Cortland
I drown in a sea of stupidity, my mind a churning whirlpool of self-loathing and regret. The hotel room feels suffocating, its generic beige walls closing in on me like the walls of my own conscience. The air conditioning hums, a monotonous drone that fails to cool the heat of my shame.
Carrington plops down next to me, his muscular frame causing the worn couch to groan in protest. His busted lip oozes blood, a crimson testament to some recent altercation. The metallic scent of blood mingles with his cologne, creating an oddly fitting aroma for my bull-headed brother.
"What mangled your face?" I inquire, my curiosity momentarily overshadowing my self-pity. My eyes trace the jagged cut on his lip, wondering what kind of force could mar my seemingly indestructible sibling.
Carri
