Chapter Seven: Losing Grip
Christmas morning. It felt almost magical, the way the chilly air lifted his heart out of his stomach, his spirit out of gloominess. The smell of spicy cider filled the damp air, and Curt breathed in hungrily.
"Curt!" Judy's voice echoed down the hall. "Hurry up or we'll leave without you!"
Curt glanced at the door, alarmed, then at the clock. It was 9:13; they'd be late for Christmas service if he didn't hurry up. Church, then presents, that was the deal; and the later they were to church, the longer the presents would have to wait. He threw a shirt on over his slacks and reached for his tie.
The door slammed; a moment later, the horn honked. Curt tapped his foot anxiously while struggling with the damned black and red striped tie. "Stupid thing…" he trailed off, sighing.
The door slammed again; footsteps thudded down the hall. "Ready to go, Curt?" Alex asked, bounding into the room, door swinging shut behind him.
Curt looked over his shoulder and gestured helplessly to the tie. "This is impossible."
Alex laughed, a breathless chuckle, and stepped forward. "Let me."
Curt sighed and relinquished his necktie to his brother, who tied it quickly, then turned him around and smiled into the mirror, one eyebrow shooting up. "The Wilde brothers. Finest of the trailer trash," he joked.
Curt laughed. "I hate getting dressed up."
"You look fine… The girls will eat you up," Alex said, a tight smile falling from his lips. He stared at their reflection, confusion suddenly playing on his face. He took a hesitant step forward, until he brushed against Curt. Curt swallowed and tried to step away, but Alex's hands caught a firm hold on his shoulders. "Where you going, little bro?"
"Don't," Curt whispered as Alex's hands trailed softly down his arms, then across his chest. "Please."
"Begging already?" His breath caught in his throat even as he made the joke, his hands slipping from view, tucking Curt's shirt into the waistband of his pants, then slipping lower.
"Alex…" Curt murmured, his hands reaching to stop Alex's. "Stop it."
Alex's hands came back into view, and he planted them firmly on Curt's shoulders, turning him around to face him. "Come on, Curt. It'll be quick. We'll make it in time, I promise."
Visions of the bathroom flashed across Curt's mind; he whimpered and tried to pull away, nausea creeping through his bones. Alex's hand tangled in Curt's choppy hair, strangely gentle, forcing him down. He stayed still, on his knees, just staring at the bulge beneath the thick wool slacks.
"Don't tell me they fried this memory too… I know you know how…" Alex trailed off, his hand busy unzipping his fly.
"Alex, don't make me," Curt said, struggling against the hand twisted in his hair, pulling away even through the hot pinpricks of pain as his hair tore from his scalp.
Reality slammed back into Alex's face, and for a moment, he looked horrified, before his face twisted into a sneer. "Make you?" he asked, shoving Curt back onto the floor. "You get off on it, you little fag."
Curt struggled to his feet. "I do not!"
"You do and you know it," Alex replied, fingers digging into Curt's upper arm painfully. "I'll show you how much you like it…" Alex muttered, forcing him to turn, pressing him onto the bed. He felt Alex's hands fumble with his belt as he climbed on top of him.
The nausea was mounting, a heavy swell in the pit of his stomach. Alex's hands on his belt, his pants, tugging them down brought back too many memories, too many feelings. He wanted to vomit, to cry, to throw himself into black oblivion and never come back.
Instead, he snapped.
"You fucking bastard! Get the hell off of me!" His elbow slammed back, hit Alex's jaw with a sickening thud. He squirmed out from under his brother's body, kicking him for good measure. He landed on the floor with a thud, rolling away from the bed before Alex could recover.
The door slammed open before Alex could even stand up, and his father stood there, staring down at them with fiery eyes. Curt knew what he saw: his younger boy on his knees again, Alex inches away, pants unzipped. "Alex!" he yelled as his older son scrambled to stand. "Go to your room!"
"It's not-" Alex began, hurriedly trying to pull up his pants, but he was cut off with another order to go to his room. He did so warily, slinking out of the bedroom, careful not to brush his brother or father on his way out.
"You little queer. I paid those doctors good money to fry the fairy out of you. And I find you again, with your pants down around your ankles!"
His pants were firmly belted to his waist, but Curt didn't think it an appropriate time to state that. "It was Alex-"
His mother's shrill cry drowned his protests. "Dear Lord, its happening again. It's happening again!"
Curt had to remind himself to breathe. They were turning it around, just like before. They wouldn't see that it was Alex, that their precious golden boy, the athlete, the star, was the one who liked to be sucked off by his little brother. "I didn't do anything wrong!"
She clutched at her husband's arm, desperate for strength. "The doctors promised this would work… Michael, they promised it would work…"
"*They* locked me in a room and sent shocks through my brain! They made me lie in my own vomit!"
Dorothy collapsed, hands pressed over her ears. "Stop it! Just stop!"
Michael barreled toward his son, arm ready to deliver a blow. Curt ducked it, and shoved his father backward. "I won't stop! I didn't do anything wrong!"
His father's hands reached for his belt. "Damn it, boy, you are gonna pay."
Curt didn't move. "I already have!"
His father's hands slowly fell from his belt, and Curt could tell there'd be no beating. Instead his father shook his head. "Get out. You're a filthy sinner. I won't have your immorality under my roof."
"*My* immorality? Anything I did, he wanted me to do, made me do. He's the filthy sinner. The only thing I did wrong was trust you to keep me safe." Curt forced his muscles to straighten, forced himself to look his father in the eye. And then he walked out.
A/N: Ah, the joys of Christmas. Oddly enough, being an elf takes a lot of the Christmassy cheer out of you:) Anyway, I know this whole chapter came out of nowhere, but plotting has never been my strong suit. There's one more chapter left, though, so TBC.
