“Oh my God, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“Bless him, he was only young.”

“He’ll be safe in heaven, dear.”

“I would say it was a pity, but I don’t think I ever want to hear his voice again, so, it’s not really.”

The one voice that remained prominent in Carla’s mind after telling her friends about the death of her cousin was Mitchell’s.

All words of comfort and consolation and understanding were tossed aside as soon as the thunderstorm—purely an understatement— of a man gave his two cents on the situation at hand.

She truly believed in seeing the best in people. She did.

But it was incredibly hard when this person was her brother and quite possibly the worst human in all of existence.

The room silenced immediately, the three of Carla’s friends— Jess, Carter, and Dot— turning their heads sharply to watch as the new arrival entered the room; the solemn atmosphere that was interwoven with the room now changed to dread. His black leather boots shone and creaked against the wood of her upstairs living room, mouth permanently fixed in a half-scowl.

It was Dot who spoke first— a kinda mannered, red headed lady whose square glasses rested atop of her frizzy curls. “Surely you don’t mean that, dear.”

Carla sighed, tightening the dark pony she had applied to her hair. “Mitchell,” she spoke through her teeth, clearly a veteran of her brother’s utter apathy and disregard for anyone’s feelings. Her eyes glanced up as his stony ones, black, short locks nearly hiding them from view. “George was a good guy. He helped you out with your car once.”

Mitchell’s eyes raised to the roof of his head and then rolled back down, tutting his tongue.

“He really was. He let me crash at his place when I was having trouble finding my own place,” Carter brought up when there was silence.

“Always brought dog treats for Max,” Jess piped up. “And the good ones, too, not those cheap ones that are thinner then paper.”

“He was irritating. Constantly asking me to join in on his tennis games. What a pompous excuse for a man.”

“You can’t say that about a dead man? Do you have any manners at all? Now I can see why Carla dislikes you so much,” Dot uttered in a quick and squeaky breath.

“That’s fine; I never liked her in the first place. Too stubborn for my liking. Say, how did art school work out for you? Oh— that’s right. It didn’t.”

Carla gritted her teeth.

“Here we go again.”