Disclaimer: I Don't own Yu-Gi-Oh GX
Warnings: hints/brief mentions towards themes such as abuse. No pairings mentioned.
Brotherly love, fluff and angst together.
I wrote this in probably under an hour. Just to say thanks for all my readers for sticking around. And if I can write a whole fic in an hour, imagine how quick I'll be able to update I Wonder.
No One's Talking
The silence in this house, right now, is deafening. Me and my brothers never have really had detailed conversations. Any that we did have seemed to amount to them telling me what to do and me keeping my head down and getting on with it. Now I have something I need to discuss and it's never been harder for me to open my mouth.
There were the arguments of course, loud, long arguments that filled the house and which often came to blows (me on the receiving end). They haven't hit me all summer, but maybe that's because I haven't had the heart to answer back. Right now I'd rather be in the middle of a blazing row; anything as apposed to this total lack of sound. I'd gladly take a thousand bruises from them if it would undo what's happened.
It's not totally quiet of course. Not how you'd think of silence being. There's the clock ticking rhythmically and the sound of our knives and forks scraping against the plates. The pages of Slade's newspaper rustle and the keys on Jagger's laptop click. But no one is talking. And that's what I need right now. Strangely enough it's these sounds that are driving me totally insane more than anything else. They form a pattern that starts to get to me like a dripping tap. It's the clock, the plates, the paper, the keys. And still no one's talking. The clock, the plates, the paper, the keys. And still no one's talking. The clock, the plates, the paper-
I put my fork down to rest on my plate of untouched food. I take a deep breath. There's only one sound I can hear now and it's the beating of my own heart hammering uncontrollably. It blocks out everything else, even the silence.
"Slade..." I say it so quietly he can pretend not to hear me if he wants. However, he puts down the newspaper and looks up at me. Jagger looks away from the screen of his laptop too, even though I hadn't said his name. It must be the shock that someone is finally talking.
They're both looking at me now and once again I'm lost for words. I run my tongue across my dry lips, I swallow, I open my mouth and close it again. But I'm not backing down now; I promised myself today would be the day I told them. I make eye contact with one of my brothers (I'm not sure which one, I'm so busy concentrating on just breathing by this point) and it's like something in side of me finally pulls the trigger.
"I'vebeenraped." I repeat it almost straightaway. "I've been raped." All this time of wanting anything but silence and now I've suddenly broken it and I know I can't just let it creep back up yet. I haven't said enough.
"I was raped the week before the end of term."
And then I have to leave the room because they're too stunned to reply and without anyone moving, the only sound will be the clock ticking. That will drive me insane once and for all.
They'll be talking about me now; how could they not? I know this, but I don't want to risk catching any snippets of what they might be saying so I shove my headphones on and turn the volume up full while I lie on my bed and hold a pillow over my head.
I don't know how long I was like that before I realised, without hearing or seeing, that someone else was in the room. I switch the music off, remove the headphones, shift the pillow from my face. They're both standing in my doorway looking at me with an emotion I find hard to remember seeing in them before. They look like they care. They do care. They want to protect me.
I can hear someone crying. I realise with a jolt that it's me as my cheeks are damp with tears. They both reach me at the same time; Jagger on the right side of me, Slade on the left. Slade wraps his arms round me and lets me rest my head on his chest as I sob. He strokes my hair and doesn't attempt to stop me. Jagger rests one hand on my arm, just so I know he's there and holds my hand so I have something to grip, to keep me grounded in the room.
All my life they've told me not to cry. Men don't cry. Princetons don't cry. Crying shows weakness. But now they let me, my need greater than what they've ever taught me. This time it is OK to show emotion.
"Slade, Jagger...there's so much I need to tell you."