SPT; The Anchor to Betweenness (being rewritten)

TBI: Chapter 28

"I have a fear of abandonment."

I looked at Montague as he lay under the blanket, arm held out as Christian took his blood pressure. Hart sat by his feet, legs crossed by an ankle on the other knee, while I was thumbing through some drawings I had done when Dad went to jail and the truth came unveiled.

Heh. That rhymed.

"Same, bro," Hart replied quietly. Christian looked at him, frowning as Hart's expression took a distant sheen, and then returned to his work. He looked determined; he probably was going to talk to him later.

Montague chuckled dryly, "That's right... Your family died, too." His voice was hollow, filled with sadness, and I hesitated before closing the portfolio in my hand and bringing the whole thing over. He looked at me, our eyes meeting and catching, and I waited until Christian moved before crawling over top of him. His breath hitched, eyes going down to the space between us, and I playfully punched his shoulder before collapsing on the bed next to him. He smiled, chuckling, and then sighed. I slipped under the blankets and cuddled up to him while he spoke.

"I hope you guys never go on a cruise," He said quietly; ominously. Hart turned, paused, and replied with his own edgy statement.

"I hope you guys never let your sibling shield you from abuse."

I hesitated before adding my own, "...I hope you guys never abuse your sibling."

Hart sighed loudly and whispered "Oh, my god," in a 'here we go again' kind of way, "Mark, you didn't abuse me. That was sibling banter."

"Then explain how I managed to leave scars."

"They were co-agreed fights."

I shook my head, burying my face into Montague, "That's not a fight. That's abuse."

I could imagine Hart giving Montague a droll stare. He stood up, the bed releasing a single creak, and I looked up just as he was pulling back his sleeve. Scars crosshatched over his arms, the memory of almost 17 years of abuse. Crescent shaped scars were the ones he showed Montague; the ones I'd left behind.

"Mark and I used to fight a lot," He told him, "Well... Dad didn't let me fight back, cuz he thought I couldn't control my strength. But yeah; these are from his nails." He pointed them out with difficulty, shrugging after a moment, "They're like ants on the sidewalk... annoying, but you can swat them away and forget about them pretty easily."

I frowned at his comparison, reaching out and grabbing his arm when he went to pull away. He watched me as I brushed my thumb over the scars I made, leaning over and hugging me when I pulled him close.

"I'm sorry," I apologized quietly. He didn't respond aside from a long kiss to my cheek and a squeeze from his hug. "I love you."

He attempted a smile at me, but his voice told me he was genuine, "I know. I love you, too." He pets my hair before releasing me, standing up and stretching.

"Get good sleep," He told us, "We have a long day tomorrow."

Montague and I both nodded, watching as he and Christian gathered their stuff. Christian reminded Montague to drink plenty of water before they finally left.

There was silence for a while, my body tense in preparation for anger. I was afraid he would yell at me about hurting Hart. My dear, poor brother... I don't know how I could do something like that to him.

But instead, his arm wrapped around me and pulled me close. My eyes were level with the cloth bandage on his cheekbone, his face around that area bruised. I reached up and gingerly brushed my fingers over the band-aid, pausing when he looked at me.