Chapter 3

Ok, so this has some mild violence and the f-bomb a bit. sorry, but the mood matches it so well! don't worry, though, I'm not as evil as I may seem! Enjoy, vote, and comment.

Chapter 3: Cole's POV -Thursday Night, before arriving at Kent's front door-

“Cole!” My dad roared; not surprisingly, he was drunk again, however, it was different this time, he was much more violent than he typically was. When he had come home, after his football team lost on TV, he was even throwing old beer bottles st the TV, something that usually kept him calm most of the time. I looked into his dark brown eyes and noticed how horribly bloodshot they really were.

“Dad,” I said, trying to get him to calm down; thank God Paul was still in his room, hopefully with the door locked like I told him.... “Let's not be unreasonable now,” My voice trailed off as he picked up a large shard of a broken beer bottle.

I gasped when he dug it into his arm and dragged it down to his wrist. “Who's the one in control now, mother fucker?” He was hallucinating now, I was sure of it. I think he was talking to, or at least trying to, talk to either God, who he never was fond of much anyways since our family was never one for religion, or the guy who killed our mother one night. When asked how it happened, he just said, “Oh, nothing really, I just lost control,”

I crept towards him slowly, removing the piece of amber glass still embedded in his left arm, making sure to kick any other pieces away from my drunk father. He was sobbing now, uncontrollably.

I saw that he was fine, and quickly went up to my room and looked out my window enviously into my wealthy neighbor's backyard. Their pool was about as big as the school pool, and the bottom wasn't covered in crap. The brown fence on their side looked very different than ours; my neighbor's was shiny, glossy, and wasn't decaying right before my eyes unlike mine.

I noticed a figure out by the pool as he slipped into the pool and swam faster than I ever thought was possible than a human; he'd probably even give Michael Phelps a good challenge. Then I realized something when he glared at me when he noticed that I was watching. He was the really brilliant senior at my high school! He was swimming even faster now, barely coming up for a single breath of air because he moved so quickly. I knew that he could swim really well, but I never knew he could swim this fast.... But what was his name?

Chris, Kale, Kane, what the hell was it again? Ok, maybe I didn't know his first name, but I know that his dad was the most influential, and best, prosecuting and defending, lawyer in America. That's how he bought all of those houses that surrounded it. Wasn't their last name... Whitman! Of course! Whitman incorporated! His mother must be the president of Whitman incorporated, a home furnishings business run by Mrs. Whitman.

Kent Whitman! Yeah, that that sounded like his name, alright. Already has full ride scholarships and letters begging him to go to their school from Harvard, Oxford, Yale, Princeton, Berkeley, and even John Hopkins, apparently the best medical school in the world.

Content with finally figuring out my neighbor's identity, I turned to my Geometry book, looked at it, and then threw it to next to my backpack.

I was texting Caleb about the party tomorrow, when I heard a scream. It sounded like....

Paul!

Fuck, fuck, fuck....I was already freaking out; because of Paul's rough childhood, he never panicked about anything, and I'm proud to say that I had taught him how to do that myself, unless it was way too big for him to handle.

I sprinted to the Paul's screams, only to find my dad holding Paul by his hair with a butcher knife against his throat, with our dog Bud lying in a pool of his own blood.

“Dad!” I yelled, getting my dad to divert his attention away from harming Paul. “If you hurt Paul in any way, even one scratch I'll-”

“You'll what?” Dad bellowed, widening his eyes so he kind of looked like a psycho killer, which was, essentially, what he was to my brother and me.

“Cole,” Paul whispered, looking into my eyes, allowing me to see him as a younger version of me, infuriating me even more; he could do whatever the fuck he wanted with me, but I would gladly kill anyone who hurt Paul in anyway whatsoever. He was my brother, one who I loved dearly, held close to my heart, and more importantly, he was the only thing I had to remember my mother and our normal life before her death. “Please get, out, big bro-brother,” Paul looked at his feet, nervous, eyes on the brink of overflowing, trying to protect me from the man who had already ruined my life and any chance of joy I had left. He would not take the only good thing in my life away from me.

My eyes quickly scanned the living room for something to use to get Paul away from our dad. I saw a hardcover book, and then I had an idea, a crazy one, but Paul would be safe.

I took one last look at Paul, giving him the emergency code for him to run and get help. We had developed the code two years ago, when our dad's drinking was getting worse. We picked our mother's favorite hand gesture: both index fingers locked together to show us that we always had something to hold onto, even if it didn't seem like it.

I immediately picked up the book and threw it at my dad. He loosened his grip on Paul just enough for him to escape and run behind me, holding onto my jeans as if he would be blown away by a storm if he didn't.

“You ungrateful little fucks!” My dad had bloody nose from where the book had hit him; who knew literature actually came in handy sometimes? He threw the knife towards me, but because of his drunken state, I watched in complete horror as the knife sank itself into Paul's lower abdomen.

“Paul!” I cried, catching him as he began to fall backwards onto the carpet. I watched my dad laugh at my brother's condition. I shot daggers at my father, and growled, “You sick bastard! How could you do that to your own flesh and blood?”

