the him of hers

17

"Hey." My head leans on the doorway of a incredibly tangled room. Clothes everywhere, led lights, and old chip bags. Skateboards too, of course.

The habitat of a Braylen.

"Morning." He's sitting on the floor beside his bed cross-legged, and is drawing some chaotic designs on a new skateboard.

"It's evening dummy. You missed school today."

"It's free fucking Friday. What does it matter."

"It would matter if I got my ass beat for letting you off so easily."

He scoffs and leans over to pull out some more crafty items from the bottom of the small stand beside his bed.

I notice his arm when he lifts it to put something on his bed.

There are scars on them.

Scars that seemed familiar from things he'd done to himself in the past.

I cross my arms and close my eyes. Hoping it's just my vision fucking up. Then I open them again, seeing the scars even more clearly.

"Bray..."

"What?" He carries out his speech in a annoyed, bothered tone.

"Arm?"

"Head, shoulder, knees, and toes? The fuck?" He moves a marker in every direction on the skateboard in front of him which has his attention more than I do. More than I always do. Then, he confirms my silence for anger and says, "Look sissy bitchy, I'm almost grown. You are too. Don't worry about me. Matter of fact, you should be worrying about where you're going after these next few months. Let me take a guess, a crackhead in front of a convenience store?"

"Why become a crackhead when I already am one." I move into the room more, arms still crossed.

Braylen lifts his eyebrows and nods his head to the side, agreeing with me. Then his eyes move up to me and he blows a bubble out of the gum he's chewing so irritably.

I walk to the bed and sit on the edge. He rolls his little cat eyes at me like a bitch and scribbles harder. As if it'd make me or the situation disappear.

"Hey, big head," I keep my tone steady. To let him know, I'm open to him right now. I will always be, no matter the situation or problem.

My brother ignores the shit out of me and I grab his cheeks with my hand, squeezing them together. "I said hey...big head ass." He looks up to me, and I gesture kissy lips towards him. "You're the only one with that description here, ya' know." I smile with my lips closed and he breaks down, giving me a smirk that's been waiting to be released. "Talk to me, fucking goober."

"I don't know how to."

"You know how to call me a bitch and say the most hurtful jokes to me. You know how to talk to me in a way."

"Brea, I'm not a dramatic bitch like you who can just blurt out their fucking feelings. I can't go into detail about how I want to blow my fucking brain s out. About how I'm waiting for my limit to come, for my time to end. About...about how I just wanna press a fucking pause button on everything, and never resume. Fuck!" He looks to the marked arm on his body that's kept my heart unsteady ever since my realization of it.

"Braylen..."

"Every single fucked up, mixed feeling that enters me. They're in each scar, Brea." He isn't crying. There's just tension in his voice.