Christmas morning. It felt almost magical, the way the chilly air lifted his heart out of his stomach, his spirit out of gloominess. The smell of spicy cider filled the damp air, and Curt breathed in hungrily.
"Curt!" Judy's voice echoed down the hall. "Hurry up or we'll leave without you!"
Curt glanced at the door, alarmed, then at the clock. It was 9:13; they'd be late for Christmas service if he didn't hurry up. Church, then presents, that was the deal; and the later they were to church, the longer the presents would have to wait. He threw a shirt on over his slacks and reached for his tie.
The door slammed; a moment later, the horn honked. Curt tapped his foot anxiously while struggling with the damned black and red striped tie. "Stupid thing…" he trailed off, sighing.
The door slammed again; footsteps thudded down the hall. "Ready to go, Curt?" Alex asked, bounding into the room, door swinging shut behind him.
Curt looked over his shoulder and gestured helplessly to the tie. "This is impossible."
Alex laughed, a breathless chuckle, and stepped forward. "Let me."
Curt sighed and relinquished his necktie to his brother, who tied it quickly, then turned him around and smiled into the mirror, one eyebrow shooting up. "The Wilde brothers. Finest of the trailer trash," he joked.
Curt laughed. "I hate getting dressed up."
"You look fine… The girls will eat you up," Alex said, a tight smile falling from his lips. He stared at their reflection, confusion suddenly playing on his face. He took a hesitant step forward, until he brushed against Curt. Curt swallowed and tried to step away, but Alex's hands caught a firm hold on his shoulders. "Where you going, little bro?"
"Don't," Curt whispered as Alex's hands trailed softly down his arms, then across his chest. "Please."
"Begging already?" His breath caught in his throat even as he made the joke, his hands slipping from view, tucking Curt's shirt into the waistband of his pants, then slipping lower.
"Alex…" Curt murmured, his hands reaching to stop Alex's. "Stop it."
Alex's hands came back into view, and he planted them firmly on Curt's shoulders, turning him around to face him. "Come on, Curt. It'll be quick. We'll make it in time, I promise."
Visions of the bathroom flashed across Curt's mind; he whimpered and tried to pull away, nausea creeping through his bones. Alex's hand tangled in Curt's choppy hair, strangely gentle, forcing him down. He stayed still, on his knees, just staring at the bulge beneath the thick wool slacks.
"Don't tell me they fried this memory too… I know you know how…" Alex trailed off, his hand busy unzipping his fly.
"Alex, don't make me," Curt said, struggling against the hand twisted in his hair, pulling away even through the hot pinpricks of pain as his hair tore from his scalp.
Reality slammed back into Alex's face, and for a moment, he looked horrified, before his face twisted into a sneer. "Make you?" he asked, shoving Curt back onto the floor. "You get off on it, you little fag."
Curt struggled to his feet. "I do not!"
"You do and you know it," Alex replied, fingers digging into Curt's upper arm painfully. "I'll show you how much you like it…" Alex muttered, forcing him to turn, pressing him onto the bed. He felt Alex's hands fumble with his belt as he climbed on top of him.
The nausea was mounting, a heavy swell in the pit of his stomach. Alex's hands on his belt, his pants, tugging them down brought back too many memories, too many feelings. He wanted to vomit, to cry, to throw himself into black oblivion and never come back.
Instead, he snapped.
"You fucking bastard! Get the hell off of me!" His elbow slammed back, hit Alex's jaw with a sickening thud. He squirmed out from under his brother's body, kicking him for good measure. He landed on the floor with a thud, rolling away from the bed before Alex could recover.
The door slammed open before Alex could even stand up, and his father stood there, staring down at them with fiery eyes. Curt knew what he saw: his younger boy on his knees again, Alex inches away, pants unzipped. "Alex!" he yelled as his older son scrambled to stand. "Go to your room!"
"It's not-" Alex began, hurriedly trying to pull up his pants, but he was cut off with another order to go to his room. He did so warily, slinking out of the bedroom, careful not to brush his brother or father on his way out.
"You little queer. I paid those doctors good money to fry the fairy out of you. And I find you again, with your pants down around your ankles!"
His pants were firmly belted to his waist, but Curt didn't think it an appropriate time to state that. "It was Alex-"
His mother's shrill cry drowned his protests. "Dear Lord, its happening again. It's happening again!"
Curt had to remind himself to breathe. They were turning it around, just like before. They wouldn't see that it was Alex, that their precious golden boy, the athlete, the star, was the one who liked to be sucked off by his little brother. "I didn't do anything wrong!"
She clutched at her husband's arm, desperate for strength. "The doctors promised this would work… Michael, they promised it would work…"
"*They* locked me in a room and sent shocks through my brain! They made me lie in my own vomit!"
Dorothy collapsed, hands pressed over her ears. "Stop it! Just stop!"
Michael barreled toward his son, arm ready to deliver a blow. Curt ducked it, and shoved his father backward. "I won't stop! I didn't do anything wrong!"
His father's hands reached for his belt. "Damn it, boy, you are gonna pay."
Curt didn't move. "I already have!"
His father's hands slowly fell from his belt, and Curt could tell there'd be no beating. Instead his father shook his head. "Get out. You're a filthy sinner. I won't have your immorality under my roof."
"*My* immorality? Anything I did, he wanted me to do, made me do. He's the filthy sinner. The only thing I did wrong was trust you to keep me safe." Curt forced his muscles to straighten, forced himself to look his father in the eye. And then he walked out.
A/N: Ah, the joys of Christmas. Oddly enough, being an elf takes a lot of the Christmassy cheer out of you:) Anyway, I know this whole chapter came out of nowhere, but plotting has never been my strong suit. There's one more chapter left, though, so TBC.