The house was too quiet.
Not the peaceful kind. The other kind. The kind that wrapped around your chest and held tight—waiting for the next door slam, the next broken glass, the next breath to come too loud.
It was late.
Talha and I were both in our beds, lights off, only the glow of our phones lighting up the ceiling every few seconds. The fan overhead spun slow, stirring hot air that didn't help anything.
Neither of us said much.
We didn't have to.
These last few nights had been brutal.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOQAo5t7Lv0
Our father had been in one of his storms—loud, mean, and hitting harder than usual.
He'd lost money again. A lot of it. Gambling.
And the guys he owed weren't the kind you make payment plans with.
They showed up at the door two nights ago.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOwh0R67wwA
One of them banged like he owned it. Another called Talha by name. One had a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a pipe in his hand.
Talha didn't flinch. Just stepped outside and shut the door behind him.
I watched through the window.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPUWoNqHe8K
He didn't let me come out.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqNDnAeeHDD
Didn't tell me how much it was, either.
He was gone all night.
Came back just before Fajr. His knuckles were raw. He could barely raise his arm. There was a bruise blooming across his ribs, and another across his jaw.
He made eggs like it was any other day.
And our father?
He didn't say thank you.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYP3cTaJ7Iq
Didn't ask where the men went.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1x7bwIoeVP
Didn't care that the debt was paid.
Just called him useless when he stumbled over his words.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡG71GF4MzFl
Then threw a remote at his back like it meant nothing.
I wrapped his ribs later that morning and didn't say thank you either.
Not because I wasn't grateful.
But because I was too damn angry I had a brother who had to keep doing this.
And a father who never stopped.
Just kept taking.
Kept swinging.
Like Talha wasn't the only reason this house was still standing.
My phone buzzed beside me, but I didn't check it. I was staring at the water stain on the ceiling that looked like a football if you tilted your head just right.
"I still feel sick," I mumbled.
Talha's voice was low. "F-from tt-training?"
"From thinking about Manchester."
He didn't say anything at first. Just kept scrolling like he hadn't heard me—but I knew he had.
"What if I don't make it?" I asked.
"Y-you m-might."
"Don't say might."
Another silence.
"It's gonna be expensive," I added. "Flights. Gear. Everything. You think the Begovićs'll cover it?"
Talha finally looked over.
"Th-they've done m-more for y-you th-an m-most f-families do f-for th-eir o-own," he said. "Y-you never for-forget th-that."
"I don't," I said quickly. "I swear, I don't."
He nodded. "G-good. Be-cause e-every-thing Amina and A-adem have, y-you have t-too. But n-not be-because you're o-owed it. Be-cause th-they love y-you. You m-meet h-help with grr-gratitude. A-always."
"I do."
I meant it.
But it sat heavy in my chest.
Because Talha had just spent God knows how much covering a debt that wasn't his. He was limping through the house, ribs wrapped, mouth bloodied, hands torn—and now I was here, asking if someone else could pay for my way out.
I wasn't just scared I wouldn't make it.
I was scared I would—and it would cost the person who had already lost everything to get me there.
"I shouldn't go," I muttered.
Talha stopped scrolling.
"Y-you're g-going. I-if y-you get in y-you're gg-going."
I looked over. His voice wasn't sharp—but it left no room.
"Y-you h-hear me, T-tarik?"
"I hear you."
My throat burned.
And I hated that I wanted to cry more from the way he said you're going than I had when the men came to the door.
It stuck in my chest—tight and hot—until the phone buzzed again beside me.
I finally reached for it, needing something else to look at. Something lighter.
Group chat: Tripletz 💥
Amina had sent a screenshot. The new guy. Again. This time texting her directly.
SLIMY: hey was thinking maybe we could hang out sometime? ur chill af
Then another:
SLIMY: respectfully—u fine
Then the kicker.
AMINA: respectfully—fuck off
Still, he tried again.
SLIMY: haha ok but like... you didn't say no?
Amina followed up with a voice note and a caption:
AMINA: what do guys hear when a woman says fuck off??? like. does it translate to "i'm shy"? "convince me"? i'm genuinely asking.
And then:
AMINA: "chill af"?? bro i almost got in a fistfight with a referee last week. read the room.
I couldn't stop laughing. My whole chest shook with it.
Talha looked over from his bed, one eyebrow raised. "What?"
I tossed him my phone. "Group chat. Amina's roasting some guy again."
He caught it one-handed, stared at the screen.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡg25UaEwlqc
Didn't ask questions.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzpvpVwfHj5
Didn't laugh.
Just read.
I waited for the usual eye-roll. The smirk. Something.
Instead, he handed the phone back, jaw tight.
"K-keep an e-eye on h-him."
That was all he said.
But his voice had gone flat. Cold.
I blinked. "He's harmless. Persistent, yeah. But kind of pathetic."
Talha didn't say anything.
I leaned back on my pillow. "I mean... can you blame him? Amina's awesome."
Still nothing from his side of the room. Just the low hum of the fan and the glow of his phone lighting up the bruises on his face.
I figured he'd zoned out again. Happens when he's tired.
So I didn't push.
But I kept the phone in my hand. And I made a mental note to shove the guy a bit harder at practice tomorrow.
Because Talha might've gone quiet.
But I'd heard him the first time.
