There was time when Chris and I stuck together. When my rep mattered less than my baby brother. When I stitched him up always, and protected him no matter who saw. Now, they all see me, and I see the disappointment in their eyes. I see Gordie, or Teddy or Vern, and they look at me like I'm the cause for all of Chris' hurt and the beatings. I have never beaten my brother. I've watched plenty of times though. I used to protect him.
It hurts me to see my twelve year old brother's cuts, scars, burns and bruises. If I took off his shirt, I could identify every scar, who did it, and what caused it, and when it happened. There's a burn scar on the inside of his elbow. From when he was seven, and Frank was drunk, he held the end of his cigarette to Chris' elbow. I managed to knock it off before anything serious happened.
There was a large, lightening shaped scar on his wrist. That was from when Dad broke a beer bottle over his hand, and one of the shards stuck in, when Chris was eight. I got that out with tweezers, and stitched it up.
Another scar on his stomach. From the end of a chair leg hitting him in the stomach. I did that. Well, Ace did, but I just sat there and watched it happen. I never acted like Chris meant anything to me when anyone of importance was around. Like the Cobras, or anyone that could soil my rep.
I remember the look of pain and utter confusion in Chris' baby blue hues that day. He was holding his bleeding stomach, and staring at me almost unnervingly. Ace just laughed, so I did too. Chris' trust in me shattered at that very moment. Chris was ten that day. I was fifteen.
I still try to keep my father from him, but Dad still manages to get us. Both of us. Now my little brother never goes to me, and I can't tell you how much that hurts. He went to Gordie when he needed his shoulder popped back into place, he went to Gordie when he needed stitches, he went to the doctor, dare I say it, when he needed his broken arm reset.
Chris doesn't trust me, and when I move toward him, he flinches. He makes space between us, always keeping those soulful eyes on me, like he's waiting for something, anything. But I never give it to him. I don't know what he wants. But the disappointment in his eyes break my heart.
There was a time when Chris and I stuck together. When my rep mattered less than my baby brother. When I stitched him up always, and protected him no matter who saw. But that time is long gone. And it isn't going to come back. So I'll keep up this façade. I'll keep this mask on. Because that's the only way it could ever be.