Look at Me

Chapter 1: Ben

I sighed, then stepped forward and lifted his chin with my hand. "If you do that, your nose'll start bleeding again."

He nodded. He stared at the wall behind me.

I rubbed a hand over my face. "Come on. Let's get some ice on your jaw."

My tone held enough concern and residual anger that he complied.

I knew Dad would be angry if he saw my brother's slowly developing shiner. He would be even more angry if the bottle of Jack was open.

West knew it too.

So, we killed as many hours as possible, a frozen bag of peas on my brother's eye as we drove around the city. Then I parked outside the gigantic house we called home on the dark street and turned to my little brother, who, despite all of his assurances, looked like crap. "West."

"We can go in."

I'm okay. I can handle it if he gets mad.

Twelve year olds shouldn't have to be so freaking brave.

"Well, I'm not ready to." He turned back toward the windshield. I put a hand in the kid's sandy hair. "Hey. Don't ice me out. Listen for a sec."

He turned his head, but didn't meet my eyes.

"I really want to pulverize that kid's freak face."

His blue eyes flicked up to my face. "Ben, please -"

"But I won't, if you don't want me to."

West cracked a smile that looked rather painful, and let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks."

"If it happens again, though -"

"Then you have full rights to pulverize his freak face."

"I have those rights anyway. The Big Brother Resolution states it as such. I'm just choosing not to cash in just this second."

He laughed. It wasn't a full one, like he used to, but a little more real than usual.

I grinned and gave his shoulder a shove. "Come on, dork. Arm up and march into the warzone."

What I had thought was a war zone then was nothing compared to what I would consider a war zone in the future.

I knew we were in for a bad night when my feet crunched on broken glass.

We had come in through the back, through the window of the second kitchen, the one on the bottom floor. We had a security system, but my father almost never remembered to set it.

We'd made it quietly up the stairs, our shoes padding on soft carpet, when I reached the top of the stairs and the remains of a broken bottle shattered under my foot.

The floor is covered in glass. And whiskey. It's everywhere, it's making him yell and scream and sob, he keeps smashing bottles when he finishes them, and West is asking why Daddy won't stop crying -

West gripped my wrist from behind me. I shook myself, then dropped my eyes to search the wood for a clear spot to place my feet without making any sound.

"Weston? Benjamin? Get in here." The slurred sound came from down the hall.

I froze.

One of us would have to go. And it wasn't going to be West, if I could help it.

"Ben."

Whispers always sound more frightened, even if their owner is trying to be brave.

"Hey." I turned and gave West a tight smile. "Just go upstairs. I'll be up in a minute."