I sat at his bedside, staring and worrying. He was pale, with purple shadows forming around his eyes. He was still passed out from all of the blood he had lost. I grasped his hand. An I.V was sticking out of his wrist. He tossed his head to the side and let out a low moan.

The doctors weren't sure that he'd make it through the night. He had just come out of surgery to repair the wound, and remove his ruptured spleen. They were giving him 50/50 chances.

That didn't apply to him though, I thought to myself. He was pretty resilient, and he would probably be up and walking in a few days.

I kept repeating it over and over again trying to convince myself that everything was ok.

It was just me in the room, alone with him. Sara was with the cop, and I had decided to leave her there.

I kept on replaying the moment that I found out what had happened. I was out with my friends, at the mall, when my dad called me on my cell. He told me to get home, now. I had refused, but he kept persisting, telling me that something horrible had happened.

The entire bus ride home, I kept on thinking through the possibilities. Had mom finally overdosed on heroin? She was well overdue for one, but I knew that wasn't it.

Had Sara been hit by a car? That was a possibility, but it was too pessimistic.

Then and there, I had known something had happened to Alex, again. The last time, I had been called by the hospital, who told me that he was there, lying unconscious, as bruised as a bad fruit.

I had walked in the door, expecting the worse. Had Derek finally had it, and had blown Alex's head off. I was close. Fortunately, Alex was still alive though.

So there I was, hovering over his bedside like a guardian angel.

Doctors and nurses bustled in and out, but I paid hardly any attention to them. My father stayed in the waiting room, giving me my time alone with my brother.

I leaned in towards him, and whispered in his ear.

"C'mon, you gotta make it. You made it before. We're depending on you"

He stirred slightly. A glimmer of hope shone in my mind for a few seconds, and then it vanished when he went back into silence.

I sighed. At that moment, the cop walked in.



I walked inside Alex's hospital room. A cloud of guilt hung over my dead.

It was all my fault. I should have never let him go alone, right into the arms of that monster. It was all done and over. Now he lay, unconscious in a bed.

He didn't look all too good; pink circles around his eyes, skin as pale as ever. His sister sat hovering over his bedside.

"He's going to make it, right?" she asked, begging for reassurance.

"Most likely". The doctors had upgraded his condition when I had come in. They were now saying his odds were about 60-70 percent.

I entered the room, and took a seat on the other side of him. I sighed, and leaned back in the chair. I had learned quite a bit over the past few days. I was no longer as narrow minded as I had been before, and I owed him for that.

From up close, he looked frailer than usual. The guy was pretty skinny, not a sickly anorexic skinny, but still small. Added to that he was short.

I wanted revenge for what had happened. I couldn't believe that the man responsible all that, his own brother, was still on the loose. I wanted nothing more at that time to find him, and see to it that he spent the rest of his life rotting away in a jail cell.