Push

I spent Sunday morning in my bed.

I removed my storm window to break into my room and I then slammed my small dresser against the frame. It did squat to prevent anyone, like, say, John, from actually getting in but it made me feel a little better. However the good vibes vanished in seconds as what happened replayed in my head like a bad cut scene.

What would happen now?
I thought about telling my parents but felt they would make John the victim and that I must have done something to “start it”. Then my brother would know and he would take it out on me that, somehow “his life” was now over and he would be an even bigger laughingstock, which was kind of ridiculous as I never set foot near the high school and his friends all knew about me. I guess he had not met that one person who made it their daily mission to make my brother’s life a living Hell.

I had a few, maybe he would have liked to trade?

Everyone came home in the afternoon with no one asking how my night went.
I didn’t volunteer anything even though i could hear the little voice ion my mind trying to scream over the sound of denial to say something, to let them know our trust, life and mind were violated.
But no, my brother’s soccer success was worth more than my life—at least that’s what I assumed as he came home with a gold medal and a massive ego. John came over and the two talked about how his team kicked ass. I spent as much time as I could in any room that they were not in.

I tried to avoid his eyes as he tried to get me to look at him.
True, he was bigger than me but I was sure that given enough stress, anger and pure spite I could have beaten the holy crap out of him.

But I didn’t.

“He put it where?” April asked after I confided in her.
“My hand at first, then elsewhere.”
“Did you tell your parents?”
“Ha,” I replied with venom but really wished I could have said “of course”.
“I’ll kick his ass for you. Seriously, let him try anything and I’ll scream rape or something.”
“We can’t do that.”
“Who’s saying we?”