The cops came over and did a welfare check about a month ago. My witless little brother hasn't texted since his angst rampage. And has no clue what life is. He's in his mid-30's, lives at home still, is an ex-con, I could go on. He's a loser. But hey, I'm apocolyptic you know. I get so pissed when I think of what he did, what I did.
I'm GenEx. He's your typical millenial. He is damn spoiled like me. And I was, too, until he came along. When Tripper came home to live with us, I didn't resent her, I don'/t know that I do. But my oldest little brother, I resented the hell out of him. Little cunt lived by a different set of rules. All the rest of us lived by the law. Especially me. I was the biology one, I was the real daughter.
That brat has always been a theif. And a colossal liar, whitch he does very badly. Just like my dad. Even I could beat him at poker.
I sat through a lecture from Doc regarding what time I get him up. I just spent an hour trying to wake him up and now he is laying down until, let's say forever. He knows it makes me homicidal trying to get him out of bed. He got mad at me earlier, maybe he's getting even with me.
What else happened . . . Carter and I are instagram friends. Time and blood heals all wounds.