Foreman didn't really want much more to eat. With Amber lying on top of him, compressing his stomach, he felt what he'd already eaten getting heavier. But he wasn't yet willing to give up having her as his own personal blanket. The apartment wasn't cold, but a little chilly, now that he wasn't moving around; having Amber on top of him helped. When she squirmed, though, he realized he must've been pulling a little too far. He rolled them back to their sides and loosened his grip, ostentatiously enough that she'd know he'd let go, not given up. He spooned up against her, chuckling softly at the idea of her kindness. Her brothers--what were their names? If he'd known, he'd forgotten--had probably cried for mercy more than once.
He was trying to picture Amber as a little girl with scabs on her knees, dirt on her face, and fury in her eyes, when she asked him about Marcus. "Nah, I always made him squeal." And then his mom had come to Marcus's rescue--where she always blamed Foreman, of course. Eric, you get off right now! Marc is littler than you. Don't you have any shame? What are people going to think, that I'm raising a bully or a nice young man? Strange how that had always managed to sting both their prides. His because he knew he should be above any provocation Marcus offered, and Marcus usually went whining after their mom, shrieking that he was so big enough, and she never let him win--of course, he'd always been about to. Foreman would keep his dignity and the peace for as long as he could, holding to his mom's words, while Marcus goaded him, until in the end--inevitably--he lost control again, and sat on him but good. "Not so nice, I guess."
It didn't really occur to him that they were edging close to things that ordinarily he'd knot up tightly and never let out. They were talking about when they were kids, not about Marcus as he was now, and that stopped his warning systems before they could get started. "Mom hated when we fought, but my dad would only stare at us like we were worms. Like he'd talk to us again when we'd smartened up." It had worked surprisingly well. Mostly. Foreman hooked his chin over Amber's shoulder. Finishing breakfast, going to the gym; they'd had plans, vaguely, but it didn't feel like they were on a timeline. No rush. "Did you get in trouble for, uh--" He grinned. "Being a good sister?"
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He was trying to picture Amber as a little girl with scabs on her knees, dirt on her face, and fury in her eyes, when she asked him about Marcus. "Nah, I always made him squeal." And then his mom had come to Marcus's rescue--where she always blamed Foreman, of course. Eric, you get off right now! Marc is littler than you. Don't you have any shame? What are people going to think, that I'm raising a bully or a nice young man? Strange how that had always managed to sting both their prides. His because he knew he should be above any provocation Marcus offered, and Marcus usually went whining after their mom, shrieking that he was so big enough, and she never let him win--of course, he'd always been about to. Foreman would keep his dignity and the peace for as long as he could, holding to his mom's words, while Marcus goaded him, until in the end--inevitably--he lost control again, and sat on him but good. "Not so nice, I guess."
It didn't really occur to him that they were edging close to things that ordinarily he'd knot up tightly and never let out. They were talking about when they were kids, not about Marcus as he was now, and that stopped his warning systems before they could get started. "Mom hated when we fought, but my dad would only stare at us like we were worms. Like he'd talk to us again when we'd smartened up." It had worked surprisingly well. Mostly. Foreman hooked his chin over Amber's shoulder. Finishing breakfast, going to the gym; they'd had plans, vaguely, but it didn't feel like they were on a timeline. No rush. "Did you get in trouble for, uh--" He grinned. "Being a good sister?"