4
Actually, I dreamed of twelve–year–old Lucas.
He wasn’t like this before.
He used to be a very good brother.
I was born picky with food, disliking this and that, but afraid of being scolded by adults. He could eat what I left without any disgust.
Unlike now, when he won’t touch a water glass I’ve drunk from.
When I was bullied at school, had my hair pulled, and my homework scribbled on, he was always the first to stand up for me, beating up those annoying boys, explaining to the teachers for me, and giving me his new notebooks.
I was very introverted as a child, and from a single–parent family. Without his protection, I probably would have been severely bullied.
Later, when my mom died, I cried until I nearly fainted.
I said, “No one wants me anymore.”
He said, “That’s not true.”
I repeated, and he repeated.
I sat on the ground crying all night, and he comforted me all night despite his toothache.
The next day, his whole cheek was swollen.
After that, I told him I liked him and threw myself at him half–naked.
His face was cold.
