"What are you going to do to get out of this?"
My brother was drunk, beyond saving really, he sat with his face in the toilet.
"Shut up."
"Why? You got yourself into this now how are you going to get yourself out?"
"Leave me alone." As if the words exhausted him, he laid his head on the seat of the toilet and closed his eyes.
"You're a pain. Did you know that?" I grabbed his armpits and lifted him up from the toilet, dropping him into the tub.
"I am a grown man and I can take care of myself!" His arm rose in the air as a sign of defiance.
I smiled. "You can't even walk properly, dude."
He sat, moping, as I ran the water.
"It's cold!" He screamed and threw himself out of the shower.
"Well no shit Sherlock"
He gave me a hateful look and crawled back into the shower.
"Good boy." I smiled. As I headed downstairs to clean up his mess before our parents showed, He called after me,
"Have you heard?"
I turned. The dishes could wait.
"Oh yeah, definitely. You just need to remember that people suck and it's best to just get over it." I lightly punched his shoulder.
"Easier said than done. She wants to end it because of the rumours."
"Then she's not worth it."
Those big eyes of his looked back at me sarcastically. "You seriously suck at this advice thing."
"Fine. I'll talk to her."
"No, she'll think I can't take care of myself and if she thinks I can't take care of myself then she'll never let me take care of her. Please, Kate."
"Well then what do you expect me to do?"
"Nothing. Just. Tell me what to do. You're a girl."
"I'm not a girl like her. Your problem is that you stereotype people; you thought that she wouldn't mind. I grew up with you, and I know not to expect much from you. She didn't grow up with you; she expects more from you. You let her down, so what? Just talk to her."
"I can't. That's the thing. I messed up too bad this time. She told me it's over. It's done, she's gone. Kate, she's gone. What do I do now?"
"Now, you sit in the shower while I go downstairs and clean up the many broken dishes before you get yourself into any more trouble than you're already in."
"Actually," My brother reached his arm out, almost to catch me, before I left the washroom, "can you talk to her for me? She'll understand, right? You're really convincing.
"Sure." I left for downstairs.
Saying that the kitchen was a mess would be an understatement. I didn't know what he did, exactly, and I didn't think I wanted to know.
I had just grabbed a broom from the pantry when the smash of breaking glass sent me sprinting up the stairs. My brother had a scary fascination with broken glass.
