the alternatives ⇒ tmr trilogy & newtmas au ⇒ COMPLETED

Chapter Eight

Thomas rubbed the slippery grease into his shaggy hair as he watched Newt do the same.

The older boy hadn't said a word to him since they arrived at the shack, just pointed to a jar of hair grease.  The boys prepared for the fight in silence.

Thomas's lucky shirt was soaked all the way through with his own blood.  Not so lucky now, is it, Thomas thought to himself.  It lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, taunting him.

Thomas looked over at his friend.  Newt's smudged cheeks were painted with dried tears.  His hands caked with grime.  His clothes, rumpled and damp with sweat.  The word that came to mind when he thought of Newt was brave.

The boy had been through so much.  Minho had told him that Newt had also been abused by his parents.  And the drinking habit.  The years of alcohol had taken a toll on him, the deep purple smears beneath his eyes notified Thomas of that.

A pack of beers sat on the floor by the entrance.  The box was beat up, the beers dusty.  The whole situation reminded Thomas of his brother.

Thomas's older brother had been in high school while Thomas was still in elementary.  Brian was a jokester, always poking fun at anything Thomas did.

He had a magnetic personality.  Girls flocked to him, and he had friends aplenty.  Every kid wanted to be him when they grew up.

The memory of Brian was the last real memory Thomas had from the past.

Brian sat on the worn leather couch with two of his friends.  The image on the TV was staticky, yet Brian and his friends still watched the ongoing football game.

The three boys sat at the edge of the couch, eyes wide, soaking in every second of the game.  Every time their team scored, they would hoot and holler like they were right there at the stadium.

Thomas stood off to the side, thinking.  Dreaming about how he would be exactly like this when he grew older.

"Hey, Tom-Tom.  Wanna get us some beers?" Brian laughed, and Thomas retreated to the fridge.  He closed a pudgy, 5-year-old hand around three glass bottles.

And he didn't think twice about it.

Suddenly, the only time Brian talked to Thomas was to ask him for beers.
Because Brian was his older brother and role model, Thomas obeyed.

And then it got worse.

Brian was drunk.  Visibly drunk.  He bumbled around the house like he was blind.  Thomas's mother had never showed any signs of abusiveness at this point, but when she found out about Brian, it began.

"Thomas!  Beer." he slurred, and crashed to the tiled kitchen floor.

His mother neared the kitchen and stopped.

"What happened to him?" she yelled.

"Um... he wasn't feeling good." Thomas lied.

"Thomas.  Tell the truth.  Is he drunk?"

"I don't know."

His mother's eyes flashed, and her face exploded a deep red.

"Never.  Lie.  To.  Me." she spat.  She jerked, a sudden motion that startled Thomas. 

She had never been like this before.

She slapped him across the face.

Five-year-old Thomas ran to his room and sobbed.

Later that night, Brian had finally awoken.  His mother and younger brother were sleeping.  He took a pack of beers from the fridge.  Went to his car.