He'd been so good. It'd been so long. So long, since the last… since the last.
He'd kept himself strung tight, moving fast, without a moment to stop – and it had worked, for this past year, it had worked so well. He'd stretched himself out to cover that gaping, empty chasm and it didn't matter if it was too thin. All that mattered was that it was covered and that he could act normal and laugh and love his baby brother.
But tonight had stretched the chasm, slightly too f a r.
And how he had snapped.
No tears – of that at least, he was proud.
Instead, there was a numbness that settled like thick, thick snow; that reached inside and gripped his heart, and muffled the roar of the great big fire within. It slumbered the fighting will inside and roused instead the spirits of despondency and pity he had fought so long to keep away.
And with that numbness, had come the beautiful dancing lines, weaving themselves around his skin, like a too-familiar guest, like an ivy vine climbing and winding up its host.
He'd locked himself in the bathroom, flicked the shower on, and went at it like a man possessed. Over old scars and battle wounds and empty patches of skin – he did not discriminate. Such a stark relief, like some pressure had finally dissipated, through the gaping mouths in his skin.
He had gone on and on, as if to make up for lost time, the year of goodness and repent all dissolving into weeping sin – on and on and on and on… until now, sated as best as he could be and a painter, out of prized canvas…
As he curled his arms around his knees, rocking absentmindedly, he was sorry the bathroom tiles were now dyed red but he was sure Sammy wouldn't mind, as long as he cleaned up before he got back, from that beautiful girl's apartment. Sure that Sammy would love that girl better than he could love this broken down brother, with nothing but scars as a fortress and an empty soul to offer.