It must be thirty minutes later—the bottle set aside and Sullivan asleep again—when the door cracks open one more time. I hear footsteps. And then the feet of another chair scraping across the floor. The wooden seat pulls up right next to mine. When the person sits down, I rotate to find my brother. He slouches and stares out at the rain, and I keep fucking looking at him. Until he meets my gaze and says, “What? You think you’re alone or something?” I inhale a ragged fucking breath, the weight of this killing me. I can’t contain it any fucking longer. I break down, and he stretches his arm
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