Words, Words, Words

It's one of those dead-beat nights when there's absolutely nothing to do but sit in under garments and watch late night TV. Sprawled out on my bed in only a ratty pair of boxers, my eyes droop at the screen with a yawn.

Practically giving me a heart attack, Tom barges into my room with too much energy for the mellow compacted space. I shoot him a look but the odd expression on his face doesn't even twitch - he still looks bloody mad.

"Wha' the fuck, Tom?" I say, sneering at my younger brother. I've reminded him plenty of times beforehand to knock before entering. Apparently, it's slipped his mind. "Next time knock, yeh bloody arse."

Tom ignores my rude comments. Instead, he flips on the lights and walks in, slamming the door behind him. The bottom of his dirty shoes step on top of the clothes on my ground, getting me irritated as he sits in my computer chair and turns off the TV. I was going to yell a few more nasty words at the wanker, but he cuts me off.

"Yeh need to stop bullyin' Amelia around," He says. It's one sentence, seven words that catch me completely off-guard. He doesn't say anything else, either; doesn't add an un-necessary name, no foul words. Just that one sentence.

A long pause of silence passes between before I regain my composure.

"And yeh need to stop bein' so damn obnoxious," I mutter, rolling my eyes and grabbing the remote from my bed. I turn the TV back on but Tom turns it off and narrows his blue eyes at me. I scowl at him.

"Olleh, have yeh looked at tha' girl recently? She's a wreck," Tom scoffs, giving me a dirty look. I choose to ignore him, grabbing my phone from beside me and pretending to text someone. "Do yeh know why, though, Oliver?"

He wouldn't say it.

"Do yeh?"

Would he?

"Because of yeh, yeh damn arse," He yells. He would, "Yeh such an inconsiderate wanka. I can' believe yeh. All yeh doin' is pushin' her to keep goin' with her problem. And yeh know it too. Tha' is jus' fuckin' wrong."

I can tell he's about to go on, but I've already snapped. The anger inside me is boiling, but the guilt is stinging me. I choose to blame Tom for the pain that's rushing through my body. I sit up and shoot daggers at him as I start my own speech.

"Yeh think I don' fuckin' know that, Tom? Do yeh think I'm fuckin' blind? I know what I've been doin'! And hell yeah, I feel bad abou' it. But I lose control of myself when she's around. I can' stop the words from spillin' out," I scream back at him. I stop for a moment and let myself calm down. I resume with speech softly, "Besides, it's not my fuckin' fault the chick takes wha' I say teh heart."

By now, my back in slumped against my blue wall and my eyes are staring down at the comforter that lays in my lap. I can feel Tom's eyes boring into my skull and it seems like forever passes until he says something.

"I don' know how in bloody hell yeh go teh sleep at nigh', knowin' yeh killin' the girl. It really is beyond me," He growls lowly. With that, he stands up, knocks my chair over and walks out of the room, flipping the lights off and slamming the door shut.

I knew it was going to be hard getting to sleep now.