Chapter Text
In the window, evening rain fell, gently settling against the glass. There was wind, but it did not break through with its cold, as if it had been replaced by something else. Inside the room, there was the rustling of a snack bag, the crunch of dry cereal beneath teeth, and voices coming from the radio somewhere in the kitchen. The boy sat in front of the television, shoving his hand into the package. His long, chestnut - brown hair was tied into an uneven ponytail. A loose strand on one side fell awkwardly across his face. The old television crackled, showing nothing but gray and white lines instead of a picture. He clicked his tongue, getting up from the floor.
"Just great..."
He began lightly hitting the television with his hand until it started working again. He sat back down on the floor, placing the bag of sweets on his lap. Footsteps could be heard behind the door - heavy and clumsy. The door opened, and a man entered the room. His figure was barely visible in the shadows. He looked the boy over skeptically, then glanced at the television, where an episode of Scooby-Doo was playing, and at the scattered tapes of the cartoon that he himself used to bring him. He sighed tiredly.
"Derrick ... You're sixteen, not six."
Derrick did not take his eyes off the television, as if he were used to his remarks. He continued loudly crunching on his snacks. The man leaned his shoulder against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. He wore a stained tank top that he hardly ever changed, with a shirt over it - as if hiding something beneath his trained body. His dark green eyes had grown even duller. A white bandage covered the corner of his split lip from a recent fight. He took a step forward, emerging from the shadows.
"You have school tomorrow. You haven't forgotten about that, have you?"
The boy only nodded briefly and leaned closer to the screen. There was a carefree smile on his face. But when he turned his head toward his older brother and their eyes met, his smile slowly faded, and his voice became even quieter, almost anxious.
"Henry ... I know."
Henry looked down at his brother. His gaze caught on the old scar at Derrick's temple, and he immediately looked away, nervously hiding his hands in his pockets, where pinkish marks showed on the pale skin beneath his sleeve. Then he briefly left the room, as if he had forgotten something. In the kitchen, a fork clinked loudly against a plate - Eloise, their mother, was preparing dinner. Derrick swallowed nervously and turned his gaze back to the television.
A minute later, Henry entered again, a magazine in his hand. Derrick did not have time to turn his head toward him before the magazine flew into his face and opened in front of him, showing naked models in swimsuits.
"For fuck's sake. Grow up already."
Derrick grimaced and threw the magazine as far away from himself as he could, as if trying to swat away some annoying gnat. The magazine landed directly on his dirty clothes scattered in the corner.
"Ew ... Get this away from me!"
Henry leaned over him, his large, tense shadow covering the boy. Grayish, almost violet bruises beneath his eyes were clearly visible against his pale skin. The sclera of his right eye was covered in red veins. Derrick froze, and his light brown eyes darkened. His body instinctively leaned backward, as if he did not know where to go or how to escape the weight of that shadow. Henry smelled of soap with hints of fruit and something chemical - as if he were trying to cover up other smells. His voice was quiet. He rolled the "r" in Derrick's name for so long that it sounded almost like a growl.
"This is ... Better than cigarettes. Right, Der-r-rick?"
The package quietly slipped from Derrick's lap, and the sweet cereal spilled across the floor. The kitchen went silent, as if their mother was listening too - but she did not interfere. Henry was in charge - and everyone knew it. But Derrick did not want to accept that, even if it meant taking another hit. He drew a deep breath and hissed through clenched teeth.
"Fuck off, Henry..."
Henry leaned closer, his hot, uneven breath almost scorching Derrick's skin. Then he suddenly grabbed Derrick by the collar of his T-shirt, making the fabric strain with a crack. Derrick flinched and went completely rigid. He could not always read his older brother's emotions. For a moment, the room seemed smaller. As if he had sat like this before - with nowhere left to retreat.
"Do you remember what our father used to say? Or should I remind you?"
