14 Days [EDITING]

◆Eight

𝑀𝐴𝑇𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑊
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"Then why didn't you tell me he came back?" My brother's loud voice boomed throughout the house.

"Michael listen to me!"

I opened the door, but my mom and brother were too deep in their heated argument to even notice.

"I will not! I am not going to listen to you mom, because you could have avoided all this if you would have just told me, and now he's taken my fucking car!"

"Watch your language young man! I am your mother, stop raising your voice at me! Haven't I tried enough for you? Covered up a lot of your mistakes so what happened last time won't happen again. Aren't you appreciative Michael?" I stood at the door watching them as they exchanged words. Michael was about to speak again when he noticed me standing by the door, watching them.

Finally, I'm noticed.

My mother's eyes widened a bit as she was surprised to see me standing by the door.   

"Matthew, you're home."

My eyes were fastened on Michael whose eyes were on me too. Anger visible in them. What again was he arguing with her about? This isn't their first argument and it most certainly won't be their last.

Michael walked past me, brushing his shoulder roughly with mine on his way out.

An exasperated sigh left my lips as I walked into the living room and headed for the stairs.

"How was school dear?" My mom asked while trying to take my bag from me but I held on to it.

"Fine." I replied. She noticed that I wasn't going to let go of the bag and gave up her struggles.

"Aren't you hungry? There's Ewedu soup in the pot and hot Amala in the cooler."

"No ma." I replied her, climbing the stairs.

"Come on Matthew. You look so tired, just eat somet-"

"I said I'm not hungry."  I snapped and regretted it immediately, but I didn't bother turning back to apologize.

Today turns out to be one of those shitty days.

First Clinton annoys the heck out of me with someone, and this is not the first time he's doing it. Then that Oiza girl and her boyfriend from earlier today. And now I come home to meet my mum and brother arguing.

I flung my bag across the room and dropped on my bed, sighing heavily. Turning my head, my eyes met an old picture of I and Michael. I was seven then and he just turned thirteen that day.

We used to be really close, like two peas in a pod, and we never left each others side. But everything changed few weeks after his 14th birthday. He began to treat Michael too harsh at that young age of fourteen. His reason being, 'my son has gone wild.'  

Each time Michael would do something wrong, he would flog him mercilessly, all in the name of not sparing the rod and spoiling the child. Most times it took the intervention of Rufai the gateman or any of my cousins who were present. My dad had officially branded him the black sheep of the family.

One fateful day after he turned 18, he sent Michael out of the house. That was the first day I really saw my mother cry and the first day I confronted my old man. He slapped me so hard, I know I saw stars.

I wiped the tears which were sliding down the side of my face. I didn't realize I had been crying. I don't even want to think about the rest of this tragic story