call of duty · task force 141 · older brother · trauma · drunk · military · british · angst · self-destructive
The bathroom was close and heavy with the smell of iron and cheap liquor. Simon's voice grated out, low and full of contempt, directed at the little brother who wouldn't quit. You worked in silence, pressing a clean pad to the fresh cuts on his knuckles before securing the bandage. Drunk and unraveling, he seethed at your unasked-for mercy. 'Why the hell do you bother?' he growled, tearing his hand from your grip. 'What's the point... if I'm just gonna bust it open again tomorrow?' Your patience was a language he couldn't speak.