Page 3 of Three Little Words

The door to his bedroom slammed shut.

“God dammit, Bryan.” I sank back down on the couch, head in my hands.

He’d been like this since Mom died—angry, argumentative, reckless.

I didn’t want to have to bury my little brother, too.

I shut my eyes, taking a deep breath.

I had to do something, just to get myself out of this funk Bryan always got me in.

Maybe it was time to do something I’d been wanting to do for a while.

I shifted forward on the couch, opening my sketchbook again and rifling through the pages. Drawing was my one outlet, my one way of venting and relieving stress. I didn’t have a lot of time to spend with friends since I was working two jobs; days off like this were incredibly rare.

But I had been saving for a little while to do this, and now it was time.

I was going to get a tattoo.

And I knew exactly what I wanted.

I found the page, running my fingers over the design.

It was perfect.

I tore the page out of the sketchbook and rose. I was already dressed, at least, and knew where my purse and shoes were.

I wouldn’t have to walk past Bryan’s bedroom.

I rolled the drawing up carefully and put it in my purse before slinging my bag over my shoulder.

I didn’t bother to tell Bryan I was leaving. He probably wouldn’t have cared, anyway. Shaking my head, I closed and locked the apartment door.

I was going to come back later with new ink, and hopefully a clearer head, so I could talk to my brother a little more calmly.

I just wanted him to understand that I was angry because I loved him.

And that I was fucking scared of losing the last person I had.

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