Burning In Hell

Sam has never had what you would call a "normal" life, being the only one that can take care of his little brother. Now, as his legal guardian, things seem to be calming down into a regular routine.
Until one day Sam's temper gets the best of him, and things get crazier than ever.

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2. ᴏɴᴇ

 

 

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Sam awoke to sharp jabs in his shoulder, persistent and annoying. He groaned and opened his eyes slightly.

"Sam!" his little brother said loudly. "Come on, you lazybones, get up!"

Sam rolled over to face the wall and shut his eyes again. "Gimme five minutes, bro," he mumbled sleepily.

Pat rolled him back over and Sam opened one eye. Pat was standing there frowning at him with his hands on his hips. "Sam, get up. Now," he insisted, glaring.

Sam sighed in defeat, pulling off the bed covers and swinging his legs over the side. "Alright, I'm up, I'm up," he said, rubbing an eye.

Pat immediately brightened up. "Yay!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together a couple of times. "Now get dressed and eat so we can start walking," he commanded, then spun on his heel and walked out of the room and turned right down the hallway.

"I'll be out in a few minutes!" Sam promised, standing up and stretching his arms up.

"Hurry, or we're going to be late!" Pat called out, sounding like he was already halfway down the corridor.

Sam sighed, smiling, and sat back down again. But instead of falling back onto the bed and sleeping some more like he really wanted to, he leaned down to grab his pants off the floor of his messy room.

He really needed to clean up, but he just couldn't be bothered.

He quickly got dressed and snagged his favourite blue hoodie off his door handle as he walked out into the hallway shutting the door behind him. He grinned at the sight of Pat's room directly across from his, covered with "DO NOT ENTER" signs and even some "DO NOT CROSS" tape that Sam had bought for him too many years ago.

He couldn't help but glance left at the door at the end of the hall. That used to be his parent's room, and then it was his father's. Now it was an empty room, with the furniture still inside - the bed had not been slept in for over a year. All of his father's clothes had been given away to charity, and miscellaneous items had been sold or given away over the past year. Barely anything had been kept, and now the room was rarely entered.

He forced himself to look away and walk down the hall and into the bathroom, shutting the door loudly so Pat would know he was in there.

When he'd finished, he looked at himself in the mirror. There were dark bags under his eyes, as he hadn't been sleeping well the last week or so. His shaggy white-blonde hair was sticking up weirdly and his strangely-shaded blue eyes looked tired. He didn't like looking tired.

He splashed some water on his face, trying to wake himself up. It didn't work.

He quickly dried himself off and brushed his hair down before slinging his jacket over his shoulder and walking out to meet Pat in the kitchen. Pat looked up at his entrance and smiled, pushing a plate of buttered toast over the bench.

"I made you breakfast," he explained cheerfully, moving out into the dining room where his backpack was lying on the table.

Sam smiled. "Thanks," he said gratefully, taking a piece and starting to eat.

Pat was humming some sort of melody as he packed his school books into his bags. Sam, who was now 20, hadn't been to school in over three years, having left school at the end of Year 10, when he was sixteen. He'd started to work five days a week at the local supermarket (he worked there still) in order to pay to put food on the table - the only income they had was their father's, which they'd never had access to, and now they didn't even have that. And as much as Sam loves doing absolutely nothing, he knew he had to work the hours to earn the cash.

And the mountains of money that their father had earned? Since his death, Sam had had full access to it, but he rarely touched a single cent. He knew that one day he might need that money for an emergency, so it was best to keep it untouched. He'd had to take a hundred dollars here and there when he couldn't work, and that was nothing in comparison to the hundreds of thousands of dollars their father had hidden away in that bank account. But nevertheless, he was still careful.

His mind fizzled back into reality when he heard Pat start humming that melody again. It sounded vaguely familiar somehow.

"What song is that?" he asked, and Pat shrugged.

"I dunno," he admitted. "I just started humming a tune and that came to mind. I don't think I've ever heard it before."

Sam absentmindedly smiled as he ate, trying to remember where he'd heard it before, but he couldn't quite grasp it.

"I'm slightly bonetrousled as to where it came from," Pat said in between humming.

Bonetrousled? What?

Suddenly a sharp pain stabbed the back of Sam's head and he inhaled quickly, the piece of toast slipping from his fingers.

Pat turned around, furrowing his brow. "Sam? Are you alright?"

The pain was gone as soon as it had come. Not wanting to worry his little brother, he grinned and reached down to pick up the toast. "Yeah," he said. "Guess you could say I'm a bit of a butterfingers, eh?"

"Sam."

Sam looked up to see Pat giving him the blank glare he always had when he was annoyed. Sam winked.

Pat sighed, and zipped up his bag. "Come on, let's go already."

Sam laughed. "Aw, c'mon, bro, have a sense of humour."

"Your puns are not humorous in the slightest, Sam."

"Sure they are - you gotta hear the Grillby's crowd when I go in on a good day!"

“I do not want to know what kind of lame jokes you come up with in that place.”

“Bro, everyone loves them!”

“Then I am obviously the only person you know with a decent sense of humour.”

