My Choice (Third in the "Baby Brother Series)

Eleven

Trigger warning: mentions of self harm, sexual assault/rape suicide and body mutilation; Grief and depression

As he drove quietly, Tom watched the houses get gradually smaller. He knew he shouldn't have gotten behind the wheel but he didn't want Bill to see his car in the driveway. When he parked in front of Georg's house, Tom let out a deep sigh. He promised Billy he'd always be there and Tom knew this wasn't abandonment but he was the direct cause of his little brother's unhappiness. Tom made a promise to himself he'd never hurt him and twice he's done just that.

A hard pair of knuckles knock on the driver's side window and Tom jumps before rolling it down. "Shit, Georg, what the hell?"

"I saw you sitting out here. I came to make sure you didn't pass out in the car."

"Oh. Well thank you," Tom frowned.

"You made quite the mess this time. I'll grab my kit. Why don't you come inside?"

George was his doctor friend, they met when Tom was struggling with remembering the name of Bill's antidepressant and he just so happened to be in the pharmacy that day. Tom grabbed his overnight bag and shuffled in behind Georg. When the door opened, the doctor's four year old came rushing down the stairs and immediately into Tom's arms.

"Hey there tiny tiger," Tom chuckled.

"You said you'd bring Billy next time I was here. You lied."

"I didn't know you'd be here. And he's...a little cross with me right now."

"Oh. You shouldn't make him mad," she frowned, jumping down from the man and disappearing into her playroom.

"She's getting bigger," Tom snorted.

"Her mother just dropped her off, so we'll have to wait until she's asleep to really talk."

"I don't want to talk about it," Tom deadpanned.

"Really? Because you seem even more upset than you did last night," Georg replied. "Also didn't know you if you could tell, mate, but you're crying."

Tom touched his face, staring at the wetness on his fingertips. When did he start crying? Why was he crying?

"I don't—."

"It's fine. Something must've happened. We can chat a bit if you want while I clean that mess up," Georg said, pointing to the blood soaking through Tom's sleeve. "How many this time?"

"I don't want to talk about it. It wasn't supposed to get this bad. Bill will be so—."

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Georg cooed. "Let's get it cleaned up, might help you feel better."

Tom nodded, lowering himself onto Georg's couch and waiting for him to return. When the doctor pulled back his sleeves, he could see the uneven rows of scars, stopping to see how many over lapped and how deep some of them went.

"Fuck, you really did a number on yourself," Georg frowned. "We definitely need to talk about this."

"Why? It's just going to end up happening again and I'm going to have to come right back here and you'll have to patch me up again."

"Well, maybe we need to change our pattern," Georg frowned, pulling the antibiotic ointment and saline from his bag. Tom hissed when he squeezed the solution onto his wounds and watched the red fluid drop into the little dish beneath his arm.

"I blame Bill for the accident," Tom deadpanned.

"For how long?"

"Since I got the call that my parents were dead," Tom sighed.