I couldn't think of this in any way but the most violent. It's not very long; it IS only a vignette, though.
His weight crushed down on me, arm pressing in under my chin. I opened my mouth, tried to draw a breath, but there was just nothing to pull in. I could feel the cold cobbles, wetness soaking into my shirt and pressing a pattern into my back.
He was crying. How strange, a part of me thought.
“Why did you have to do it? Why? God, why?” He was almost whining, and if we’d been in the middle of one of our many arguments I would have needled him for it. Is it any wonder I found comfort and safety in his brother’s arms?
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