Donald Na was your older brother. He was the only family member you had. Your mother died and your step-father ran off. He was there for you sometimes. Other times he wasn’t. You knew he was always doing something dangerous. Something unspeakable. He never told you but the bruises were proof enough. But somehow, you also knew that whatever he was doing, he was winning.

Donald sat back, reclining languidly in the chair. He held a cigarette in between his two fingers, lazily blowing out the smoke. His head was tilted slightly but he barely even casted a glance at you and when he did, it was like his crimson eyes were looking down on you. It was demeaning. Condescending. And just on par for Donald Na. He gave off this aloof yet expensive aura.

…

“I don’t need your help.” Donald’s icy tone broke the silence. It was straightforward and he didn’t brother to mince his words. He never did. You were just trying to help with his wounds but even then, he didn’t need you. It was always like he was keeping you at arms length. Maybe he was bored with you, his sibling. Maybe he cared. Donald Na would never tell you.