I Hate My Brother (editing!)

2. edited ✔️

Hate would be the understatement of the century.

There aren't enough fingers and toes on me to count all the crap he's pulled on me throughout the years. As early as I could remember, all my memories consisted of him picking on me; spoiling all my favourite toys, never allowing me to watch him play with his friends—needless to say join them, ruining every single one of my kiddy artworks I dared to be remotely proud of, greeting me daily by a hard slap on the back of my head or pinching me on my arm whenever he needed to speak to me.

And as we got older, you bet the bullying only got worse. He'd plant 'traps' in the house that would end up being blamed on me, such as placing random cups of coloured beverage, paint, even bowls of cooking oil or raw eggs right behind an ajar door so that when I foolishly push it open, I'm the one who has ruined the carpet.

It was no longer pettily shoving me off the bicycle, but secretly loosening the screws on it so that when I unsuspiciously ride them, I'd lose control on my own when it falls apart and he'd never have to take the blame for it.

There wasn't a single birthday nor Christmas that he hadn't stole a majority of my presents, even giving some of them out as gifts to the girls he fancied. My room became Santa Claus' warehouse as he allowed his friends to come grab whatever they needed whenever I wasn't around, and none of those things I'd ever see again.

It got to a point where it felt miserable being home, but staying away meant not being able to protect my belongings. And the worst of all being he never planned a schedule to mess with me, so I couldn't even see most of it coming.

"Considering the fact that I've wanted you dead on countless occasions, you're right. I most certainly hate you."

I believe even if a truck came for him right now, I wouldn't shed a tear as I move aside and witness his brain matter ooze out his pathetic, flattened skull.

It's probably sick of me to wish death on a family member, but then again, I've stopped considering him one way too long ago.

"Wow." He has the audacity to look a little hurt, slightly shaking his head.

I bark out a short, humourless laugh. "Is it shocking? We both know you hate me just as much as I do."

Wayne inhales a sharp breath. "And how would you know? We haven't spoken in... how long has it been?"

"How would I know?" I sneer resentfully. "You used to find me such a disgrace that whenever mom made us turn up in school in the same car, you told your friends that I was a charity case you found lurking on the streets!"

Damn, I hadn't planned to raise my voice. I'm really losing it.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "...I was fourteen."

"And that somehow makes it okay?" I quirk a mocking brow. Leopard never changes its spot and all that. "You were fourteen. A fourteen-year-old knows better."

"I did not say that." He sighs frustratedly. "God, how is it you've gotten so—"

I certainly did not sign up college for this shit.

Less than thirty minutes and I'm already on the verge of my ripping my skull out! How on Earth am I going to even stay for a night, much less weeks? Hell. I love my mom, but this is just too much.

"You know what?" I open up my car boot again and bend down to retrieve the boxes I've only just unloaded. "For my own sanity, I'm just going to drive home and pretend I never came here."