A purple-haired boy sat on his bedroom floor, curled up in a ball, and cried. He usually acted tough, but here, all alone, he could let out his true feelings.
Suddenly, the door opened. "Reggie!" the crying boy screeched. "Go away!"
Concerned, Reggie sat down next to his little brother. He had thought Paul had grown up, but recently the crybaby had proven himself as Reggie's kid brother, emphasis on kid.
"What do you want?" Paul snapped.
Reggie used his sleeve to wipe away Paul's tears. "You wanna talk about it?"
"No."
Reggie exhaled. "I'm just really worried. You're not talking to anybody. Not even your therapist."
"I'm not crazy. I don't need a therapist."
"It's just that…No, you're not crazy… But you have a lot on your mind, and…" Tears welled up in the corners of Reggie's eyes as he gently stroked the swollen scars on Paul's wrist. "These, Paul. I'm worried about these."
"Well, don't worry." It came out more as a threat than a consolation. But with Paul, that's the best you get. "I disinfect them every time."
"Paul. You can't do this! It's crazy and it has to stop!"
"I can and I will and it's none of your business. Now, get OUT!"
Sighing a sigh full of tears, Reggie slowly got up, and left his brother to sulk.
To be continued…