Sam grinned and finished his piece of toast. He picked up the plate and put it in the dishwasher, and looked back up to see Pat standing at the door with his backpack on, and arranging his favourite red scarf just how he liked it. Sam had made that scarf for him the first Halloween after their father died, and Pat loved it to bits – he wore it everywhere, in any weather. Sam didn’t plan it to be that way, but hey, he didn’t really want to question it.

Pat was bound to go on a long rant as an explanation. The longest one lasted for about ten minutes.

“Ready to go?” Sam asked, and Pat nodded.

“Let’s go!” he exclaimed, making Sam grin. His little brother was the only person he knew who managed that extreme amount of enthusiasm this early in the morning.

He slipped on his shoes that were lying next to the door and they exited the house, Sam locking it behind him.

“Anything special on today?” Sam asked as they began walking. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

Pat thought for a minute, and then shook his head. “No, nothing that I can think of. Just English.”

Sam smiled – Pat loved English, even though he had a form of ADHD that prevented him from learning things as fast as others. He just loved writing stories, especially ones where there was a gallant hero that saved the damsel in distress. Most of them were a bit too cliché for Sam, but he’d always told himself that he’d support his little brother with whatever he did. Even if it was incredibly poorly written cliché superhero stories.

“Well, that’s something to look forward to!” Sam encouraged. “Surely it won’t be that bad.”

Pat glared sideways at him. “You wouldn’t know,” he said. “You dropped out.”

Sam stretched his arms up. “Yes I did,” he said and put his hands back in his pockets. “Someone’s gotta pay for your school books, bro.”

Pat looked away, and they were silent for a little while. This annoyed Sam, because it was one of the few times he didn’t know what was going on in his little brother’s mind.

“I’ve been thinking…” Pat started and trailed off.

“You were thinking?” Sam repeated, grinning. “A dangerous pastime.” He couldn’t help the Beauty and the Beast reference, these things just happened. Plus, he loved Disney movies – it was his guilty pleasure, mostly thanks to his little brother.

“Oh, be quiet,” Pat sighed, and shifted the backpack on his shoulders. “I’m trying to be serious here.”

Sam’s grin fell slightly, and he looked over at him. “Okay? What’s up?”

Pat took in a deep breath, and then looked down at Sam with a smile on his face. “I’ve been thinking about getting a part-time job!” he exclaimed happily. “There’s a bookstore on the main street that’s just looking for someone to stack books on shelves and things like that, and I was thinking I could work there!”

Sam couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. “That’s awesome, bro!” He gently punched Pat on the shoulder – once again reminding himself to reach up, and once again cursing his shortness – and slapped him on the back. “I’m proud of you.”

A faint redness filled Pat’s cheeks. “Really?” he said excitedly. “You mean it?”

Sam winked. “I mean it, bro.”

“Thank you!” Pat was ecstatic now, and he went on to talk about how he loved the bookstore and how the owner was really nice and how the books there were great to read. Sam nodded along, happy for him. He had long deduced that he had an incredibly determined little brother.

“I’d love to be able to read some of the bigger books there one day,” Pat said wistfully. “And I’ve tried, but I just can’t wrap my head around them.”

Sam smiled. “I could help you, if you like?” he suggested.

Pat raised his eyebrows at him. “But you dropped out of school when you were my age. Would you even know what half of the words mean?”

Sam’s smile dropped a bit and he mock glared, raising an eyebrow. “Hey, kiddo,” he began. “I can read a book as well as the next twenty-year-old guy, okay?”

Pat giggled, and Sam couldn’t help a chuckle. They fell into a comfortable silence as they walked the rest of the way to school, and too soon for Sam’s liking, they were at the back gates.

Sam stared up at the happy-looking high school he’d dropped out of four years previously, faintly remembering his times there. There were the happy times with the few friends he’d had, the only one he’d kept being Gil, the owner of his favourite pub, and the not-so-happy times, such as most of the classes and the psychologist appointments Pat had been forced to go to after their father’s death – even though Sam was well out of school by then, he hated the woman that had been assigned to help Pat. She spoke to him like a child, and then had the nerve to talk to Sam like he didn’t know how to look after his little brother, like he hadn’t been paying the majority of the bills and putting food on the table.

So eventually, after Pat’s begging, he’d pulled him out of those sessions, and they’d been going just fine ever since.

“Well,” Pat said, breaking into Sam’s thoughts. “I’ll see you after school, okay?” He turned and smiled down at Sam.

Sam grinned up at him. “Sure thing, bro,” he said with a nod. Pat nodded too, and turned to walk into the school. So Sam gently clapped him on the back and said, “Seeya then!”

“Bye!” Pat replied.

Sam turned and began the walk back home, finally alone with his thoughts. So to block out the deathly silence around him as he walked, he pulled out his phone and earbuds and began playing some music.

He was entirely oblivious to the ᴍ̶͓͓͍̾̎̽ᴏ̴̢̜̦̓̊͝ɴ̷̯̩̣̔͑͒s̴͔͓̬͛̆͐ᴛ̴̛̹̲̜͛̚ᴇ̴͖͕̝̂͑̀ʀ̴̙͇͔̇͒̔ following him in the shadows.

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