A\N: So...this is the last chapter. I've really fallen in love with Curly over the course of this story, and I'm hoping to write some more fics in his point of view. There aren't many out there! Thanks for reading, you guys.

CHAPTER 3

My face buried into my pillow, I cried my eyes out. All my life, all I've ever wanted was for Tim to love me, to tell me that I did a good job, to tell me that I was a good kid. And just when I was cocksure he was beginning to care for me, he tells me that his feelings were quite the opposite. In fact, from what I heard, he hated me. My role model, gang leader, idol, and most importantly brother hated my guts. All because I wasn't a good fighter.

To whom was my fighting ability being compared to anyways? Buck Merril was half the fighter I was, but he was taller and eighteen (I was fourteen) so that must have given him a bonus. God help me if I was being compared to Dallas Winston or Tim. I couldn't live up to their legacy, no matter how much I wanted to. I could never be as good of a fighter as them, especially not my brother.

I could hear uneven footsteps coming up the stairs, but I ignored them. I lifted my head and examined the pillow below me. I looked down at it to find dark wet marks of my bodily fluids all over it. My heart sank deeper into the pit of my stomach. I was being such a fucking girl.

I didn't know why this situation bothered me as much as it did. And it bothered me that I didn't know why this was bothering me. I pictured Tim still standing on our front porch, lighting himself another one of my cigarettes, and I bet he already had forgotten about the fight that we just had. Was it even a fight? He just told me what he thought about me, and my pathetic reaction was shedding tears and falling to pieces. It wasn't a fight. It was a rationalization.

I flipped my pillow over, so I wouldn't have to lay down on my snot, droll, and tears. My eyes hurt when I blinked. I swallowed, and that hurt as well. I thought I had stopped crying, but I could taste the salty tears as they came into my mouth, and I could feel them tickling my cheeks. I closed my eyes tight, hoping that it would squeeze all the tears out. But they just kept coming.

When I opened my eyes, my heart sunk. My door was opening. Quickly, I turned the covers over my head so that whoever was coming in wouldn't see my red eyes and wet cheeks.

"Hey, Curly, Angela and mom fucked up my room, so I'm sleeping in here for tonight, okay?" Tim. At the sound of his voice, my fists clenched around the sheets. "Oh, and I'm not taking 'no' as an answer." He paused. "Curly, I know that you're not sleeping. Don't play me as a fool."

My throat hurt, and I began to cry again. I wasn't sobbing, as much as my eyes were wet. "G-…go away, Tim." I told him, but my voice cracked something awful, and it was completely obvious that I was crying.

"Curly, I'm staying here for the night. It's not like you can fight me for the rights to your room, because you know I'll win," he cracked playfully, but it really hurt me instead of made me laugh.

I couldn't take it. I ripped the covers off of me and screamed at him, "Fuck you, Tim! Get the hell out of my room! I hate you!"

I scanned him through my blurry eyes. His mouth was handing open in some sort of disbelief. Not disgust like I had predicted, but pure shock. His blue eyes faltered at me, giving me the notion that he was searching for words to say. It took a long few moments until he actually said something. "Curly…" he said, calmer than I expected. "Are you…crying?"

"No, I'm not crying! Who do you think I am?" I said, but the tears came harder. I attempted to swat them away, but the only thing I succeeded in doing that was making my eyes redder.

I hid under the covers again, as if they were going to make me feel better. They didn't. "I'm sorry, Tim! I didn't mean it! I can't help it! I'm sorry!" I kept apologizing and apologizing, but I didn't know what for. Maybe I was apologizing for not being a good fighter, or I was apologizing because I was crying and Tim told me that I should never cry. Maybe I was telling myself that I was sorry, that I was sorry for myself that I didn't try hard enough, or that I was sorry for letting my big brother down. "I'm sorry, Tim…I really am….don't be mad, Tim…"

I peeked out from under the covers once I realized that he wasn't saying anything. He was still standing there, with that stunned look. He had washed up the blood on his face, but I could barely tell since my vision was blurred yet again. I felt bad looking at Tim and seeing him cut and broken and bruised, and then looking at me unscathed. Screw that; I wasn't unscathed. My heart was broken.

"Go away, Tim!" I shouted at him from under the covers, making my words slightly quieter. "I don't want you in here! I don't want to see you ever again!" I didn't mean what I was saying but something inside of me gave me an impulse me to say it, so I said it.

Tim took a step back like he was leaving, and I put my whole head under the covers, feeling the tears start back up again. It was dark under there and I liked it just fine. I heard a door slam from downstairs and assumed that Angela must have walked out. I didn't care anyways. I heard my bedroom door shut and I assumed that Tim had left like I told him to. So that meant I was alone. Again.

All I could hear was my staggered, post-cry breathing, and a few sniffles here and there. With each time I blinked, my eyelids got heavier. I was exhausted and I could have fallen asleep right there, but there was too much on my mind. I still didn't have any idea what that look on Tim's face meant. He could have been upset with me because I was crying, or maybe angry that I talked back to him. I didn't know.

Suddenly, I felt the blanket being pulled up from behind me. I could swear I was dreaming, but I felt a strong arm wrap around my side and hold me close. I inhaled the scent of who was there, and I smelled grease, blood, and coffee. That was Tim. He always smelled like coffee, even though he never drank it. I bit my tongue, keeping myself from saying anything, even though I really wanted to. I sat there, tried to settle down my breathing, but it kept coming out in those post-cry gasps.

"Curls," he softly got my attention, using a nickname I've never heard (or expected to) come out of his mouth. "Listen to me. If you tell anybody, and I mean anybody what I'm about to say, I'll have your hide, you understand?" I nodded to him, even though his he couldn't see that. "I took you out of the fight today because I knew that the Brumly outfit was stronger than me and Buck. And since I knew straight out that we were going to lose, I knew that I couldn't protect you. So I made you leave. Everything you told me outside, you were right." He paused, took a breath, and said, "Curly…I don't want anything bad to ever happen to you. And…I love you." He sighed. "There. I said it. You happy now? I love you, kiddo, but that's the last time you'll ever hear me say that, you understand? I love you." He said it three times, I smiled to myself. "What do you think about that?"

I quickly spun around in his grasp and nuzzled my nose into his chest. He kept his warm hold on me. "I think that's not a very tuff thing for you to say, is it?" Tim didn't say anything, but I could feel him smiling. "I love you too, Tim," I said, smiling into his black t-shirt, and wiping my wet eyes in it. "And I'm just kidding. I think that's the tuffest thing you've ever said."

With that, I fell asleep, dreaming about switchblades, cigarettes, and coffee.

THE END