𝐗𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐗 || 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏

397 11 22
                                    

Note:
Chapter length- 6,664 words
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 "Where's your brother?" his voice was gruff- impatient

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"Where's your brother?" his voice was gruff- impatient.

"I'll go get 'im," the boy kept his gaze on the table in front of him, and pushed his chair back. The shadow of the lightbulb that had blown that morning made the room look even darker than it was, and the stale smell of cigarette clung to the walls. The lightbulb being replaced would be added to his list of things to do tomorrow after he got home from work.

"Hurry up. Food's gettin' cold," the boy heard as he rounded the corner to set down the hall. He knew exactly where his brother was- the same place he'd been all day.

He eased open the door to their shared bedroom, and switched the light on, noticing the lump under the sheet. "C'mon. Time for supper."

With no answer, he sighed, entering the room and leaned over his brother. "Hey, Tommy. Get up or he's gonna get mad."

Annoyed at Tommy's silence, Joel pulled the covers back, and jerked at his brother's shoulder, eliciting a wail from the blonde. Joel was quick to apologize, his eyes widened with panic. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I thought it was the other arm."

Tommy groaned and rolled over, holding his arm. His eyes were half opened, but Joel could tell they were glassed over, and his teeth chattered. When the younger finally spoke, his voice was croaky and weak. "Joel... I think I'm sick."

The elder furrowed his brows, then jumped when a harsh voice bled through the thin walls from the kitchen. "Do I need to come in there?" A threat.

Joel answered over his shoulder, "No, I got 'im."

He swiveled back around to see Tommy's face contorted into a uncomfortable or pained expression. Things weren't looking too good. "What do you mean you think you're sick, Tom?" It was a stupid question, really. One he regretted asking as soon as he asked it. The boy looked bad... real bad.

He looked as if he would cry, then slurred out words, attempting to string together a couple of sentences. "I jus'-" he let out a dry sob. "I jus' don' feel good. I... I get hot, then... I ge' cold, and my... head i-is poundin'. An'... my arm... fuckin' hurts, Joel. My head starts throbbing and my eyes... and my eyes, and then my arm... it's fuckin' broken, Joel; I told you! I need to go to the hospital, please." His eyes were screwed tight, but the soon-to-be sixteen year old couldn't hold the tears in.

Joel sighed, taking a knee to brush Tommy's hair from his forehead and check his temperature. God, he was warm. "You know we can't, Tommy. Look, I've wrapped your arm, and that's all we can do. Just don't move it. I'll try to get another Tylenol for you, but that's all I can do for you other than a cold bath."

He wished he could do more, but because of no insurance, no money for the medical bills, their uncle couldn't afford to send Tommy to the hospital. Besides, Joel didn't want to think of the nurses taking Tommy's shirt off and seeing the welts and burns that surely had yet to go down and fade. They'd be separated, and neither wanted that.

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