WARNING!! INCEST, AND UNDERAGE NCS AHEAD!!!
Dark Silence
He lies in the small bed, huddling beneath the cover. The sound of his heart beating sounds unnaturally loud in the dark silence. He is waiting, afraid of what is to come, yet unable to do anything but lie there, icy fear pervading his bones. He listens and he waits, and he finally hears the apartment door opening. At the noise he whimpers, biting his lips in anxiety. He listens closely. The stumbling noises, and the husky mumbling, tells him everything. Another barely audible whimper is uttered. He doesn't like it when she is like this. She scared him, hurt him. He wouldn't cry, he told himself, he wouldn't let a single tear fall.
Biting his lips so hard he bleeds, he curls into a foetal position. The salty taste of blood fills his mouth. The metallic tang lingers long after he swallows convulsively. His lips are stinging, just a small taste of what is to follow. His mouth has now gone dry with fear. The door to his room is thrown open, the light from the living room flooding the doorway with white luminosity. Seeing the open doorway his pale hands clench the blanket so hard it hurts.
He sees her silhouette stumbling across the floor and he hears the harshly whispered curse as she trips on a chair. It seems to take her forever to reach him but he spends that infinity with his eyes tightly closed, not daring to cry. She doesn't like it when he cried. It only made her worse. He didn't want to make her any worse than she was, it only resulted in him getting hurt even more. So he represses his tears and waits with dry eyes for the torture to begin.
Grasping hands tears away the thin blanket, exposing his small form to alcohol glazed brown eyes. He won't open his own eyes, afraid of what he might see. Afraid that he might behold the monster that haunts him in the darkness of the night. He knows that she would be smiling that horrible smile, that mocking little grin that was all the more horrifying because of the twisted tenderness that is apparent in her eyes.
The bed dips as she sits down. It's getting harder to breath now. He feels her leaning closer, and he holds his breath. "Open your eyes Kaine, look at me." The smell of alcohol on her breath makes him want to throw up. Mixed with the fragrant smell of wine is the stink of cigarette. Hidden underneath all that he could smell the musky tang of sex. He disobeys her order and keeping his eyes closed, shakes his head. He was scared of her yes, but he was even more scared of facing his nightmares.
In response to his defiance a rough hand grasps his chin, the sharp nails biting into his skin as she forces him to look up. "Look at me!" she snarls harshly. She shakes his head from side to side. Biting his already sore lips to keep from crying out he opens his eyes. Terror filled emerald orbs stare into insane brown ones. A small, sharp cry of dismay escapes him.
"Mother," he whispers, pleading with her to stop. But she doesn't hear. She can't hear. The hand on his chin slides to his shoulder, clutching it tightly, while the other smooths his hair, sweeping it back from his face repeatedly, feverishly. He cries out in pain as the hand suddenly pulls at the scarlet tangle. Strands of his shoulder length hair are torn out roughly.
"Completely red," she says looking at the flame coloured strands in her hand, "Just like his. You look so much like him." She lets go of the strands of hair and leans forward, placing her lips against his dry cheeks. Even as he feels the sob rise up, he holds it back. He mustn't cry, he told himself. He mustn't cry, not even when she hurt him not a tear would fall.
She doesn't seem to notice his internal struggle, and for that he thanked God. "You are so much like him, but you won't leave me like he did will you?" she whispers, her lips moving against his cheek. Suddenly her eyes turn demonic, widening angrily. She pulls back and glares at him furiously. "Will you?!" she growls, a hint of insanity in her voice. He shakes his head, trying to appease her.
The snarl turns into a loving smile, a ghastly parody of joy. Demonic eyes soften. He is shaking, shivering within her hold but she doesn't notice or care. Her hands travel over his body, stroking his neck, then his shoulder, and lower, and lower still. He feels the bile rising in his throat but he swallows it swiftly. He laid there, his mind screaming at him to run, to move, to do anything but lie there like a dead corpse. But his body won't obey.
As his mother continues to abuse his frail body, he shuts his eyes and retreats into a dark corner of his mind. Here, within the dark silence, nothing could touch him. He couldn't feel the nails raking across his skin raising welts, nor the harsh sobbing cries of his mother, nor the shame that he feels as he is subjected to his mother's will. Everything is shut out, leaving him in blessed silence. Nothing would hurt him while he was here. He was safe. This was his sanctuary.
After an indeterminable amount of time she finally collapses next to him, breathing heavily. He opens his eyes wearily. The breathing pattern tells him that she is finally asleep. It was over, for now. Squinting at the harsh light from the open doorway, he carefully nudges off the arm slung across his stomach. He edges out of the bed, making sure she wouldn't awaken. However, she is sleeping so soundly that the only response to his movement is a slight frown that appears on her forehead. He pulls the blanket across her slack form before walking across the wooden floor and out the door. As he leaves the room, he closes the door behind him.