Derrick trembled, sticky sweat running down his back as his abdominal muscles involuntarily tightened. Henry noticed it immediately. He lifted Derrick's shirt to examine his skin. On Derrick's tanned skin, beneath his ribs, there was a fresh, deep cut - as if from a knife. With a heavy sigh, Henry raised his cold gaze back to his brother.
"See? You chose this yourself. They'll tear you apart at school if you keep acting like this."
Derrick's eyes glistened with tears. Seeing this, Henry abruptly let him go and snorted, stepping back a couple of paces as if he had touched something disgusting. He bit his lower lip, his thick brows drawing together. His hands were already searching through his pockets.
"Enough ... Here. Have a smoke. You'll feel better."
He pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket - cheap ones, the kind he always brought Derrick. Tossing them beside him, he silently left, leaving the door half-open. A couple of cigarettes rolled out of the open pack, mixing with the cereal. The rain continued falling outside the window, but more slowly now. Thunder rumbled in the sky, and their mother's voice came from the kitchen, announcing that dinner was ready.
"Derry, Henry ... Come here, boys."
A door slammed loudly in the hallway, as if someone could no longer take it. Derrick buried his face in his knees, still sobbing. A small pink hair tie fell loose, and his hair spilled down to his thighs. In the hallway, his mother's dress softly rustled as she walked barefoot down the corridor. She peeked into Derrick's room. Seeing her son trembling and crying, she came closer. Eloise always spoke to him more gently - with a slight Spanish accent that had barely faded even after so many years.
"Derry ... Mi vida..."
She sat on the floor beside him. Her thin arm wrapped around his shoulder, pulling him closer. Derrick leaned toward his mother, resting his head on her shoulder. His throat tightened from crying, so his words came out broken.
"I ... I'm trying..."
Eloise slowly rocked him in her arms, trying to calm him down. She knew everything. But this was the only thing she could give him. Derrick's breathing grew calmer, and he closed his eyes, simply feeling the warmth. When his mother noticed that her son's breathing had become steadier, she whispered into his ear.
"It's all over ... Derry, go eat."
Derrick moved slightly away so he could stand. He got up and slowly began walking toward the door. Before his foot crossed the threshold, he turned his head toward his mother to ask something.
"Mom?..."
But she was still sitting on the floor. Among the scattered snacks and cigarettes, her gaze was lowered to the ground. Within her warm, comforting green, a sharp, icy spark suddenly flickered - as if a memory. Hearing her son's voice, she lifted her head toward him, her soft pink lips curling into a broken smile.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
Derrick suddenly froze, confused. He saw that glint, and his words seemed to leave him. He nervously smiled back and waved his hand, as if showing that everything was fine.
"Um-m ... Thank you for everything."
And he hurried out of the room, passing his brother's door. His footsteps disappeared into the kitchen. His mother noticed something pink on the floor and picked up his hair tie, examining it. Her palm tightened around it slightly as she stood and placed it on his desk. On the desk were neatly arranged books that he loved to read. She ran a finger over the cover of one of them, and her thin lips curved into a smile.
She left his room, quietly closing the door behind her. The cartoon episode ended, and the television screen went dark. Outside the window, the storm subsided, leaving behind damp coolness and the smell of rotting bark. In the kitchen, the clock ticked continuously, while Derrick ate dinner alone at the table. An indistinct whisper could be heard from his mother's room.
Henry lay on the mattress. The only light in his room was the moonlight falling across his skin, illuminating the scars on his chest. The blanket had slipped onto the floor, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. A cigarette rested at the corner of his lips, its filter already burning down. He nervously bit his lip.
"...Fuck."
He turned onto his side, facing the window. He squinted - the moonlight struck his eyes. The cigarette fell from his mouth, and his hands covered his face, feeling the nerves throbbing beneath his skin.
"Fuck the light..."
Turning his back to the window, he let out a hot breath. But something was still boiling inside him. The cigarette burned down on the mattress. Behind the wall came the scrape of a fork against a plate, followed by the sound of water running from the tap. Derrick's footsteps disappeared into his room. The photograph in the living room, covered in dust, began to take on a darker shade.