𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐦 | 𝐭𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐮

CHAPTER EIGHT: OVERPROTECTIVE BROTHER

     It's Saturday morning and the feeling of sleeping in the comfort of your bed bed until whenever you're ready to get up is just pure bliss.

     I may be over exaggerating when I say this, but god it felt like I was running on zero hours of sleep. Last night when I crawled under my covers after I took a long warm shower, I was out cold. If I had to estimate on how long I've been asleep, I would say twelve hours.

Through my closed eyes I can see the sun's bright light shining through the laced curtains. Allowing flows of radiant heat into the room, giving a nice balance of cold and hot. My eyes stay close as I slowly try and wake myself up. I could hear the faint chirps of the birds outside my window and the indistinct sound of children playing out in the street. The noises are sending nostalgia through me and it reminds me of my childhood days.

    I use the back of my knuckles to rub my eyelids in circular motions and slowly open my eyes to my white creamed ceiling. Slowly sitting up and stretching my arms out to my side and moving my neck from side to side. I have this habit of cracking every knuckle in my body every morning so I start the day off feeling loose. Cracking my knuckles, back, neck, even my toes until I feel accomplished with my morning routine.

     Throwing my legs over the bed with my feet touching the wooden floorboards. Yawning at my movements, I walk over to the window to open the curtains. I look down to see four little boys horse playing around and two girls sitting on the curb talking. It's quiet yet chaotic on the street; there isn't loud shouting but from the way the kids are playing it's canceling out the calmness.

     I walk to to the door, open it to see Reggie's door closed. He probably left for work or is still sleeping. I walk downstairs to see mother in her chair, sipping on her morning black coffee with a newspaper in hand like usual.

"Good morning." I greet, walking into the living room and sitting down on the light brown cushion couch with my feet being kicked up on the arm rest.

"Feet off the couch." she replies sternly instead, turning to the next page in her paper.

I twist my body off to the side and place both my feet back on the floor. Slumping my back into the depths of the couch cushions with my arms holding myself.

I have no intentions to start a argument this early in the day, but I badly want to tell my mother if she could be a bit cheery. It's always a lecture or an eye roll from her and never a 'hello' or 'how did you sleep'.

"Sorry." I apologize timidly while fiddling with my bracelet, "What are they saying this morning?" I point to the paper.

"Those nasty Holland's." she replies, tossing the newspaper onto the coffee table that barricades between me and her, "They just donated 5k of their own money to the police department!" she says in disgust.

"And what's wrong with that?" I ask.

"Is it a coincidence that they donate money after there was a mass shooting last week on Mulberry and States?"

Mass shooting? I wasn't here in London last week so I wouldn't know of the injuries or cause. Quite frankly I wouldn't have known about it if I didn't press on answers. The Holland's had donated five thousand dollars to the police department after a shoot out that took place a week ago. It's a stretch to say that they had been devastated by the events and decided to be caring by giving out huge amounts of money. But knowing Tom and the little knowledge of his work, it's not the case.

"So you're saying they did this and are now trying to by the cops silence?" I question to only receive a confident nod from my mother, "Did the police say it was them?"