A Loaded Gun

Chapter 26

Brooke POV

School was going great. I had made it a full month and I was still functioning, shockingly. Is this how people feel when they're not exhausted and beat up? It's a great feeling.

I've seen Wanda 2 days a week for the past month, and I'm finally making progress. 

She hooked me up with a psychiatrist to get me meds for my anxiety and nightmares and also talked to my brothers about treating me normally. 

I haven't told her everything, but I've slowly been opening up.

Marcus had signed me up for driving lessons, and I had a sneaking suspicion he had used his influence to shorten the amount of time I needed before I could get my license, rich bastard.

I sighed, tapping my pencil against my paper in irritation at my lack of concentration. 

Although I felt comfortable with the girls I met my first day, I politely declined their invitation to go out with them tonight. Nope, instead I was in on a Friday night doing math homework.

Sounds lame, but I couldn't afford to get behind. I transferred halfway through the year and I had 4 weeks to get caught up on what everyone else had 4 months to learn.

I stared at the problem, frustrated with my lack of understanding. Functions weren't hard, but logarithms were my weakness.

I was jerked from my thoughts of stupid exponents after hearing a thump downstairs, like someone had hit the floor. I guess the boys were back. 

Lucas and Daniel were probably arguing over who got the last scoop of ice cream. I had to go intervene because that Moose Tracks was reserved for me.

I hurried down the stairs, preparing to yell at the two idiots who were presumably wrestling on the living room floor, but froze in the dim light at the sight of a puddle on the floor. 

That better not be my Moose Tracks.

It wasn't ice cream, thank God. Upon closer inspection, it looked really familiar. Like I had seen it almost every day for 5 years. What the hell. It was blood.

I let out a strangled gasp and followed the drops to the kitchen, stopping short at the sight of Lucas on the quartz-covered kitchen island, blooding pouring out of his leg like a fountain. 

Gathered around him were my other brothers with towels, talking in lowered, panicked voices.

"WHAT THE HELL GUYS!" I screamed, half terrified and half furious at the sight of my brother in pain. They turned toward me, and I screamed again. 

Marcus' face had a deep cut, Daniel had an oozing slash on his arm, and Michael had a black eye pulsing angrily.

"Brooke, go back upstairs. You don't need to see this."

"Well MAYBE you should have thought of that before getting yourselves BEATEN UP!" I yelled angrily. 

It wasn't fair to blame them, but I was pissed. "Look at yourselves! How are you supposed to help Lucas when you're all hurt? You know what, move."

I shoved them aside, wary of their injuries, and assessed Lucas. 

I yanked a towel (why the hell would they grab white towels? Rich people, God) out of Michael's shaking hand and pressed it tightly against Lucas's leg.

Sending a scathing glare towards them, I yelled, "Well? What are you waiting for? Get the damn first aid kit! And get me more towels!"

They scrambled away as I looked over my groaning brother. The wound was round and clean, almost as if he had been shot.

Oh my God, he got shot. What happened to them, and where the hell was the first aid kit??

Almost on cue, Daniel handed me a white box. I rifled through it, grunting in satisfaction as I pulled out tweezers, alcohol, and gauze. This was going to be messy. 

Michael rushed up, holding even more pristine white towels. Do these people not own any other color?

I rolled my eyes but grabbed them and laid them around Lucas's leg. I rolled one up tightly and shoved it in Lucas's mouth, saying, "Bite down on this. It's gonna hurt."

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them slowly. Grabbing the tweezers, I gently maneuvered them into the wound, wincing at his muffled anguished yell as I did so. 

I felt around, grimacing at the disgusting squishy noises.

Grinning triumphantly, I grabbed hold of the piece of metal embedded in his leg and carefully pulled it out. It looked intact, which meant no shards were still stuck in him.

Muttering a quick apology, I disinfected the wound, clenching my jaw at his pained moans. I packed gauze around the wound and bandaged it carefully, making sure the dressing was tight.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead and took a deep breath, pushing down the nausea that was steadily rising in my stomach. I dug through the box again and pulled out a bottle of pills.

"Get me some water," I snapped at my astonished, absolutely frigging useless brothers. They jumped into action, grabbing a glass of water and handing it to me.

I propped Lucas up and shook out two painkillers, shoving the glass in his hand and the pills in his mouth. "Take these." 

My brusque tone shook him out of his pain-filled fog, and he slowly grabbed the water and drank it.

He sighed and laid back, seeming relaxed as the potent pills kicked in. I turned toward the idiots I am supposedly related to.

"You might want to move him to a more comfortable place, you know, like a bed? Then get back here so I can get you fixed up." 

My voice almost broke from worry, but I stayed strong and kept a stern tone, brokering no argument.

They nodded, almost in a daze, and mechanically moved toward Lucas, lifting him and taking him to the living room couch. The WHITE living room couch. Great God, they are idiots.

They shuffled back into the kitchen, looking exhausted. Marcus opened his mouth, looking puzzled, but I silenced him immediately. "Shut up. No talking right now."

After disinfecting and wrapping Marcus and Daniel's cuts, I applied soothing cream to Michael's black eye. "Go to bed. We are talking about this later." My dark tone was not unlike Marcus's. 

They looked like they were about to argue with me, but I raised an eyebrow and they nodded reluctantly and left the room.

They could tell I was pissed. Who wouldn't be? They come in, all of them hurt and Lucas frigging shot, and they expect me to just ignore it and go back upstairs?

As soon as they left the room, I let out a shaky breath and allowed myself to cry. I was so goddamn worried. How had they gotten like that? 

Were they just going to brush it off and never tell me if I hadn't come downstairs? What was the point of having a private doctor if he wasn't around when they needed him?

I walked, trembling, to the living room and curled up beside Lucas in a blanket. There was no way I was leaving him alone tonight; what if he woke up in pain? 

I couldn't just sit here though. I was so freaking hungry. And I had just gotten comfy too.

I rolled my eyes and dragged my blanket to the kitchen with me. My jaw dropped when I opened the freezer, and I asked the most important question of the entire night.

Who ate all the goddamn ice cream?

A/N Y'all I'm really struggling to write right now but I promise I'm trying.  Things are a little weird (yay seasonal depression! (on top of regular depression)).  I've got about 15 more chapter prewritten so I'll keep releasing those but I don't know where my head's at right now, so bare with me.