looking at me. He physically pushes me out of the way as he stalks to my canvas. Shit. Fuck. Bloody fucking hell. Sweat trickles down my back as my brother loo

wanting to bring it down and hide everything it represents. For some reason, I feel completely raw and naked in front of him. Like that night he hugged me for the last time. My brother clutches me by the shoulder and spins me around so that we're both looking at the chaos of red and yellow. The fiery explosion my fingers made in translation of the chaos brewing in my mind. "If that's a fluke, do it all the time, Bran. Seriously, this is your best work in a long time." He squeezes my shoulder. "I told you everything would get better if you stopped shackling yourself." I tense. No. I am still shackling myself. I can't stop doing that. I'm in control. Control. Control. Control. He turns me around to face him as I'm about to lose my fucking shit and spiral down that nasty road. His eyes are narrowed. "Please tell me this isn't because you got back with Clara." "What does she have to do with it...?" Sometimes I forget we're together. I keep making up all sorts of excuses to not meet at night-or even during the day-and send her designer bags and shoes as compensation. "She's flaunting you all over her IG like an attention whore." "Lan! That's so rude." "Well, she is. A gold digger, too." He f