Then the front door opened.
Just like that, the air changed.
We both went still.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWxEQQ23SYF
Not frozen—just... bracing.
The quiet wasn't quiet anymore. It was waiting.
I counted the steps in my head.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ67ZqzFjfny
Slow. Heavy. Off-balance.
Straight to the fridge.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPvujpAqPtx
Then the crack of a beer can.
And just like that, the night got darker.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvZ6TTxreny
Not outside.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRtD2LEe0Pf
Inside.
The fridge closed. A pause.
Then my mother's voice—soft, careful. "Do you want something to eat?"
A grunt. Thick. Slurred. "Where are the boys?"
"They've already eaten."
Another beat of silence.
Then: "You think we're gonna eat in this house like strangers?"
The hallway creaked.
One step. Two.
Then his voice—loud, ugly, and coming straight for us.
"Both of you. Out here. Now."
Talha was already moving before the last word hit. Barefoot. Sore. Still the first one up.
Always the first one up.
I followed.
We stepped into the hallway, and Talha shifted slightly—just enough to put himself in front of me, like he always did.
The dining room was too bright after the dark. Our mother was already there, quiet hands setting down plates we didn't need.
We sat.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡznuCtS3oqW
Not because we were hungry.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6QMtCd4AnD
Because when that man called, you didn't stay in bed.
You showed up.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDMwI6gRYrW
Or he came to get you.
And that was always worse.
Our father sat last.
He cracked his knuckles like the silence bothered him. Then looked straight at me.
"How's school?"
I didn't look up. "Fine."
"Just fine?"
I shrugged. "Yeah."
"How's football?"
"It's good."
"Not great?"
My fork paused. "It's good."
He stared at me too long.
"You think I'm stupid?"
"No."
"Then why the attitude?"
"There's no attitude," I muttered, eyes still on my plate.
Wrong tone.
Too flat. Too sharp. I knew it the second it left my mouth.
He shoved his chair back.
It happened fast.
The scrape of wood. The sudden breath in my chest.
Then Talha moved—quick, instinctive—like he'd been waiting for it.
He stood before our father did. Planted himself between us without saying a word.
Didn't raise his voice. Didn't look afraid.
Just stood there. Solid. Tired. Unmovable.
My father's arm stilled midair.
Then dropped.
Always in the damn way," he muttered, turning his attention to Talha like he was the problem.
Like he hadn't just been about to hit his youngest son for sounding tired.
Talha didn't flinch.
Didn't back down.
But when our father stepped forward, swinging wild, Talha moved fast—forearm up, blocking the first hit hard enough to knock the bastard back a step.
It didn't stop him.
He came back swinging.
This time, the hit landed. A crack across Talha's jaw that snapped his head sideways.
I didn't breathe.
I was behind him now, half-pinned between his body and the wall.
He didn't let me move. Didn't let me through.
Another punch.
Then another.
And then it wasn't just fists. It was everything. Rage, beer, humiliation, all packed into boots and elbows and hate.
Talha took it.
Didn't fight back.
Didn't even raise a hand.
I tried to get between them—tried to pull Talha back, do something—but he shoved me hard with one arm, slamming me back against the wall.
"Ssss-stay th-there," he growled, voice wrecked.
Another blow caught my side. I doubled over, gasping. One more clipped my shoulder. I couldn't get out of the way fast enough.
And still—Talha held the line.
Until he couldn't anymore.
Until his knees buckled and he dropped—right there, in the middle of the room, hands braced on the floor, breathing like every inhale hurt.
Our father stood over him, chest heaving.
Then he spat.
Right on him.
Right on Talha's head like he was nothing.
And that—that—was what broke me.
Not the punches. Not the bruises. Not even watching my brother collapse.
It was that spit now sliding down his neck
That filthy, final insult.
That smug, cowardly fuck you from a man who knew Talha wouldn't fight back.
Talha could kill him.
We all know it. With his bare hands, he could end him.
But he won't.
Because Talha's a better man than he'll ever be.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjra1O8BA6z
Because he thinks protecting us is worth more than punishing him.
But I don't.
I don't forgive. I don't accept. I don't care.
I want him to burn.
I want Allah to take his soul, rip it out of his chest, and drag it into the pit of Jahannam where every angel turns their back on him in disgust.
I want fire. I want rot. I want his screams.
Because if there's a hell—and I need there to be a hell—he belongs in it.
Not someday. Now.
I want his grave to be lonely. I want the worms to eat through his tongue first, so he never curses my brother again.
I want every bruise on Talha's body to echo in his grave for eternity.
Because Talha has spent his life bleeding for people who don't deserve him.
And our father—that bastard—he doesn't deserve to breathe the same air.
So I pray. And I meant it.
Every word.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpat4Rpmx1A
Every time I've said it since I was a child.
Because my brother was worth ten of him.
And he knew it.
That's why he kept swinging.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhj71tjpMVo
And why Talha never did.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
This one’s called Spit & Screams because “Therapy & Allah, Please Handle This Bastard Personally” felt a little long.
Talha didn’t swing.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRZZ4ZfXryH
Tarik couldn’t.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ837fP46wwp
So he begged Allah to do it for him.
And honestly?11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqIRibdxjzt
Same.
-Ash&Olive
11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡM5no6kzRxr
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