Him

    Flames.
 
  They were everywhere, burning so hot the air itself would cry out if it could. The flames grew from the sticks held by angry men, their shouts fueling the fire.
 
  Home had once been a peaceful place, but there was no peace now. No tranquility. Mother was no longer there to sing; father was not around to joke. There was only flames.
   
The men would leave soon. They would take what they had collected and vanish into the night once more, my childhood in their dirty hands. The heat would subside and oxygen would return. Charlie would be alright.
    Charlie would be alright.
                            
                                     * * *

    I bolted upright, blinking into the darkness. There was silence apart from my pounding heart and the gentle ticking of the clock on my nightstand. I ran my fingers over the cotton duvet I sat under, feeling the cool air run over my bare arms. The fire was gone. It had been gone for a long time.
   
I inhaled slowly through my nose, concentrating on the cold breeze tickling the back of my throat. If I continued to do this, I would eventually fall asleep. I would fall asleep and I would dream and the flames would return.
 
  With a sigh, I climbed out of bed and headed for the door, combing a hand through my long hair. It was a gesture that made some laugh and suggest I cut my hair to a more masculine length, but it kept me warm when nothing else could.
 
  Slowly twisting the door handle in hope to not wake anyone, I stepped out onto the landing, planning to go downstairs for a coffee. However, I got no further than a couple steps before the noise began.
 
  It was not uncommon to hear muffled shouting from my brother's room, but nevertheless the sound haunted me. He was having a bad night too - definitely worse than mine. My horrors were only dreams. Quietly, I moved closer to Charlie's door until his shouts became comprehensible.
 
  "Leave me alone!" he yelled, his voice breaking slightly. "I do not care if you are bored! Shut up!"

    There was a loud clatter which I assumed was most likely a photo frame or glass colliding with a wall, and as I walked away from the door I heard Charlie scream, "Kill me then, you coward!"

    Downstairs, I could not hear my baby brother. I sipped my coffee in silence, wondering if Charlie would get any sleep tonight. I wished there was a way I could help him; a way I could soothe his neverending pain, but I was not our mother.
 
  I tried so tirelessly to be the person our mother was for Charlie, but it was no use. He was older now, nearly eighteen, but he still sobbed like a child at the Witching Hour. I could not help him. All I could do was support him and hope he could build the strength to fight his own battles.
   
My coffee was going cold. I set it down on the kitchen counter and watched the liquid swirl in its prison. Maybe if I went back to bed I would fall asleep.
 
  "Am I interrupting something?"
 
  I turned at the sound of Charlie's voice to see him stood in the doorway, his blood red hair an unbrushed mess and his lower lashes lined with purple bags. He was smiling despite his obvious exhaustion, but it was a smile I knew to be fake.
 
  "Of course not," I replied, smiling back. "Are you alright?"
 
  "Sure."
 
  Charlie leaned against the kitchen table, his eyes on his hands. He was tapping his fingertips together, the motion distracting me momentarily from the scowl that had suddenly painted his expression.
 
  "He is angry with me," Charlie said, his voice almost a whisper.
 
  "Why?"
 
  Charlie shrugged. "He always is."
 
  Although he would not look at me, I could tell Charlie was trying to open up. He so rarely spoke of him. Hoping he would say more, I pulled a chair out at the table.
 
  "Do not sit," Charlie ordered, his voice louder. Then, in a whisper, "Please do not sit. He does not want you to sit."
 
  "He cannot tell me what to do."

    "But he can tell me what to do."
 
  Charlie looked up, his pained eyes locking with mine. There were years of long nights and endless days carved into his blue eyes, and there were so many years to go. We sat in silence, our gazes fused, and I thought that it may have been the most peace Charlie had experienced in a decade.
 
  I was wrong.
 
  A smile began to spread across Charlie's face, his features contorting into a wicked grin. The pain drained from his eyes as he straightened up, a chuckle escaping his lips.
 
  "I thought you would have learned your lesson by now," he sang, and then before I could move he pulled a knife from the waistband of his trousers and drove it into his abdomen.
 
  The smile fell from his face as Charlie collapsed swearing and moaning. I rushed to his side, dropping to my knees. Blood was already soaking his t-shirt, and as I reached for the knife protruding from my brother's stomach he grabbed my wrist and weakly mumbled, "He says you can sit down now."