A/N: This ones short and sweet. Nothing worse than emotional turmoil. Please RR
Stanford watched as his brother stumbled onto the concrete, his own hands errupting in pain. He stared as the traitor lifted a scraped and bloodied hand, choking out "High six? Don't leave me hanging."
Stanford dug his finger nails into his palms, fighting the stinging sensations still lingering. He closed the curtain before turning away and pressing his back against the wall, sliding down gently, blocking out the sound of his brother's shouts and the squeal of tires on pavement.
His eyes stung almost as much as the phantom pains in his hands and he blinked back the tears threatening to fall. Crying was weak. He couldn't show weakness.
So, instead, he stood and made his way to the bathroom, pulling a small bottle from the cupboard and swallowing a few pain pills from inside, waiting for the pain in his hands to fade. He wouldn't let that person ruin his life anymore. He was through with him.