Reviews! Please people, I actually kinda want flames just to see what you don't like about my story.
Fang's POV
I stifle a groan as I wake up, confused and disoriented where …. the alley. Right, slowly I put a hand to my head and slowly open my eyes. I feel like crap. Of course, I instantly jump up, not recognizing where I am. It's a house; I'm in the living room, on the couch. Well, I was on the couch. Now I'm looking around for the door trying to see through the black and white spots clouding my vision.
"Hey, hey, lay down, you're sick and hurt," a man says.
I whirl around and see the man from the alley sitting on a chair watching me, an open book in his lap.
"Who are you?" I hiss, taking a step back.
"It's me Nick, your brother. It's Christian," he says earnestly.
"I'm not Nick!" I shout. The last shred of Nick died the day I ran away. "And I don't have a brother."
Nick was weak. Nick submitted to my father. Nick was a whimp who never fought back. Nick was a worthless little shit.
Nick's not completely dead though. Nick comes back. Nick takes all the blows. Nick takes all the hits. Nick submits to the men and what they want.
I'm the strong one. I fight back. I scream and fight and kick until the last second, until Nick breaks free of the bonds.
He's not really a multiple personality; he's just a way for me to distance myself a little more from what happens to me. I pretend Nick takes the blows and I take the pain. It works.
I turn my attention aback to the man, Christian. He looks like I just slapped him.
"No… Nick… I know it's been 9 years… you were only 6…but you can't have completely forgotten me…" he says in a sort breathless voice.
I stagger back a few steps. "I am not Nick," I firmly say.
"Yes you are," he says, almost desperately. "Nicholas Dante. You have a twin sister, Lauren Dante. Our mother is dead. Our father is Christopher Dante and I am your brother, Christian Dante."
"No, no, no, no!" I yell, backing away further.
Raven…Lauren…Ra-Lau-Rav-Laur-Rave…Lauren…her real name, Lauren. She always hated it. Nicholas… I never had a problem until all I heard when anyone said my name was my Father's acidic voice.
We were 8 when Raven said we needed to get away from him. Have our own little secret from him. She came up with Fang for me, I came up with Raven for her.
She insisted everyone call her Raven, everyone but our father who never knew about our nicknames. She made all her friends call her Raven, teachers too, but she still answered to Lauren. The only time I answered to Nick, after she named me Fang, was to my father.
"Yes, Nick come on think. I know you remember me," he presses.
"No!"
I'm dully aware of falling to my knees and clutching my head as a rush of memories floods my mind.
Raven and I sitting on Christian's lap as he reads to us. Christian teaching us to swim at the local pool. Christian jumping between me and our father. Christian getting hit. Christian getting hurt. Christian screaming while Raven and I hide in my room. Christian slipping into my room one night, thinking I'm asleep. Standing for a minute, a hushed 'I'm sorry' a whispered 'goodbye', a hand lightly brushing my cheek as it pulls the covers up. Falling back into a peaceful sleep. Knowing my big brother Christian was watching over me. Waking up to the worst day of my life.
Nonono! "No!" I shout. I blocked these memories for a reason. Made it look like he never existed. Dad didn't talk about him. I didn't let myself remember him. Raven… she never tried to talk about him. Except once. Just once, we had just turned 7, a couple weeks after Christian had left.
"Nick, when's Christian coming back." she asked me as I tenderly bandaged a cut on my arm.
"Who?" I replied coldly, having already convinced myself he never existed.
"Our brother Nick. Our older brother. He'd be 17 now. Tall, dark hair green eyes."
"We don't have a brother. We don't have any older siblings. It's just us and him."
"But Nick," she says almost desperately.
"Me, you and him, Lauren. That's the way it is, always has been, always will be."
She looked at me sadly then nodded. "You and me." Uncertainty.
"You and me," I confirmed.
She never brought him up again after that.
"Nick." Christian says with concern.
"I'M NOT NICK!" I shout.
"Ok, ok," he says obviously trying to calm me down.
I get up and turn to go, walk out on him like he walked out on me, but before I get a step his voice stops me.
"Please! Don't go Ni-… You're sick and hurt and you've got to be starving. Please stay for a bit. I want to talk to you."
"Why? Why should I? Give me one good reason to stay! One good reason to trust you," I counter harshly.
"Because I'm your brother," he says, trying to sound strong but I can hear the hurt undertones.
"My brother died years ago when he walked out and left me and my twin sister Raven alone to deal with our father," I say with a voice as cold as ice.
Now he looks like I slapped him..… with a fish..… that's still alive. Good, I'm trying to hurt him.
"I-I had to leave. You don't know –"
"Idon't know? You don't know what I know! What drove you to leave? What finally made you decide it was too much?
"He-he wanted me to …." my 'brother' struggles for words.
"Oh, he wanted you to do something? " I shout. "What did she want you to do, dear brother?" I put as much venom into the last two works as I can.
"He wanted me to-to ... with o-other..." he chokes out.
"He wanted you to crawl into bed with the men that would pay him and give them a good time," I say for him, keeping my voice icy.
Christian nods helplessly.
