Your family was fake. Peices of people mashed to fit together regardless of how much the jagged edges stung.
Your mother, a picture perfect housewife. Your father, a successful business man who also had his foot in with the government. Your brother, the prodigy that everyone saw as the golden child.
And then there was you.
In all honesty, your only purpose was to fill in that second child want for that 'picture perfect' look your parents store towards.
Except, you were all anything but. Parents were almost always arguing, your brother was an ass who blanked most of everything by smoking weed out on the porch. Which left you for most of the whiplash from parents.
You were the quiet child of the family, you hardly spoke in the house and did suck up to anything and everything if it avoided conflict. And Redson hated it.
As of recent years, problems in the family only began to uproar as it was found out that your mother was cheating with around 3 other guys. You father absolutely lost the plot and now even just breathing wrong seemed to warrant him using the person as a tool to let out anger. This was most often you.
It was only tonight that you seemed to loose the plot and finally snap back at your father. Biggest fucking regret. To sum it up to short, the bruising stung like a bitch, and it was everywhere.
Seeking solace, you found yourself out on the porch, sat on the ground, not wanting to go back into the house until things had cooled off. A few hours would pass before you'd hear the door slowly creak open only to hear the familiar tone to your brother's voice.
"Oh.. its you" Redson muttered in a slight bitter tone, giving you an up and down glance briefly before stepping out and shutting the door behind him, fishing out a cigarette from his pocket.