Chapter Text
"You don't even know that, you've never even been to a party with me," Mack mutters, hurt.
For the past five years, his brother had only been around Mack when he had no other choice.
His hands tremble as he takes off his skates and shoves them under the bench.
"I don't have to," Aiden replies in a dangerously calm voice. "I know you and that's enough to know how incredibly unbearable you are."
The whole locker room falls instantly so silent you could hear a pin drop. Aiden has never said anything so mean to him and certainly not in front of others.
Something inside Mack breaks, thousands of tiny shards pierce his heart and lungs, leaving him gasping for air. No matter how difficult the relationship between them was, he always believed that somewhere deep beneath Aiden's cold manner was still his older, loving brother, who did everything to make him laugh.
Mack once read that you could suppress tears by plugging your ears. Obviously it's not true, because hot tears are still streaming down his cheeks. His skin burns and itches simultaneously, and all he can think about is how much Aiden hates him.
How satisfying it must be for the others to see someone finally say what they all probably think about him anyway.
How stupid of Mack to even believe that anyone could like him.
He's so starved for human interaction and affection that he's as dumb as moths, attracted to light and then flying straight into an open flame and burning up.
Even more tears blur Mack's vision as he stands up to hit Aiden with the only weapon he knows.
"I'll tell Dadda that you're mean to me."
The threat doesn't have nearly the effect Mack had hoped for. On the contrary, no sooner has he spoken the words than his teammates burst into loud laughter.
"Fucking snitch!" Aiden snarls, the only one not laughing, but glaring angrily at Mack.
Mack swallows. He shouldn't have said that. But what choice does he have when he can't stand up for himself and no one except Rick Celebrini has ever taken his side?
Aiden has his friends and the team, who all stick by him, though his circle of friends overlaps with his teammates anyway. That leaves no one for Mack.
"Aidy," he whispers, using the old nickname from back when they were kids and Macklin couldn't pronounce Aiden's name properly.
He tries to make eye contact with his brother, but Aiden looks so angry that he can only hold his gaze for a few moments.
"Can you even do anything besides run to Dad and tattle?"
Mack's compression shirt rubs against his sweaty skin. The feeling is disgusting, he hates it. He just wants to go to his room, take off the uncomfortably tight compression garment, wash off the sweat and snuggle into his bed.
Wordlessly, he strips off the rest of his gear until he's standing there in just his compression clothes. He can practically feel the others' stares boring into him.
The laughter dies down only slowly, but he barely hears it. Everything sounds muffled and distorted as if someone has stuffed cotton wool in his ears.
"Hockey," he finally mutters. "I can play hockey very good. Better than you."
Leno whistles. "Kid's suddenly got a sharp tongue."
"Alright, guys, it was a tough practice today and we're all a bit exhausted and irritable right now. Why don't we sleep a night over it and talk again tomorrow?", Will interjects before Aiden can reply.
The last thing Mack wants is to ever talk about this, not tomorrow, not ever.
He can only handle so much rejection and he's already exceeded that limit long time ago.
His whole body trembles as he grabs his gym bag, carelessly stuffing in all the parts of his gear he's not leaving in the locker room until the next practice.
"Macklin.", Will says in that annoyed tone everyone seems to use when talking to Mack.
A warm hand lands on his shoulder.
Suddenly, Mack is back in his room in bu a few months ago and the hand on his shoulder is now between his shoulder blades, pinning him down. The smartphone camera is pointed at him but he can't stand up, the grip is too tight.
Mack cries out. Panicked, he tries to break free, trying to hit everything he can reach.
He scratches and bites like a ravenous animal until the grip finally loosens and a metallic taste fills his mouth.