"And you left," I say. "You wouldn't take it to protect us?"
He looks at me shocked, "How did you know?"
"I know a lot more than you think, brother, "I hiss. "I probably know more than you do."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asks no long trying to calm me.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" I sneer. I don't doubt what I said but I don't exactly want to assume anything either. If I want to win I have to let him talk more than me.
"What did he do to you? When I left you were such a sweet kid. What happened?" he asks, back to soothing and gentle.
"What happened? My brother walked away! My brother left me!"
"Why do you keep saying my brother? I am right here just say you."
"You are not my brother," I tell him.
"Please N-"
"I'm not Nick."
"Fine, what do you call yourself?" he asks, a note of irritation creeping into his voice.
Should I tell him? How much should I tell him? How much does he deserve to know? Nothing. He doesn't deserve anything.
"What do you want from me? An apology? To say I'm a horrible person and brother? I already know that. I'm already sorry. What do you want?"
What do I want? I don't care about whether or not he's sorry or if he knows what a bad person he is. No…what I want is-
"What did he do? What did he do to you?"
That's what I need. How much I took compared to how much he took is directly proportional to how mad at him I can be plus the fact that he left.
"What do you mean?"
"It's not a complicated question," I say like he's an idiot. "What would he do to you?"
He stares at me and I can see him internal battle over whether or hot he wants to tell me. He's kidding, I freaking deserve to know. He owes me that much.
I patiently wait for him to talk.
"Mostly he would just hit me when he was mad or drunk. He started when I was about 7. He would go after Mom too. When she got pregnant with you and Lauren it got worse. The first time he – he-" he cuts off. He can't even say it.
"Raped you," I fill in.
"…I was 10…He couldn't do anything with Mom because he could have hurt you. When you were old enough to not need her all the time he layed off me a bit but still hit me a lot. I tried to protect her. You too if I had to. When Mom died…..it all went to hell. That last year he was awful. Uncontrollable. He would…..daily. Hit me all the time. It got harder and harder to hide it from my friends. Then he started in with the other men and I left."
I take a moment to consider it. I do vaguely remember him getting worse after mom died. Then again he also got a lot worse when Christian left too.
"That was it? That was all he would do? Hit you and rape you? Nothing else?" I ask, my words implying there should be more but my tone giving nothing away.
"I don't know what you mean. He would cut me sometimes. I still have the scars. Is that what you're looking for?" he asks and takes his shirt off.
Looking his chest over I see a number of scars. Straight lines, zigzags, curves, patterns. I see the same on his back as he turns. All the scars however are contained to what could be covered by a short sleeved shirt.
I reach up to unzip my jacket then realize that I'm not wearing it. I pull off my gloves and take my shirt off like Christian did and toss it to the side.
Christian doesn't look as shocked as I expected which concerns me a bit. He should have at least gasped, unless he's that good at hiding his emotions, which I doubt.
"I know," he says with a sad sigh. "I saw then when I checked you over."
"What?"
"You were passed out and sick! I couldn't just leave you there! And I'm a doctor, it's not like I didn't know what I was doing!"
"You didn't have a problem leaving me to our father! How was that any different?"
You can practically feel the tension, anger, and frustration rolling off me and Christian.
My throat's practically screaming and f I keep yelling too much I might lose my voice or something. A glass of water would feel really good right now.
"I didn't think he's start on you!"
"That's a lie and we both know it! You knew he's start on me and Raven the second you weren't there to protect us!"
"And just where is Lauren right now? Is she with you?" Christian asks taking a cold tone.
"No, she's not with me," I whisper, looking away.
He takes my guilt over Raven's death as guilt for leaving here. "So you're standing here lecturing me about leaving and yet you left her! At least when I left you had each other!"
There's barely half a second between the moment he stops talking and the time it takes for me to pin him to the ground.
He looks startled as I yell, "You don't know anything!I haven't had raven for 2 years! Two years! She's dead Christian! She's dead." I whisper the last two words and loosen my hold on his shoulders so if he wanted he could easily shove me off.
He doesn't though, just says, "W-what?" in a shocked voice.
"Dead. She's dead! OK? She's dead!I never would have left her like you did! Never!"
"What happened?" he demands.
But I can't stop. I've never really acknowledged her death beyond the first month. I didn't forget her like I did with Christian, I just didn't dwell on it much. I didn't let myself hurt over it. Instead I completely focused on what my father did to me. It was the only way I knew how to cope, egging him on, playing the dangerous game, walking on a tightrope, seeing how far I could go before he snapped. Because I deserved every hit, every touch, all the pain. Because I killed her.
I can't stop. I don't cry or anything, just keep screaming that she's dead.
Christian lets me go on for about 3 minutes, maybe a little longer, before grabbing my shoulders and giving me a firm but gentle shake. "Nick, what happened?"
"Fang," I snap. "My name is Fang! Not Nick! Not Nicholas! I'm Fang!"
He blinks then nods. "Ok, Fang, what happened to Lauren?"
I get off him and turn away. "Raven. She liked to be called Raven."
