These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends [h.s.]

Chapter 6

Harry 

After the drive from the grill, I walk into the kitchen of my home and pour myself a cup of whiskey. There's not enough patience left in me if I run into Dean. God, he's such a fatalist.

The sweet yet burning sensation of the whiskey running down my throats gives me this indescribable pleasure that I'm in control of my own narrative and that felt euphoric. I didn't have this habit of being dependant on alcohol before, but it's the only thing that makes me feel something and fuck does it do the job.

After taking a few more sips from my glass, I couldn't help but wonder if anyone touched my room? It's only been five years but I swear if Uncle Ken turned it into a storage room I'll kill him.

 I slipped on a few staircases on my way to my room. Damn, what's in this drink?

"Ah yes, here it is." As I'm about to grab the doorknob, I hear Mom's old record player playing music from Dean's room. A sudden sense of anguish washes over me as I close my eyes and replay the distant memories of her sweet face. Down the hall, I travel to the sound of Ella Fitzgerald's melodic voice and creep open Dean's door. 

He's staring into the glass window of his room where I can vividly see his eyes filled to the brim with tears. I roll my eyes at his fake affection.

"Oh boy, here comes the waterworks," I scream.

Dean turns around in surprise, but I can tell from the look on his face that my presence wasn't only unwarranted but also unwanted.

"Harry, what the hell are you doing here? Does Uncle Ken know you're here?" He asks furiously while turning off the record player.

"Oh, fuck Uncle Ken." I couldn't care less about what that old man thinks. 

"Exactly what do you think you're doing listening to Mom's old record player? Huh?" I take a step closer as Dean stares at the floor with a guilty expression on his face. It was always easy to read him.

"You shouldn't have come back, Harry. Nobody wants you here," he says with spite.

"I live here don't I? I got a bit bored in New York and wanted to visit my baby bro," I say cheekily.

"You're not fooling anyone with your lies, especially me. You got a lot of nerve showing up after what you did," Dean yells.

"What I did? At least I didn't kill our mother," I growl. 

Dean finds the courage to face me. His eyes stay still while intensifying his breathing. Suddenly, I'm pushed against the wall.

"Have you been working out, cause that kind of hurt?" I laugh at his pathetic attempt to harm me and continue to down another sip of my whiskey.

"You're drunk," Dean says stating the obvious. He lets me go from his tight grip then rips opens his bedroom door.

"Why don't you go to bed and sleep it off. You must be tired from all that driving," he says cooly.

Before I walk out of his room, I stop at the entrance and purposely lean to his ear so that he could smell the liquor coming from my breath he rightfully hates.

"Make no mistake little brother, these violent delights have violent ends."

I walk away with a smirk on my face knowing the beginning of the end has just started, and I couldn't fucking wait.