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Corey’s hands are messed up. First Trina notices that he’s on the floor and his arms are crossed over his face, over his eyes, framing his set jaw, but then she sees that his hands are really messed up. They’re bruised and scratched and bleeding a little and they’re locked into shaking half-fists.
She stands over him for a moment, raising her eyes to look around the garage to find the poor inanimate object that Corey decided to have his little hissy fit on. She’d just heard some banging. She had halfway hoped someone had forced their way into the garage and kidnapped Corey, maybe even offed the twerp, and him being on the ground had only—
“Go away, Trina.”
His voice cracks in the middle of his wilted command and her mouth cracks into a grin.
She almost kneels down next to him but thinks better of it and sits right on top of his stomach. He seems to try to sink himself into the ground, like he could possibly get away from her, and his lips form into a thin line. Trina guesses he’s trying to look tougher but he just looks babyish.
“I thought you’d want to protect your grubby little hands for your dumb band. That’s all you care about, right?”
He doesn’t say anything. She watches him move his jaw again but a sob still comes out. She breathes out a little laugh.
“Guess I won’t have to hear you fail at playing that thing for at least a few days.”
She goes to grab his wrists to force his arms off of his face and everything happens fast after that. He yanks his arms out of her grip and punches her hard in the stomach. He almost gets away than, twisting around a little, but his hand isn’t too happy about being used again so soon and he ends up curled over in pain. She turns him back too easily.
He’s definitely angry and he’s definitely been crying, but everything is pointed right at Trina now, a venomous concentrated glare twisting her brother’s tear-streaked baby face. He pushes at her as hard as he can, kicking at the ground, everything about him screaming for her to get off, but his pain’s on Trina’s side. She pins his hands down, grinding his bones against the concrete.
“What happened this time? Bore-ageband get kicked offstage? Or could you not even find anyone who felt bad enough to let the kiddies play around in their place for a while?”
She’d looked up as she spoke, grinning to herself at the thought and imagining Corey holding everything in in front of the ankle-biters he always forces to hang around him. But when she looks down at him, she frowns. He’s frowning, sure, but it’s a vague thing, and his eyes are all spacey and his face is too lax and he’s not fighting her at all.
She hates when Corey does that, tries to check out on her.
She lets go of his hands and he doesn’t move at all. She shoves her hands up his sleeves and scratches down his arms, hard enough to leave angry marks that’ll last a few days, and his eyes drift toward her lazily, like she’d just said the weather was nice last Wednesday.
He looks at her neck very curiously, like it’s a brand new feature of Trina, and the way he reaches up and wraps his hands around it is so strange she doesn’t even realize she should stop him until he’s pulling her down toward him. His nails are digging into the back of her neck and his thumbs are pressed into the front and his lips are on hers and he bites her lip the second she tries to pull away.
It takes almost too long for common sense to kick in. At first she tries prying his hands off herself, but her grip isn’t too great at this point, so she simply punches him in the face as hard as she can, which isn’t too hard either, but he seems to get the picture and lets go.
She sits up, breathing and rubbing at her neck. He watches her. He’s still not all there, but he’s smiling a little now. He puts his hands on her thighs, just kind of places them there, a bit too high up.
It’s kind of hard to talk, but she gets out, “No wonder your lyrics are so bad, you mess around with your sister instead of dealing with your problems like a normal person.”
He sits up. His voice doesn’t really sound right. “No wonder Nick won’t even look at you, he must know you mess around with your little brother instead of even trying with other boys like a normal person.”
She growls, but instead of trying to hit him or getting up she twists her fingers in his hair and starts kissing him again. His arms loop around her waist and pull her closer. She goes for his neck, trying to leave as nasty of a hickie as possible as high up as she can. Their hips start moving and she’s back against his mouth and he’s making his annoying little noises and—
Corey stops. His mouth closes and his hands are pushing her away. He moves his face to the side when Trina keeps trying to kiss him and he’s saying, “Stop stop stop stop,” and he starts crying before Trina can even process his words and actually stop.
She looks at him for a moment and then pushes herself up, off of him, just to lean back down and pull him up too. He lets her lead him to her room and she doesn’t say anything when he curls up in her bed, dirty shoes and all, and he seems alright with her sliding in next to him and pulling his head against her chest, running her hands through his hair. Corey keeps crying and Trina’s pretty sure she looks thoughtful, staring into the darkest corner of her room, but her mind is completely blank.