"So you two changed your names to Fang and Raven. How did she die?" Christian presses desperately. He has to know. He needs to know.
I can't tell him. He can't know. He shouldn't know. It's too horrible. It's my fault.
He seems to pick up that I'm done talking, at least about Raven, as I grab my shirt and gloves and put them back on,
"Ok, ok we can talk about La – Raven…later, just please don't leave yet," he begs.
"Begging is pathetic," I say in a blend tone, hiding my hurt and pain behind a wall of impassiveness.
"You've never begged?" Christian asks in a neutral tone.
"No." Yes. It depends on what he's talking about.
He watches me, waiting to see what I'm going to do and I watch him, waiting for him to make a move. He doesn't though.
We stand in silence for a minute or so until I say, "You should put your shirt back on."
He quickly grabs it off the floor and slips it on. "Are you hungry?"
Starving, actually but I don't say so. I think the last time I ate more than just scraps was McDonalds. I can't look weak though. Showing weakness in pathetic. I have to show Christian that I'm strong, that I don't need him. Because I do not need him.
"No," I lie perfectly but my stomach has other ideas and growls really freakin loud before I even finish the word.
"Yeah, that's what I thought. Sit down and I'll get a pizza in the oven. I'm not much of a cook but even I can make a frozen pizza," he says. "And then we can get some medicine in you because even though you're probably hopped up on adrenaline right now you're still sick."
I watch as he goes to the kitchen. I could ruin now, that would be the smart thing. I probably should but I want to hear what he has to say. That and if he's offering food and medicine I'm not going to argue. I'm so hungry and the headache is starting to come back a bit. Maybe I can get some money somehow.
Christian comes back in and sits in the chair he'd been in when I woke up and gestures for me to take the couch. When I don't he says, "The pizza should be ready in about 15 minutes."
I half nod and watch him closely, wondering what he's expecting. For me to pour my heart and soul out to him? For me to thank him for 'saving' me? Maybe he'll offer to let me stay? Ha, yeah right, like that'll happen.
"How long ago did you leave?" he asks then quickly adds, "You don't have to tell me anything, I just want to know. I want to help you N-….Fang…"
"Why?"
"What?"
"What do you want to help me?"
"Because you're my brother," he says simply. It's never that simple.
"Right, well, that didn't make much of a difference to you when I was 6," I sneer.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left. I want to help you."
"It's a bit late for you to help," I snap.
Christian sighs. "I know but I'm going to try."
"Fine, whatever, I'm a waste of your time anyway. You want to know where I've been staying? Where ever I end up when I pass out. What else do you want to know?"
"You could stay with me," he suggests.
I had thought about that a bit but I didn't really think he'd offer.
"No thanks," I say like he just suggested I let a poisonous snake bite me.
"I get that you're mad at me but you can't just live on the streets. It's not good."
Am I mad at him? Of course but it's more than just that. I don't – can't – trust him. He had his one chance and he blew it, I'm not going to give him another. I have some severe trust issues which I find to be perfectly reasonable, considering. It's not like I've met many decent people. It's more than just the fact that I'm mad and can't trust him tough. It's that…he hurt me…emotionally. I don't dwell on the emotional pain, it's not something I'm good with. I've always hidden my emotions, all but anger and rage.
"Why not? I like the streets," I say. It's a half lie.
"You like not knowing what to expect day by day, not knowing where your next meal is going to come from, not knowing who's going to try to hurt you, try to rape you?"
I ignore the points he just made and rather than admit he's totally and completely right I counter with, "I like being free and not having someone tell me do this or don't do that and be home by 11 and do your homework and go to school or behave."
"You're still young. You need a stable environment to grow up in. If you ever want to have a life, get a job, anything, you'll have to go to college and for that you'll need a home."
"Who says I want any of that?"
"What do you want?"
"I don't know," I say honestly. Right now it's all about the day to day.
"Please Fang, consider moving in with me?"
I don't say anything and the timer on the pizza saves us from a long awkward silence.
Christian goes to get it and I follow him, taking a seat at the kitchen table and watch as he gets the pizza from the oven and slices it into 4 quarters.
He sets the pan down in front of me and says "Be careful it's h-"
He doesn't bother to finish because I've already taken a huge bite from one slice, barely noticing that's it's just come straight from the oven and it's burning my mouth. I don't even really taste it, it's hot, it's food and I'm very very hungry.
"See? I knew you were hungry," Christian says with a soft smile.
"Shut up," I mumble around a mouthful of pizza.
Christian chuckles and get up, walking out. "I'm going to get you some medicine."
So trusting. Such a mistake.
The second he's out of the room I start raiding the kitchen, looking for small food I can easily carry and money. A lot of people keep emergency money in the kitchen.
I move quickly, stuffing my pockets with anything that will fit. When I find the money, about $150, I slip in into my choker and take off.
Do I feel bad? Just a bit.
Review! Criticize! Flame if you must!
Suffer in Silence readers, I'm sorry but I sorta dug myself a hole and have no idea where to go from there. Plus my effort is more focused on this story. I'm so very open to suggestions for it, anything would be helpful. I'll try and write a bit over my Winter break.