I could help but try and stifle a laugh at Dav's words. I had always made it my job (as any younger brother would) to make his life more difficult then it already was. There were times when I did back off, things that were important to him or to me. But in the general sense, I enjoyed keeping him on his toes. Life was much more interesting that way, who cares if I came away with a few bruises?

I followed him back into the kitchen to watch him marvel at my genius. And it was genius, only someone of my skill would be able to do what I did. When he brings up my lack of microwave skills I could only chuckle again, "Someone had to test it out...and no one else would," and probably for a good reason. I rubbed the back of my head as if remembering that moment, "It was only a fork...but man, that light was awesome."

I watched that drip drop from the ceiling in almost slow motion. Wincing when it landed squarely on Dav's head, I shrugged in response to it. "I did one of these..." I say and make some type of twirling motion with my hands, I'd seen our sisters do it all the time. Remind me to never try and replicate cooking items. When he asks about Dominos my answer is almost instantaneous, "Eleven, I'll order two." I say, looking at the clock and realizing that it's a hell of a lot later than I thought it was. I picked up the phone to order two large pizzas. Because chances are, we'll devour both and go looking for more.

"I do have something for you though, I wasn't lying 'bout that" I say, suddenly a bit shy about what I was going to do. I had never done something like this before, nor had I really shown anyone else what I kept in my book and they wouldn't snoop unless I told them it was okay. I had never given the okay. Some things were better left private unless I felt the need to show it off. And I had today. While Dav had been sleeping, I'd gone out to find materials and lock myself away in the other bedroom.

I had propped a chair up in the middle of the living room to give myself time to fix it to my specifications, if this was the first time I was doing it then it damn well better be perfect. I could feel the electricity flowing through my body, excitement in something that I really enjoyed doing. I could feel my heart beating against my ribcage in perfect rhythm.

"So I...don't do this. Ever. Butâ€"" I shrug my shoulders in another sudden bout of shyness. I'd covered the artwork with a small sheet, the frame twisted to make it seem like I'd just gone out and gathered sticks from the park. It was set behind a piece of thin glass, "I thought you might like to see some of what I saw when I was...away." The picture itself was a drawing of a small boy, he couldn't have been older than eight or nine and he was dressed in the army green jacket I had taken with me. It swallowed him whole, his feet were bare, scuffed by the concrete and the gauntness of his cheeks told his story. I had drawn myself in there, kneeling just to the right of the boy who stood with his body facing mine and my hands on his shoulders with his sharp green eyes looking out at the room. The whole thing was done in black and white and the only color came from the boy's eyes and the green of the jacket.

I did have a heart. Somehow. Miraculously. I would give the shirt off my back to anyone who needed it, no matter the cost to myself and the boy in the picture had been more than worthy of it. I had avoided looking at the drawing, instead focusing on my bare feet. But I look up then to judge my brothers reaction, silent for once.