Disclaimer: I own no one, blah, blah, blah…
I watch you sitting there, one of our best friends on your lap. You whisper something in his ear and he giggles, a slight blush gracing his smooth face.
Damnit, why does it have to be you?
I can't be jealous of him. In fact, I'm glad that if you have to be with anyone that it's him. I love him like a brother.
Like a brother?
No, I take it back. I don't love him like a brother. Because the way I love you is anything but brotherly. It's like the way you love him.
I curse God and the Devil. I curse them every day of my life.
Sometimes, I wonder where I'll go when I die, because they both seem to hate me. They must sit on their thrones in their respective kingdoms, laughing at what they've done to me, at what they still do to me. Bastards.
With a sigh, I get up off of my seat and walk out of the bar, going up to my room. Our room.
I frown, knowing that you'll soon join me here and I'll have to watch you sleep, listen to you breathe.
Once again, I curse God and Satan. Why did they have to make me fall in love with you? With my own brother?
I wonder what our dad would say. He's just finally coming to terms with the fact that we're gay, how would he feel if I told him that I love you, my brother, that I want you more than I've even wanted anyone else in my whole life?
I laugh. I know what'd he'd say. He'd tell me to get away from him and from you. He'd tell me to stay the fuck away from you.
Incest.
In the old days, it wasn't considered a bad thing. People married cousins and siblings all the time. So why is it frowned upon now?
Gay incest.
That's even worse, huh? That's what I want from you. I want you and me to become lovers.
I hear the door open and you walk in.
"Hey, bro," you greet me.
I force a smile for you, knowing that if I don't, you'll ask if something is wrong. How am I supposed to answer that one? "No, you see, I'm totally in love with you, but I know that I can't have you and it's making me miserable." No big deal, right? I laugh to myself as you crawl into bed.
Listening to your soft, steady breathing, I can almost fall asleep. Almost. But, like every other night, sleep evades me.
I go into the bathroom and turn on the lights. Looking in the mirror, I'm almost surprised at how bad I look. The circles under my eyes are so dark that they're almost black and my skin is so pale, so white. I wonder briefly if I should take up tanning. I shake my head and look down.
There it is.
The razor blade.
Light causes the metal to glitter a bit and I admire it. My hand absorbs the coldness of it, turning it warm as I hold it in my hand. I roll up my sleeve, studying my forearm. There's a few scars here and there, and plenty of unhealed cuts, but nothing too bad anymore. It's been a couple days, and my arm has had time to lose the redness.
Why do I do it? I guess because I can't kill myself. I know that. I found that out a long time ago.
So I cut myself instead. Pain. It's the only emotion I feel these days, besides the love for you. I don't even feel the jealousy anymore.
Glancing at the mirror again, I frown at myself. I should take better care of myself.
With a sigh, I run the razor over a knuckle, making sure it's sharp enough for me. Satisfied that it is, I slide the blade over my wrist, reveling in the pain that follows. I do it again, loving the sight of my blood, concentrating on the pain in my arm.
When I'm done, I clean the blood away, off of the counter and out of the sink.
I glance at my arm as I leave the bathroom, my lips curving into a slight smile as I realize what I've done.
The cuts on my arm form the shape of an M.
An M.
That's for you, Matt. All for you. You've branded me, and you don't even know it. I'm yours, bro, all yours. I lay down on the bed and sleep finally comes to me.
Alright, now you've read the story. Pretty please review. *puppy eyes*
I watch you sitting there, one of our best friends on your lap. You whisper something in his ear and he giggles, a slight blush gracing his smooth face.
Damnit, why does it have to be you?
I can't be jealous of him. In fact, I'm glad that if you have to be with anyone that it's him. I love him like a brother.
Like a brother?
No, I take it back. I don't love him like a brother. Because the way I love you is anything but brotherly. It's like the way you love him.
I curse God and the Devil. I curse them every day of my life.
Sometimes, I wonder where I'll go when I die, because they both seem to hate me. They must sit on their thrones in their respective kingdoms, laughing at what they've done to me, at what they still do to me. Bastards.
With a sigh, I get up off of my seat and walk out of the bar, going up to my room. Our room.
I frown, knowing that you'll soon join me here and I'll have to watch you sleep, listen to you breathe.
Once again, I curse God and Satan. Why did they have to make me fall in love with you? With my own brother?
I wonder what our dad would say. He's just finally coming to terms with the fact that we're gay, how would he feel if I told him that I love you, my brother, that I want you more than I've even wanted anyone else in my whole life?
I laugh. I know what'd he'd say. He'd tell me to get away from him and from you. He'd tell me to stay the fuck away from you.
Incest.
In the old days, it wasn't considered a bad thing. People married cousins and siblings all the time. So why is it frowned upon now?
Gay incest.
That's even worse, huh? That's what I want from you. I want you and me to become lovers.
I hear the door open and you walk in.
"Hey, bro," you greet me.
I force a smile for you, knowing that if I don't, you'll ask if something is wrong. How am I supposed to answer that one? "No, you see, I'm totally in love with you, but I know that I can't have you and it's making me miserable." No big deal, right? I laugh to myself as you crawl into bed.
Listening to your soft, steady breathing, I can almost fall asleep. Almost. But, like every other night, sleep evades me.
I go into the bathroom and turn on the lights. Looking in the mirror, I'm almost surprised at how bad I look. The circles under my eyes are so dark that they're almost black and my skin is so pale, so white. I wonder briefly if I should take up tanning. I shake my head and look down.
There it is.
The razor blade.
Light causes the metal to glitter a bit and I admire it. My hand absorbs the coldness of it, turning it warm as I hold it in my hand. I roll up my sleeve, studying my forearm. There's a few scars here and there, and plenty of unhealed cuts, but nothing too bad anymore. It's been a couple days, and my arm has had time to lose the redness.
Why do I do it? I guess because I can't kill myself. I know that. I found that out a long time ago.
So I cut myself instead. Pain. It's the only emotion I feel these days, besides the love for you. I don't even feel the jealousy anymore.
Glancing at the mirror again, I frown at myself. I should take better care of myself.
With a sigh, I run the razor over a knuckle, making sure it's sharp enough for me. Satisfied that it is, I slide the blade over my wrist, reveling in the pain that follows. I do it again, loving the sight of my blood, concentrating on the pain in my arm.
When I'm done, I clean the blood away, off of the counter and out of the sink.
I glance at my arm as I leave the bathroom, my lips curving into a slight smile as I realize what I've done.
The cuts on my arm form the shape of an M.
An M.
That's for you, Matt. All for you. You've branded me, and you don't even know it. I'm yours, bro, all yours. I lay down on the bed and sleep finally comes to me.
Alright, now you've read the story. Pretty please review. *puppy eyes*