The nineteen year old man child watched his sister peel her skin away just like she said, like sunburnt skin, with thinly disguised disgust that he swiftly hid the moment she looked in his general direction. "That's good, that it don't hurt none," he replied, slowly reverting to older speech patterns.
Jay instantly tensed up when the subject came around to him again. "It ain't like that, Paige," he shot back in a soft, tight voice. He was angry now. "I ain't got problems," he went on, enunciating the word sarcastically. "You say it like I crashed my daddy's car, or got in trouble with a girl from school. That'd be fucking problems," he repeated, and his features crumpled. "Don'tcha know what I lost?" he added, his voice crackling and his eyes filling with hot tears of rage. His grief and anger were still very raw. "Lemme give y'all a hint, I didn't break a string on my favorite guitar, dammit."
His mouth twisted and he shut his eyes tight to keep those tears from falling for a long moment. "I don't need no help. I can't be helped. I'm sorry about the babies, I am. And momma. I jus'... what am I supposed to tell them? Am I supposed to lie, to make them feel better. M'I supposed to say ahm feeling better? Well, I ain't. And I ain't lying to momma neither," he finished in a stubborn, miserable voice.