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He nods once, but he doesn’t touch her as she kisses his neck, his chest, and then pulls down his pants. He squirms when she wraps her hand around his dick. He tries to get away when she slides her shorts down her legs and positions herself on top of him.
“I…don’t like this,” he whispers, and his voice is so low, I wouldn’t have heard it if I didn’t have the volume on high.
“Shh, hon. I promise you’ll enjoy it.” She jerks him a few more times. “See, you’re hard already.”
“Grace…” He gulps, red blotching his entire body. “I don’t think I like sex…please stop…”
“Nonsense, honey. Everyone likes sex.” She strokes his hair and then whispers, “You don’t want to be seen as a freak compared to your brother, do you, Bran? Your mum and dad would be so disappointed.”
He shakes his head once and she comes down on him in one go. He screams. And it’s not from pleasure.
He screams and it sounds like a “No…”
But I can’t listen to what he has to say anymore because she slaps a hand on his mouth as she moans. The muffled sounds that rip from him as he tries to wiggle away will haunt me for the rest of my fucking life.
“Mmmmno… Mmmm… Mmmm…”
A breaking sound echoes in the air and a burn spreads through my arm. I can tell I broke the glass and can feel water and blood sliding down my wrist and dripping onto the floor, but I can’t look away from his face.
The confusion.
The pain.
The anger.
Animalistic growls reverberate around me and I realize they’re mine. My body vibrates with rage so extreme, it fills my vision with black. Demons I didn’t know existed flood my bloodstream, and pressure forms behind my eyes.
As I watch and listen, I know, I just know that I’m never coming back from this.
36
BRANDON
Some days, I feel like I’m fine. I can breathe,somewhat, can move, run, talk, and smile.
I can exist and not suffer from the metaphorical bleeding in my fucked-up head.
On other days, I feel like I’m being punished for the good times. I’m being punished for feeling happy when I have no right to be.
Days where my wrist itches and my mind crumbles into a satire of burning emotions and throbbing pulses.
Days where it’s hard to breathe without choking on the gooey ink that’s been flooding my brain since the day I gave up control because of my screwed-up pride.
Today is one of those days.
Today started with waking up in the embrace of the most beautiful, most affectionate soul I’ve ever met and feeling like I got my fucking ink all over him.
I felt like I was tarnishing him, digging him deeper into the black fucked-up hole of my existence until he’d also be submerged in it.
Until he’d have no way out, like me.
That’s why I didn’t want him to see me. I didn’t wantanyoneto see me. Because the moment they get past the perfect image to look inside, they’ll find a grimy, spineless piece of fucking shit whose worst enemy is his own mind.
Nikolai woke up to me wiping the smudges from his chest and thinking I was stroking him. He smiled and I couldn’t look him in the eye without falling deeper into that muddy hole in my soul.
He smiled and it was okay for a while.
Until it wasn’t.
