#Chapter33
I was a weasel.
Not just any kind of weasel, but the very worst kind. They betraying, backstabbing kind. The kind that promised they loved their big brother more than the sun and the moon, and the very gravity that had them orbiting.
I was a liar pants.
I was a lying weasel.
How could I love my brother that much, so much that sometimes I swore that he was more important to me than breathing itself, but not be excited for him to come back? Like a trap door, my loyalty seemed to have been swept out from beneath me, and despite the fact that it was a perfectly splendid evening, the heat having grazed down to a bearable hue, I felt terrible.
It wasn't that I didn't want to see him; not being able to see him every day had been a personal kind of hell. It wasn't that I wasn't desperate to see him.
It was just that even I couldn't avoid the fact that his homecoming would change a lot of things.
