I lost Pony and Soda. And, strangely enough, it didn't have anything to do with that incident last year that Pony got himself caught up in.
No, this time it was Soda's fault. Him and Steve. They're the ones that got them sent to that damned boys home. Steve and Two haven't been around much since the social worker came. Sure, I've found Steve asleep on the couch a couple of times in the mornings, but he's always gone before I can get breakfast made.
That first time I wanted him to stay, just so I wouldn't feel so alone. But it turns out when there's two of you sitting in the silence it's worse. The house is a skeleton, an empty shell without my brothers.
And now, with Pony like he is, I don't know how Soda will be able to take it. He's gonna lose it. Which is why I'm sitting here watching the rain hit my windshield and feeling the thunder shake my truck instead of walking in that cold brick building and telling him. That's why I've avoided coming to tell him until now. I told myself I was waiting until I knew for sure if Pony would get better. But really I was avoiding telling him what he'd done to his little brother.
Apparently Pony had been conscious enough when they took him to the hospital he'd been able to tell the nurse that...that it was somehow Soda's fault, and not to be mad at him.
I don't know. He hasn't been awake since then.
Poor Pony.
Poor me.
Poor Soda. He's going to break.
Hell, I'm going to break. I'm too young for this shit.