He enters the bathroom and turns on the light, having to stand on tiptoe to do so. A chair from outside is dragged in to stand in front of the sink and mirror. He clambers onto the chair using the added height to see his pale form in the mirror. Carefully he examines the angry red marks, some bleeding, on his thin frail body. They are everywhere, on his chest, on his neck, on his stomach. Aside from the scratches, bruises are also visible. A defeated sigh escapes his lips. Even though it was summer he would have to wear long sleeved turtlenecks to school again tomorrow.
Subsequent to taking off his shirt he grabs a wash towel, and wets it with water. Without a change of expression he begins to wash the dirt, tear, and blood, off him. Icy cold water seeps into his wounds, bringing with it a razor-sharp sensation. A sharp intake of breath betrays his pain at the sudden sting but nary a sound escapes his pale lips. He doesn't dare to utter a noise, the fear of waking her overwhelming him. He endures the pain silently, biting his tongue when the pain grows too great.
When he finishes, he turns on the water tap. The clear liquid washes the pale pink fluid down the drain taking away with it the reminder of the night. A new shirt is pulled on, the chair is put away and the lights are turned off. But his night still wasn't over. Patiently he begins to clean up the lounge room. He fixes up the furniture that is knocked out of place without a complaint. He straightens the table clothes, and he closes and locks the door to the apartment.
After the last furniture is righted, and the door is safely locked, the light in the lounge room is also switched off leaving him in absolute darkness. Carefully he makes his way to the large sofa, which had a thin blanket slung across its arm. Ignoring the pain his movements brings him he arranges himself comfortably on the narrow sofa.
Ignoring the sound of the city coming from outside and huddling beneath the blanket, his emerald eyes drift shut. With the ordeal over, a lone tear escapes his eyes. It was all that he would allow himself. It was a weakness to cry, so he kept his emotions locked up inside his already closed heart. Lying in the darkness he tells himself repeatedly that everything would be all right. Tomorrow he would wake up and everything would be fine. His father and brother will visit him. His mother would smile at him and lose the empty look in her eyes. He would be able to go to school without feeling the shame and guilt he felt nearly every other day. And at night, his nightmares would disappear and his mother would never hurt him again.
Tomorrow...it'll be all right...
...Won't it?
~ * ~ * ~
In case no one has realized it yet, the fandom is 'Kaine', a manga by Kaori Yuki, the same woman who did 'Angel Sanctuary' and 'Boys Next Door'. Wonderful story and art. Like every other one of Kaori Yuki's stories, it's twisted and freaky. Hence why I lover her manga. It's angsty, it's dark, and it's incestuous. If you've never read it before go read it now at www.sakura-crisis.net.
Ja
Dark Silence
He lies in the small bed, huddling beneath the cover. The sound of his heart beating sounds unnaturally loud in the dark silence. He is waiting, afraid of what is to come, yet unable to do anything but lie there, icy fear pervading his bones. He listens and he waits, and he finally hears the apartment door opening. At the noise he whimpers, biting his lips in anxiety. He listens closely. The stumbling noises, and the husky mumbling, tells him everything. Another barely audible whimper is uttered. He doesn't like it when she is like this. She scared him, hurt him. He wouldn't cry, he told himself, he wouldn't let a single tear fall.
Biting his lips so hard he bleeds, he curls into a foetal position. The salty taste of blood fills his mouth. The metallic tang lingers long after he swallows convulsively. His lips are stinging, just a small taste of what is to follow. His mouth has now gone dry with fear. The door to his room is thrown open, the light from the living room flooding the doorway with white luminosity. Seeing the open doorway his pale hands clench the blanket so hard it hurts.
He sees her silhouette stumbling across the floor and he hears the harshly whispered curse as she trips on a chair. It seems to take her forever to reach him but he spends that infinity with his eyes tightly closed, not daring to cry. She doesn't like it when he cried. It only made her worse. He didn't want to make her any worse than she was, it only resulted in him getting hurt even more. So he represses his tears and waits with dry eyes for the torture to begin.
Grasping hands tears away the thin blanket, exposing his small form to alcohol glazed brown eyes. He won't open his own eyes, afraid of what he might see. Afraid that he might behold the monster that haunts him in the darkness of the night. He knows that she would be smiling that horrible smile, that mocking little grin that was all the more horrifying because of the twisted tenderness that is apparent in her eyes.
The bed dips as she sits down. It's getting harder to breath now. He feels her leaning closer, and he holds his breath. "Open your eyes Kaine, look at me." The smell of alcohol on her breath makes him want to throw up. Mixed with the fragrant smell of wine is the stink of cigarette. Hidden underneath all that he could smell the musky tang of sex. He disobeys her order and keeping his eyes closed, shakes his head. He was scared of her yes, but he was even more scared of facing his nightmares.
In response to his defiance a rough hand grasps his chin, the sharp nails biting into his skin as she forces him to look up. "Look at me!" she snarls harshly. She shakes his head from side to side. Biting his already sore lips to keep from crying out he opens his eyes. Terror filled emerald orbs stare into insane brown ones. A small, sharp cry of dismay escapes him.
