Mable was still sitting quietly on her bed when her brother returned to the room.  She felt sick.  She couldn't bring herself to look at him, the hypocrite.  The traitor, the liar.

Unfortunately for her, her brother was feeling talkative.

"Well, what was that, then?" he asked, leaning against the wall.  "I've never known you to be so - mean, before, Mable!  What is even your - your problem..."

He asked it like he wasn't expecting an answer.  Mable looked at him, watching him without moving her head.  He just continued to stumble towards the table, where he'd left the baton.

"Honestly, I can't even - you, you know you made him so sad, Mable?  And here I was thinking you'd be - happy for me.  He's my first friend, and I'll have you know that he likes me quite a lot."  Her brother smiled at that.  "A lot a lot."

"Where did you get that?"  Mable nodded to the baton.  Her brother blinked at her, and then at it.  His smile fell.

"I already told you, I don't - wanna talk about that."

"You told Francis."

He clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes in an overdramatic gesture.  "Francis isn't my baby sister," he said, falling into the chair.  "You don't need to know about - about that kind of stuff."

Mable tried to frown against the tears welling in her eyes, but it only made them pool faster.  She didn't need to know about what her own brother was doing during the day, what kind of trouble he was getting into?  But he had to know everything about her own life?!  How was that fair?!

"Francis is a boy," she said around the lump in her throat.  Her brother froze at that, and Mable cursed her watery voice, but she was not spared a glance.

"Yes, he is.  So what?"

"So what!" Mable cried.  "So what!  Boys are dangerous, they'll take advantage of you, you need to be more careful, you can't just show a boy you just met your room, be alone with him with the door closed, its not proper!"

Fat tears fell down her cheeks now, and her brother just stared.  Didn't even move from the table to try to hug her, or comfort her, not that she even wanted him to.  He stunk of rain and sweat and alcohol.  He smelled like their father.

She was so certain she was going to vomit.

"Francis - is - so kind to me," her brother finally replied, his words hissed through teeth.  "He calls me - handsome, and - and lovely, and he just wants to be my friend because he's so sweet, and you - you hate him for no reason!"

"No reason?  You're drunk!  He got you drunk!"

"I got myself drunk," he spits, "Francis just kept me company."

"What about me?"  Mable hit her hand on the bed, gasping for air in between words and sobs.  "I'm right here!  I could have kept you company, and you wouldn't have even needed to get drunk!"

"Maybe I wanted to get drunk, Mable, how about that?  How am I supposed to bring you into a bar to drink with me?"

"You shouldn't even be allowed in bars!"  She was only aware that she was screaming because her throat hurt.  She couldn't stop.  "You're still a boy, what if he hurt you?"

He just shakes his head, completely disregarding the question.  "Francis wouldn't do that."

Mable felt invisible.  Talking to her brother like this was impossible.  She couldn't do anything but cry, and she felt silly for doing so.  She wanted her brother to hug her and comfort her and tell her it was going to be okay, but her brother was not here.  The boy at the table was not her brother.

"Stop - stop crying," the boy said, "why - what are you crying for?  Don't cry, Mable..."  But she couldn't stop.

She brought her legs up to her chest and hid her face in them, arms around her head.  She heard the boy speaking, saying something, but he couldn't hear him, and she didn't care.  A moment later, she felt a weight settle beside her on her bed.

"Mable," the boy said, pleading with her.  "Mable, please look - look at me, please stop crying..."

He sounded like her brother, and when Mable looked up, it looked like her brother.  But this close, she could smell the alcohol on his breath and gagged.  The boy leaned away from her, setting a hand on her shoulder.

"Mable, oh, Mable," he said, over and over again.  "It's okay, it's okay," but it wasn't.

She cried in a stranger's arms for she didn't even know how long, but it felt like days.  Reprieve came in the form of sleep, taking her as quick as a snap, and not letting her go until morning.