My Choice (Third in the "Baby Brother Series)

Ten

Trigger warning (mentions of self harm; mentions of medical issues; mentions of medication usage)

Tom couldn't cope, he managed this far to hide his drinking but when he struggled to unlock the front door; Tom knew he was beyond hiding it. He slipped inside the dark home, glancing at his phone to see 3:45 flashing on the screen. Shit, he should've been home sooner.

The stairs creak and the foyer light was switched on bathing the space in a soft light. He looked up and saw an annoyed Miley holding her robe closed. Tom dropped his keys on the floor and sighed.

"I know. I know," he slurred.

"Do you? Because it's almost 4 in the morning and you're just walking in. I can smell ya from here," Miley snorted, walking closer to the swaying man.

"I had a few drinks at a friend's house. I meant to leave sooner but—." He vomited at her feet before he could finish. Miley took a step back, waiting for Tom to finish.

This had been happening at least twice a month, Miley had always cleaned up the mess before Bill woke up. Tom usually managed to get to a bathroom before he evacuated his insides, but on the rare occasion, the hardwood foyer floor was covered with his puke. Miley heard Bill's door open, turning to see if Tom managed to wake up Bill with his shenanigans.

"Mimi, who's that? Is everything okay?"

"Everything is okay, go back to bed. Ya need one of ya pills," Miley frowned.

Bill could hear that she was getting increasingly more frustrated, her Tennessee accent always came out more when she did. He couldn't hear Tom but the vomiting sounds radiating up the stairs provided his answer. He went down the stairs, the 17 year old bothered by seeing Tom bent over and heaving.

"Shit, what did you eat?"

"Nothing. Go—go to bed!" Tom retorted in German.

"Don't take this out on him. You decided to do this."

"Decided to do what?" Bill asked.

He stopped when the air carried the smell of bourbon and cognac into Bill's nostrils. Bill used to get wasted regularly, he knew what that smell was.

"Oh, I get it. I'll—I'll—I'll get him some water," Bill rushed from the stairs into the kitchen.

He could feel his neck twitch and he heard himself make the vocal projections that increased when his anxiety worsened. He returned with the bottle of water he grabbed from the refrigerator and Miley could physically see that he was suppressing his tics. Bill would only do this if he felt Tom had enough to deal with. She also knew Tom would blame himself if his little brother had a tic attack.

"Billy, don't suppress 'em," Miley said, taking the bottle from him.

"I'm—I'm—I'm not," Bill replied, flustered.

"You are. I can see it. The vein in your neck is bulging."

Bill wanted to yell at her for being right, but he also didn't want to prove her point. He merely stood back, while she rubbed Tom's back and slowly opened the bottle of water.

"Drink this, you'll feel better," Miley offered.

"Billa, go to bed, please," Tom slurred, spitting into his mess on the floor.

"No. I'm staying right here. I'm upset too."

"I know you are. And that would make this whole situation even more fucking complicated!" Tom cursed loudly.

"Tom!"

"What?! Extreme emotions fuck with him, this is a high stress situation for him! If I want him to go away, maybe he should go away!"