"Mother," he whispers, pleading with her to stop. But she doesn't hear. She can't hear. The hand on his chin slides to his shoulder, clutching it tightly, while the other smooths his hair, sweeping it back from his face repeatedly, feverishly. He cries out in pain as the hand suddenly pulls at the scarlet tangle. Strands of his shoulder length hair are torn out roughly.
"Completely red," she says looking at the flame coloured strands in her hand, "Just like his. You look so much like him." She lets go of the strands of hair and leans forward, placing her lips against his dry cheeks. Even as he feels the sob rise up, he holds it back. He mustn't cry, he told himself. He mustn't cry, not even when she hurt him not a tear would fall.
She doesn't seem to notice his internal struggle, and for that he thanked God. "You are so much like him, but you won't leave me like he did will you?" she whispers, her lips moving against his cheek. Suddenly her eyes turn demonic, widening angrily. She pulls back and glares at him furiously. "Will you?!" she growls, a hint of insanity in her voice. He shakes his head, trying to appease her.
The snarl turns into a loving smile, a ghastly parody of joy. Demonic eyes soften. He is shaking, shivering within her hold but she doesn't notice or care. Her hands travel over his body, stroking his neck, then his shoulder, and lower, and lower still. He feels the bile rising in his throat but he swallows it swiftly. He laid there, his mind screaming at him to run, to move, to do anything but lie there like a dead corpse. But his body won't obey.
As his mother continues to abuse his frail body, he shuts his eyes and retreats into a dark corner of his mind. Here, within the dark silence, nothing could touch him. He couldn't feel the nails raking across his skin raising welts, nor the harsh sobbing cries of his mother, nor the shame that he feels as he is subjected to his mother's will. Everything is shut out, leaving him in blessed silence. Nothing would hurt him while he was here. He was safe. This was his sanctuary.
After an indeterminable amount of time she finally collapses next to him, breathing heavily. He opens his eyes wearily. The breathing pattern tells him that she is finally asleep. It was over, for now. Squinting at the harsh light from the open doorway, he carefully nudges off the arm slung across his stomach. He edges out of the bed, making sure she wouldn't awaken. However, she is sleeping so soundly that the only response to his movement is a slight frown that appears on her forehead. He pulls the blanket across her slack form before walking across the wooden floor and out the door. As he leaves the room, he closes the door behind him.
He enters the bathroom and turns on the light, having to stand on tiptoe to do so. A chair from outside is dragged in to stand in front of the sink and mirror. He clambers onto the chair using the added height to see his pale form in the mirror. Carefully he examines the angry red marks, some bleeding, on his thin frail body. They are everywhere, on his chest, on his neck, on his stomach. Aside from the scratches, bruises are also visible. A defeated sigh escapes his lips. Even though it was summer he would have to wear long sleeved turtlenecks to school again tomorrow.
Subsequent to taking off his shirt he grabs a wash towel, and wets it with water. Without a change of expression he begins to wash the dirt, tear, and blood, off him. Icy cold water seeps into his wounds, bringing with it a razor-sharp sensation. A sharp intake of breath betrays his pain at the sudden sting but nary a sound escapes his pale lips. He doesn't dare to utter a noise, the fear of waking her overwhelming him. He endures the pain silently, biting his tongue when the pain grows too great.
When he finishes, he turns on the water tap. The clear liquid washes the pale pink fluid down the drain taking away with it the reminder of the night. A new shirt is pulled on, the chair is put away and the lights are turned off. But his night still wasn't over. Patiently he begins to clean up the lounge room. He fixes up the furniture that is knocked out of place without a complaint. He straightens the table clothes, and he closes and locks the door to the apartment.
After the last furniture is righted, and the door is safely locked, the light in the lounge room is also switched off leaving him in absolute darkness. Carefully he makes his way to the large sofa, which had a thin blanket slung across its arm. Ignoring the pain his movements brings him he arranges himself comfortably on the narrow sofa.
Ignoring the sound of the city coming from outside and huddling beneath the blanket, his emerald eyes drift shut. With the ordeal over, a lone tear escapes his eyes. It was all that he would allow himself. It was a weakness to cry, so he kept his emotions locked up inside his already closed heart. Lying in the darkness he tells himself repeatedly that everything would be all right. Tomorrow he would wake up and everything would be fine. His father and brother will visit him. His mother would smile at him and lose the empty look in her eyes. He would be able to go to school without feeling the shame and guilt he felt nearly every other day. And at night, his nightmares would disappear and his mother would never hurt him again.
Tomorrow...it'll be all right...
...Won't it?
~ * ~ * ~
In case no one has realized it yet, the fandom is 'Kaine', a manga by Kaori Yuki, the same woman who did 'Angel Sanctuary' and 'Boys Next Door'. Wonderful story and art. Like every other one of Kaori Yuki's stories, it's twisted and freaky. Hence why I lover her manga. It's angsty, it's dark, and it's incestuous. If you've never read it before go read it now at www.sakura-crisis.net.
Ja