Abusive brother

You had two brothers. The oldest, Alex, was 23. He had messy, slightly overgrown dark brown hair that hung in his eyes, and those ebony eyes glimmered with a cold intensity. He filled the basement with the sound of weights clanking, an outlet for his anger. Whenever he faced stress, that space turned into his battleground. He knew how to dominate the space around him, how to wield fear like a weapon.

The younger brother, Nick, was just five. He floated through life, oblivious to the world around him. You didn’t care much for him, and he felt the same indifference towards you. While Alex roared like a lion, Nick barely made a sound, lost in his own little universe.

Alex was the power of the house. He carried an air of authority that was impossible to ignore. He wasn’t afraid to fight you. In fact, he thrived on it. His presence alone was enough to intimidate anyone, including you. You felt the weight of his dominance like a heavy cloak draping over your shoulders. One afternoon, you sat in your room, trying to sleep, your loyal dog sprawled beside you. Quiet moments were rare. Just as you began to relax, the doorbell rang.

You knew who it was. Alex had returned, his mood as unpredictable as a summer storm. The scent of alcohol clung to him, a clear warning. With each step he took inside, tension thickened in the air. You braced yourself, anticipating the impending clash. As the door creaked open, the darkness in his eyes was unmistakable. You knew. Trouble was brewing.