Disclaimer- dia dhuit (thanks Emer!). Sorry it's taken me so long but- oh
wait. I don't have a good excuse. I've been holing this chapter hostage for
no reason at all. Drat.
** ** ** ** **
Jaime stared at the canvas ceiling, alone in the tent after another long day's torture. Rowan was outside smoking; Jaime weighed begging for nicotine against questioning the meaning behind his dream. Him and Rowan. but no! It couldn't work, it wouldn't work. Such things did not happen to happen. God, if any God existed for him, existed only to torment, to see how much pain Jaime could bar before folding. Like what the parental unit would do to Kyle.
(Flashback to 9 years prior) Jaime chewed on his cross and Kyle looked out the keyhole. He turned, face calm but voice dreading, "He decided to stay home." Jaime didn't know what to say, other than to whisper, "oh no." Large comfort the two words gave.
The two huddled in the closet, burying themselves behind rain boots and coats, trophies and trash once thought as treasures. Neither moved, neither talked, both waited, hoping that maybe tonight would be a good night. They hadn't much time to kill before their father opened the door they weren't allowed to lock (to keep them safe in case of an emergency) and stumbled inside, already stinking of the liquor cabinet.
He checked under the beds, cursing the hard wooden furniture that purposely jumped into his way, for him to stumble against, to scratch and break corners off that hadn't busted off already. Then he came to the closet, and Kyle pushed Jaime's face into the wall, farther into the corner. He needn't have worried, as he was the one dragged from the cave straight into the reach of the dragon's limbs.
Jaime gritted his teeth against the sharp cries that smacking bare young flesh with a belt caused. He wanted to help, to save Kyle. Last time he had tried he had been tossed into the wall, and Dad hadn't even noticed, caught up in the swack! the belt made against flesh, the rhythm of pain. Kyle had though, and yelled at him from behind swollen lips later. "If you start getting injured, who's going to believe that both of us get into fights, that both of us fall down stairs or into doors? Don't be stupid! Stay in the closet! Coming out means pain! You don't want that!"
"I want to help you," Jaime whispered into thin wood of the closet walls. He didn't like small spaces, but anything, even a crawl space, as better than what had to come next. The belt stopped smacking, and Jaime heard pants fumbling, falling. Jaime wanted to scream sorry, please, to Him, match Kyle cry for cry. He just pushed his face harder and harder against the wall, began running his nails over the flesh of his arms, scratching, the pain making him almost but never quite equal to Kyle. One nail caught a scab, and Jaime breathed out in pleasure and pain as the long abrasion began to bleed again. Dad finished and started to leave the room, turning to tell Kyle, "Get your brother out of the closet." But Kyle just crawled into the small space, huddled into a corner, into a ball, whimpering. And Jaime wished he knew what to say. But he just scratched instead.
(Present day)
Jaime awoke from his Technicolor visions and squeezed his eyes tight. Still diamonds came from eyelids pinched together, carved down his thin cheeks, skin stretched tight from years of a lack of appetite. Sweating, he reached up and pulled his black and gray wool hat down, over his eyes and ears, stretching it too much (again) so it could cover his nose and mouth too. Immediately his face turned warm, heated by his breath, He tired holding his breath. Passing out never came with dreams included.
Jaime stared at the canvas ceiling, alone in the tent after another long day's torture. Rowan was outside smoking; Jaime weighed begging for nicotine against questioning the meaning behind his dream. Him and Rowan. but no! It couldn't work, it wouldn't work. Such things did not happen to happen. God, if any God existed for him, existed only to torment, to see how much pain Jaime could bar before folding. Like what the parental unit would do to Kyle.
(Flashback to 9 years prior) Jaime chewed on his cross and Kyle looked out the keyhole. He turned, face calm but voice dreading, "He decided to stay home." Jaime didn't know what to say, other than to whisper, "oh no." Large comfort the two words gave.
The two huddled in the closet, burying themselves behind rain boots and coats, trophies and trash once thought as treasures. Neither moved, neither talked, both waited, hoping that maybe tonight would be a good night. They hadn't much time to kill before their father opened the door they weren't allowed to lock (to keep them safe in case of an emergency) and stumbled inside, already stinking of the liquor cabinet.
He checked under the beds, cursing the hard wooden furniture that purposely jumped into his way, for him to stumble against, to scratch and break corners off that hadn't busted off already. Then he came to the closet, and Kyle pushed Jaime's face into the wall, farther into the corner. He needn't have worried, as he was the one dragged from the cave straight into the reach of the dragon's limbs.
Jaime gritted his teeth against the sharp cries that smacking bare young flesh with a belt caused. He wanted to help, to save Kyle. Last time he had tried he had been tossed into the wall, and Dad hadn't even noticed, caught up in the swack! the belt made against flesh, the rhythm of pain. Kyle had though, and yelled at him from behind swollen lips later. "If you start getting injured, who's going to believe that both of us get into fights, that both of us fall down stairs or into doors? Don't be stupid! Stay in the closet! Coming out means pain! You don't want that!"
"I want to help you," Jaime whispered into thin wood of the closet walls. He didn't like small spaces, but anything, even a crawl space, as better than what had to come next. The belt stopped smacking, and Jaime heard pants fumbling, falling. Jaime wanted to scream sorry, please, to Him, match Kyle cry for cry. He just pushed his face harder and harder against the wall, began running his nails over the flesh of his arms, scratching, the pain making him almost but never quite equal to Kyle. One nail caught a scab, and Jaime breathed out in pleasure and pain as the long abrasion began to bleed again. Dad finished and started to leave the room, turning to tell Kyle, "Get your brother out of the closet." But Kyle just crawled into the small space, huddled into a corner, into a ball, whimpering. And Jaime wished he knew what to say. But he just scratched instead.
(Present day)
Jaime awoke from his Technicolor visions and squeezed his eyes tight. Still diamonds came from eyelids pinched together, carved down his thin cheeks, skin stretched tight from years of a lack of appetite. Sweating, he reached up and pulled his black and gray wool hat down, over his eyes and ears, stretching it too much (again) so it could cover his nose and mouth too. Immediately his face turned warm, heated by his breath, He tired holding his breath. Passing out never came with dreams included.