He just turned around and left our house with my wounded, and potentially dying, brother. I quickly removed the knife from Paul and was about to go kill my dad for doing that to Paul when Paul whispered something with his eyes looking at me as if he was scolding me while in more pain from me than the potentially fatal wound in his stomach.

“What, what is it, Paul?” I was on my knees, awaiting Paul's words.

“Please, be better than Daddy ever was, for Mommy and me?”His eyes were slowly growing dimmer and dimmer until he passed out in my lap.

“Of course, anything you want, brother,” I could feel tears freely flowing form my eyes onto the already-soiled carpet.

-At Kent's door-

“Oh my god,” Kent muttered, one hand over his mouth. “I'm so sorry,”

“Yeah, can you call the ambulance for Paul, neither my house nor I have a phone since my dad is such a bastard,” I could feel myself already fuming at even calling him my father.

“Of course,”Kent said, taking out his solid gold iPhone. I didn't even know that they could make them like that...

Before I knew it, Kent was running off to my house while on the phone. Damn, could he run. He was way better than me even on my best days.

“Yes, I desperately need an ambulance. Yes, there was a violent struggle; yes, someone's critically injured....” Kent said calmly, even while looking at all of the blood that surrounded him in the house. He gave the dispatcher my address and hung up and checked Paul's pulse. He looked at me with a faint smile and said, “He's ok, his pulse is a little slow, but that's because of the blood loss. Don't worry, Cole, I'll try and help him as much as I can. Can you get me some warm, wet towel?”

I nodded, running to my room and taking all of my shirts, we had no towels because my father never went to buy any after all of the other were mere strips of fabric, including the one I was wearing. I grabbed and threw on the only jacket, not bothering to zip it up, I had and brought the shirts to the kitchen and soaked them in hot water. I gave each of the shirts to Kent as he used them to clean up the blood and place some others on Paul's skin. When all of the shirts were full of blood or on Paul, Kent noticed my attire, I even think I saw a blush, or it was just from seeing all of Paul's blood tonight.

When the paramedics arrived they placed my brother on a stretcher and loaded him into the ambulance, shocked to see Paul's wounds cleaned up so neatly. “Did you boys clean him up like this?” One of them asked, holding a clipboard.

“No, that was all him,” I said putting a hand on Kent's shoulder, starting to feel remorse for not being able to do anything for my brother.

“Have you ever thought of working in the medical field?” The man said, asking Kent.

“Yes, sir. It's my dream to work in the emergency room actually,” Kent looked at his feet, as if he was embarrassed of something.

“Well, it seem as though you've done more with him than some doctors have in their entire careers. Imagine what you'll be like after medical school,” He said, trailing off at the end.

“Thank you, sir,” Kent muttered with alight smile.

The man redirected his attention to me and asked, “How did this happen?”

So I told the man what I had told Kent, his face emotionless. Although, if you've seen it as much as this guy probably has, it makes sense to not be surprised by much.

“You'll need to come down to the station with me if you're his brother,” The clipboard man said as he finished writing down my whole story on his clipboard.

I nodded as I followed him to his car and got into the shotgun seat; at least I wasn't behind those bars in the car....

“Here,” Kent handed me a business card. “It's my dad's info, you can call it if you want to press charges or if you need a defending attorney. I'll let him know you may call him later, just tell him your name and then he'll know what to do after that. Good luck, Cole.” Kent gave me a smile as the police car pulled away.

The ride was uneventful, but I took the time to finally zip up my jacket, not forgetting the potential blush that Kent ha when he saw my torso. I felt myself blush at the thought, wait, I'm not gay! There's no way that I'm gay! I've had sex like, over three dozen times, and over fifteen bjs from cheerleaders, and all of them are girls, and hot girls at that!

Whatever.... Maybe I could get my father put away for life, or if I'm really lucky, the death penalty. Yeah, that second one s a lot better.

We, the police officer I rode with and myself, passed the counter, I even earned a few winks form the receptionist. Go me! I was led into a lone, windowless room, where I was instructed to sit down in the uncomfortable, wooden chair. A large, imposing police officer came into the room and started asking me questions, so I basically had to retell my story for a third time.

“Would you like a lawyer?” The large cop asked me, with stern eyes, eying me, I suppose he thought I was nothing but trouble, like I was the one who hurt my brother. Jesus, what happened to 'assumed innocent until proven guilty', or something like that....

“Yes, please,” I nodded, trying to keep my cool. I handed him the card Ken that given me and he dialed the number, and after a few minutes, he hung up his phone.

“I don't know how you did it, but Josiah Whitman wants to represent you.” He shook his head on the way out of the room, muttering something to himself.

I sighed a bit, knowing that there was no way that my father could escape from the law this time. I was pretty excited.

Thanks Kent,I thought to myself mentally.

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See? I'm not evil, and my twisted mind is just writing what will continue this story and further the plotline. Hop youguys enjoyed this, and I hope you comment, vote, and continue to read!

-Peace and love to all,

Michael