Have you ever felt like the world was against you? Like, all of your actions caused the worst reactions? Like the world has dealt you the worst odds possible? Yes? No? Maybe? I have. I never thought something like this; something so…so foolish could actually happen to me. In my world, it made no sense.
Some would consider it disgusting, impossible, not right, and outright against all religions. Some may support it. Hell, some may even have DONE it. I'd heard of cases like this before, read it in magazines, seen it on the television…but never did I think that it would happen to me. My parents would be disappointed. The girls in school would be sad, but also happy, in a sick sort of way. They wouldn't think to put themselves in my shoes, to see what I see, feel what I feel.
They'd just see the outside.
It hurt a little, to know that I would be shunned for my life because of this. I should be used to it; I haven't befriended many people in my life. I've only had one person, but I couldn't tell even him this. I couldn't go run to the guidance counselor, or a therapist, or something like in that category. I couldn't tell my friends, the maids, family, classmates….dammit, I couldn't even tell my own brother! I had come to this realization a while ago, before I even accepted it.
I'm all alone.
It was scary, in a way. No one to hold you, to reassure you, to tell you that everything would be okay. I couldn't go to sleep and have this obstacle gone in the morning. I couldn't tell someone my problem, have them ask me how I felt about, and feel okay. It just doesn't happen that way. Sure, it worked for some people, but not for me. Nothing can save me from this hell, from how much I've broken and shattered inside. Nothing…
Well, actually, I lied. There was one thing. One thing that could sustain me from total desolation. One thing, and one thing only. It wasn't going to happen, I knew. But sometimes, in the dead of night, with everything besides the person beside me breathing silent, I liked to believe. To believe that, somehow, everything would work out. That every little thing in the essence of life was accepted; not shunned, or hated, or looked at like it was askew.
Then, to my disapprobation, the sun would rise, the alarm would ring, and I would be in the real world again. I remember, when this whole thing started, I wished every night that life was like a fairy tale, that every situation had a happy ending.
It didn't, though. Life just sucked like that. I keep telling myself I'll get over it; it will dissipate like some ridiculous stage that every adolescent goes through. That was…six months ago in two weeks. I came around from thinking that it would stop, and began to (slowly) accept the idea.
It was hard, believe me. I suppose it was –or is- for everyone that went through it. I gather I was hastily going insane, all the while trying to endure the facts. I knew my other half knew something was bothering me- he would ask and ask, even plead at some points.
I told him everything was fine, I was okay. When he didn't look like he accredited what I said, I would make up some pitiful excuse. He still didn't look like he fathomed my evasions, but he would keep silent and turn away. He wouldn't talk to me for the rest of the night.
That was probably what agonized me most. In our room, just the two of us, nothing but the scratch of pencils, or the blast of loud music playing through headphones pervading the air. He used to be a loudmouth, always having something to say or talk about. He liked to smart-mouth things. I barely talked, only when necessary, but I was quite comfortable with it.
His voice is considerably soothing.
But now, he is quiet. It doesn't fit him, I think. I've always known him as the talkative one. The one to always start conversations and fill awkward silences; not that there ever was any between us. We basically shared the same brains, the same thoughts, so we never felt even the slightest uncomfortable. I feel confused sometimes, when I'm staring at him, he would part his lips as if to say something, then close them and shaking his head. Almost like he was holding back on speaking to me.
I remember the first time he did that. How my heart had stuttered and picked up double. How my palms had grown sweaty. Especially how I had started shaking- thinking that he knew. But he still talked to me, still sat next to me, and didn't avoid me. It made me somewhat happy that he didn't know. I don't think I want him to.
If he wanted, he could probably read my journal to find out what's wrong with me- I have written everything in it. I heard a sensei of mine say it was good to write down your feelings. I have a nagging in the back of my head that he would find it, but I've hidden it well, I fathom. Somewhere he would never dare to look.
Every night is a nightmare for me. Every dream is the same. It feels so real and I could probably tell you everything that happens in detail. I won't, though. It's horrifying even to think about it. All I can tell you is that the look on his face is enough to make we wake up in a cold sweat, look over, and then slide next to him in the bed for comfort. Always-no matter the situation- he puts his arm around me and murmurs sweet nothings to sooth me. After that, I fall into blackness that I've grown custom to.
I don't like to think about it, because it makes my heart ache in a way that constructs me to hunch over and gasp out for air. He found me like that once- the look on his face just made it worse. He cared for me, cared for my health, but not as much as I cared for him. Never as much as I did for him.
When I saw that look, I crumbled to the floor and started to sob like I was a little toddler again.
I wonder what he would say, how he would react. I've considered telling him, showing, making him understand by any means necessary. But I chicken out every time. It sucks, really, to know that I'll never be happy, never be satisfied. I already accepted that, too. I feel accomplished. It takes months, years- a lifetime for some people to face the facts. I've accepted it prematurely. It gives me a sense of pride, oddly.
But never will I tell him. I will never find the right words to explain my feelings to him. It hurts to think about it, to write about it. I couldn't bear watching the look of horror dawn on his features while I stuttered my heart out. It would be like committing emotional suicide.
After all, how do you tell your brother that you've fallen in love with him?
*%*
I wrote this on a whim, oddly, it just came to me. Hope you like, there will be a second chapter. R&R!!
Sorry I kind of messed this up -blushes- I'm new with this sort of thing lol
enjoy
~ ISpeakSquirrelSqueak