My Brother’s Game
He always loved showing up when I was in the worst mood, just to twist the knife.
“Harry, heard your brother smacked you around again.” He leaned against the doorframe, coffee in hand, his eyes drifting over the hem of my sweatpants. “Mr. Maxwell’s still using the same old methods to keep his little brother in line, huh?”
I snatched the coffee from his hand, the cup burning hot against my palm, and snorted.
“What the hell do you know?”
Leaning against the doorframe, I flicked my lighter.
The cigarette lit, smoke curling as I blew a ring straight into his face. “Getting hit means he cares. Getting scolded means he loves me. I’m fine.”
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