WARNING THIS CHAPTER IS NOT APPROPRIATE FOR CERTAIN AUDIENCES, CAUTION IS ADVISED
"HEY DUMBASS, GUESS WHAT TODAY IS?" My brother roars. Frightened, I yelp in terror and crash to the floor. "AWWW THE LITTLE BABY BOY GOT SCARED, YOU NEED A PACIFIER?" My checks flush with embarrassment and I attempt to get up from the floor. But my brother runs over and kicks me right in the stomach, sending me back tumbling to the ground. I cough clutching my stomach in agony and curl into a ball. My brother leans down just nearly close enough to make eye contact. "I need an extra large breakfast burrito, Medium Expresso with whipped cream on top, and a sasuge as an appetizer, And that'll be al!" He stands back up, waltzing out of my room like he owns it. I sit up straight, my stomach still aching. But I get up and slowly walk down the stairs and into the kitchen, where my brother lingers at the table waiting as impatiently as humanly possible. "Maybe I won't beat you up before we leave for school if you finish before mom wakes up." I look at him curiously, making sure he isn't messing with me. But all I see is a smug smile, thinking he knows that she'll wake up any second. I peer into the living room( just in case) to find my mother alsleep on the couch surrounded by the usual beer cans. I dash back into the kitchen and glance at my brother one last time before I slam(quietly) the top shelf cabinet open and grab all my brothers favorite ingredients from exactly where I left them. I'm the only one who cleans so I keep a shelves filled with all of our favorite ingredients on one shelf. I had opened the breakfast cabinet, where all of Jackson's favorite breakfast materials had been left in tact on the bottom shelf.( I keep cold items in the refrigerator with the same organization except for the freezer.) I turn the stove on medium for two spots and put two pans on top of them. I put beef in one pan, an, eggs to be scrambled on another. I do the rest of the things casually, not noticing my brother sneaking into the living room. He truly is stupid because he didn't count the beer cans this morning. If my mother has 5-6 she'll wake up easy 7-10 a bit harder 11-30 Impossible. I counted 23 this morning. No surprise To the fat that my mother is an extremely hard drinker, in fact the most beer she had was 43 before passing out. I couldn't even confirm that she's even HUMAN after she woke up the next day fine. My brother shrieks in fury after I overhear him count after 20 . He storms in as I'm chopping the onions. "You son of a b-". I cut him off regretting it entirely. "Y-you never specified if you counted the beers or if I were to tell you how many." He grabs the knife as I'm chopping and slices right through my arm in ten area right above my hand as blood pours onto the chopping board. It Hurts like hell, but I don't say I word, afraid of what may happen. "I guess the wimps wearing a jacket today." I move the chopped onions off the board with my free hand, knowing he may cut me again if I ruin his food. "Go clean yourself up." He says calmer than before. I dash upstairs, and I quickly clean the wound and get dressed as well making sure I put on my grey hoodie. I rush back down the stairs and complete his meal. Just as the clock strikes 6:00, a meal is placed in front of my brother. Before I can go and grab my cereal he forcefully grabs my unharmed hand and make sure he grips it tight enough to leave a bruise. " The next time you forget to tell me something, your arm won't be the only thing I slice." He let's go and I shudder, I walk off to the cabinet to become lost in thought. He has never cut me before, only bruises and burns (cigarette lighter). So now I know something's up, I'll just need to find out what before it gets me hurt worse. I grab the milk, bowl, and spoon, and go to sit down at the table. Before I begin eating my breakfast I look down at my already bleed through bandage. I sigh and continue on to my cereal.