Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
Graham saunters into the living room and changes the TV channel.
“I was watching that!” I gripe.
“So?” he drones.
“Put it back.” I’m so stinking sick of my brother pulling this crap. He thinks he can push me around because I’m the youngest. Especially when my parents aren’t here—like right now, when they’re still at work.
“Nah. Don’t think I will, Mickey Mouse.”
“Don’t call me that, turd sniffer.”
He plasters on a goofy expression and gets in my face. “Ooooooooh…that’s a real burn.”
I snap, launching off the couch and lunging for him.
My brother laughs as he sprints into the dining room, evading me by inches.
We jockey around the table, skewing the tablecloth and toppling chairs as I attempt to get a hand on him, preferably my fist to his face.
Graham’s only an inch taller, but he’s stockier and easily has twenty pounds on me.
He bolts for the kitchen and I gain on him, finally knocking him into the counter with momentum on my side.
He grunts, a satisfying sound to my ears, yet it does nothing to douse my fury. “You fucker,” he mutters.
Abruptly, he spins and we both throw down, our fists flying and landing anywhere we can reach. Our punches glance off each other’s arms and torsos with some making a direct hit.
Adrenaline soars through me, fueling the avalanche of injustice meted out by every single family member in this godforsaken house. For a blinding minute, I only see red.
Hurt. Demolish. Win.
We traverse the counter, launching the toaster and a heavy glass ashtray into the air before we crash to the floor. Crumbs rain down as we scuffle, and I quickly lose command as he pins his sweaty body against mine.
“Loser,” he pants into my face with his hot breath.
I buck beneath him, fire coursing through my veins.
Townshend bursts into the kitchen and hauls my brother upright. “Knock it off, you assholes. What the fuck?”
I sit up and stroke my tender jaw where dickhead clocked me with an elbow.
Graham glances at me and shrugs.
This is my chance to rat him out for being a douchebag, but what’s the point? Nothing changes. And I’m not sorry for getting in some hits. It’s not like I started the fight or went looking for it.
My oldest brother inventories the surrounding area. “Look at this mess. You both better clean it up before Mom and Dad get home.” He doesn’t need to elaborate on why.
Townshend extends a hand to me. “You hurt?”
I shake him off, stubbornly ignoring his hand. I’m no baby. Yet for all my bravado, it’s a struggle to stand.
“Graham,” he snaps. “Stop being such a dick. You’re older and bigger.”
He curls his lip. “Mind your own business, golden boy.”
Townshend rolls his eyes. He won’t acknowledge it, but he’s our father’s obvious favorite. It’s also true Graham thinks I’m our mom’s favorite, which I guess leaves him believing he’s the left out middle kid. Classic.
Whatever the truth may be, there’s only one that matters.
There are no winners in this house.