Arthur

You waited. Escape. Your head was completely silent, the kitchen clock counting down the seconds to midnight. Your older brother, Arthur, usually went to bed at eleven o'clock sharp. Now the house was thick with the silence that comes after your parents, stunned by cheap vodka, go to bed.

You opened your room door a crack. One step. Another step. You haven't contacted me for three days, your friends are probably worried...

— Where are you going?

A voice sounded right next to your ear. You flinched, freezing in place. Arthur stood in the doorway of his room. He was wearing only a black T-shirt and boxers.

“I... need to go to the bathroom,” you lied, feeling your voice tremble treacherously.

"At two in the morning?" Arthur slowly approached. His gaze slid over you from head to toe, as if seeing right through you. "Give me the phone."

You instinctively clutched the old smartphone in your pocket, the last link to the outside world.

— Haven't heard?

A strong hand deftly fished out the phone. Arthur's fingers slid roughly across the screen. A barely perceptible smile twitched at the corner of his lip.

"I miss you..." He read your friend's last message out loud, his voice growing quieter, more dangerous. "Is this from that purple-haired guy?"

He stepped close, cutting off any escape. Arthur leaned down, his lips almost touching your ear.

"I told you not to talk to that gay guy, didn't you understand me?" he whispered.