The past two weeks had been hell for Rick: you could see it in his face as he entered the kitchen. His eyes were bloodshot; underneath, gray-blue skin. In fact, his whole skin had become of that color. I blinked at the shadow of myself in the mirror. Did I just reffered to myself with 'Rick'? Oh god, I must go crazy. I barely could walk to the cupboard, so weak was I. But on the other hand, I was so hungry, not having swallowed anything beside pills and water for three days. And that only because my parents had wanted me to.
Bob watched as I, his older brother, reached up to the cornflakes with my once lean arm. Now it was skinny. With a sigh the teenager opened the yellow fridge to grab a cool milk and set it down beside my bowl on the counter. He leant against it and stared at the ghostly figure pouring cornflakes and milk into the big bowl at the same time. I knew I looked like a ghost.
How old was I? Seventeen? I sure looked a lot older. Bob didn't have to wonder why I was like this, he had figured out he was the reason. With the guilt forming in the pit of his stomach, he crossed his arms and looked away.
I took a spoon and slowly mixed my dinner. "Don't look away all the time... You won't be able to help people that way. Or you'll end up like me one day."
In an awkward silence I brought the spoon to my lips and chewed lethargically. I didn't expect my 'super-brother' to respond at all. I was too tired to listen to him anyway. Too deaf by lack of concentration, too blind by lack of will. I needed to sit down or I would fall over.
"You shouldn't eat because you have to." Bob remarked softly as he helped me to sit down onto the counter.
Grabbing my meal again, I poked the floating food, tried to drown it. "But I have to, duh," I croaked with a voice that seemed unreal and distant.
Bob glared at me.
"You're so immature." he snapped carelessly.
"Ah! How good to hear that..." with a spark of anger giving me force, leant closer and growled, "...from my younger brother."
I retreated immediatly, the force being drenched out of my body, but the fire brooding some more. I was completely immersed in the process of eating when I heard my brother.
"I'm sorry."
The bowl clanked against the white marmor when I dropped it and slammed my hands next to it. The fire had exploded, creating an immense inferno of flames inside of me.
"No, I'm sorry! I'm sorry for you! And you want to know why?" my breathing was uneven, a twisted smile unwillingly played on my lips, "Because you act all mature and wise, but you aren't. You pretend to know the world outside!" I raised his voice even more even though it hurt in my troath, "You pretend to know that there are people out there who want your fucking head! YOU ALWAYS PRETEND!"
When their mother ran into the room, she only saw me, the older son burying his face in his lap and gasping for air.
"Oh my god!" She ran over to me and checked his temperature. "Blake! Rick is burning up!"
What is this? Get me out! OUT!
With a scream of agony, Rick bent back and before someone could react, slid off the counter, violently hitting his head on the edge of the stone. The red blood splattered onto Bob's jeans. When his father came in and tried to place his hand onto his hot forehead, Rick slapped the hand away and curled up with a second blood-curdling scream.
"You have to hold him down!" Blake ordered as his wife scrambled to try to follow his instructions.
Rick trashed around in his mother's strong grip that kept his shoulder-blades onto the cold ground and bent his back.
Away from the ground!, a voice inside his head screamed, It hurts!
The whole time Bob just stood there and stared at his brother in disbelief as he fought their parents.
"But... I didn't say anything..." he whispered to himself.