Lost Souls

Chapter Seven

The funeral was honestly nothing like Arthur expected it to be. It was peaceful and the only people who really cried were their mothers. Peter was old enough at that point that he knew what was going on. It wasn't like when Alfred was only five and their neighbour, Davie died of old age. Peter clung to Alfred the whole time. His eyes watered, but he was a strong child.
Afterward, Alfred told Matthew to stay with Gilbert for the night.
"I'm sure you guys want a bit of alone time, right?" Alfred poked Matthew who glared.
"Shuttup. Me and Gil aren't at that stage."
However, he still took the idea, heading home in Gilbert's car while Alfred walked.
So tonight was just going to be Alfred and Arthur, then. Francis would have to follow Matthew and he guessed that Alfred would just pass out as soon as he got home.
Unfortunately for him, he was wrong.
The moment Alfred stepped into the his bedroom, he slammed the door hard enough that the entire house must have shook.
"YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!" He shouted, picking up a glass left on his dresser from the many trips he refused to take to the kitchen, and pitching it against his wall. The glass shattered, scratching the paint and bouncing across the floor like ice against pavement. The American yelled, pushing his bookshelf over, not flinching as all his video games slid onto his carpet. 
"WHY'D YA HAVE TO FUCKING DIE, HUH? YOU'RE THE WORST BROTHER ANYBODY COULD EVER ASK FOR." He kicked his dresser, splitting the face of the bottom drawer.
"Whoa, what the bloody hell are you talking about?" Arthur was shocked. No matter what, Alfred hadn't shown the slightest emotion at Arthur's death. He had been fine. But now, as Arthur watched him curled up on the floor, sobbing, he realized that Alfred didn't want to let his feelings out when anybody was there. He didn't want anybody to see his pain. Arthur guessed that he had always been this way. He also understood how Francis had felt, seeing his brother so helpless and being unable to help. It was agonizing.
"I'm never going to forgive you, Arthur." Alfred wheezed once his tears died down a bit. "I hate you."
Arthur had heard his brothers say such things so many times. But it had never hurt him as much as it did now. The Brit took a step back, then another, and another. He ended up running all the way to his own room, lying in his bed, unable to feel the comfort of the sheets. What he had just witnessed was something that would scar him. Alfred wasn't supposed to be weak. But he guessed that everything was different behind closed doors.

I passed my drivers test! Now I can drive on my own but it's not like I'm gonna unless I need to *shrug*