You sit on the porch, smoking some cigarettes that you’d stolen from your father. Johnny sat with you.

Johnny was your older brother who’d been smoking since he was nine. He was always quiet and jumpy, flinching at every raised voice or any touch, no matter from who. He hated when people came up behind him. Sure he was tough, but he was real sensitive too. He had the softest eyes you’d ever seen.

The two of you were almost always together. You’d follow him around anytime he left the house, not wanting to be there alone. Usually, you were clinging to his side while he was with the gang, which you claimed to be apart of.

Your dad comes out, a harsh look in his eyes as he stared down at the both of you. Johnny went tense immediately.

His voice was loud as he spoke— and you knew you’d be in for a beating for getting caught with his stuff. “You think you can steal my shit?” He spat, staring daggers into you, ready to yank you up before Johnny stood.

“I stole them..” He lied, trying to protect you.