredded cardboard.The paper airplane.It was perfectly preserved. The folds were still sharp, precise, exact.I stared at the paper airplane through a fresh, blinding wave of tears.I was the one who had built the cages. I was the one who had walked into them.I gripped the nose of the paper airplane.With a sudden, violent jerk, I ripped it straight down the middle.I didn't stop there. I tore the halves into quarters, the quarters into eighths. I shredded the paper until there were only pieces. I crushed the tiny fragments
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