Disclaimer: I'm not stupid enough to think that these would save my but if
someone decided I was out of line, but it makes for a good security
blanket, doesn't it? I don't own any character but my muse, Colt, and
anyone else I make up because I can. Any resemblance to persons living,
dead, or imaginary is probably intentional, and that's just too bad, isn't
it? The song "Poor Poor Pitiful Me" is the sole property of Linda Ronstadt,
or maybe Terri Clark. I dunno. I don't care. Isn't apathy great?
Warning: This chapter contains allusions to child abuse.
Chapter 2: Poor Poor Pitiful Me
No one was home. For some reason, that didn't surprise me, being it was only 3:30 or so. I rummaged through my bag to find my keys for a few minutes, before remembering I had left them on my desk this morning. Glancing around to make sure the coast was clear (True, it IS my house, but I wasn't up to explaining that to the police) I deftly scrambled up the side fence and onto the roof. The window that led to my brother's room was never locked, perhaps foolishly so. It occurred to me again that it would be so much easier if I got an extra key and left it under a rock somewhere, but... oh, well.
I slid through the window with the skill of years of practice. It suited me that no one was home. I could play in peace.
I was trying to keep a positive outlook, trying not to think about it, but the events of the morning had left a dull ache in my stomach. I was alone again. He hadn't even apologized. Hadn't shed a single tear. He had made it seem like it was all my fault. My fault, because I hadn't paid him enough attention. Never mind that my entire last year had been CENTERED around him. It was my fault he cheated. He was the martyr here. I was scum. Right. I had figured out long ago that everyone had one single person who was the most important thing in their world. He had been mine, and I thought I had been his. I guess I'll always be stuck playing second fiddle. Suddenly Zelda had lost it's attraction. Who can play video games when you're all alone in the world? Everyone I knew had someone that was more important than me. My mom had her boyfriend. My elder brother had his girlfriend, April. I had no one. I've never had anyone.
I choked back a sob. That wasn't entirely true. I HAD someone. Lance. My brother. My twin. The other half of my soul. But he was gone, now. He had fallen prey to the senseless violence that had dominated ten years of our lives. He died to protect me from my stepfather's rage. He had always protected me. But with his death, he had unwittingly signed my death warrant. In his wake, I tried to live my life, incomplete and alone. I suppose that was what had attracted me to Alex. He reminded me of Lance. People always assumed we were brothers.
And for a while, it was OK. I could ignore the emptiness that threatened my sanity and my soul. I could hold the darkness at bay. But Alex was not Lance, no matter how I tried to convince myself. There was a hole in me that would never be filled, and Alex was tired of trying. Or so he said.
I shook my head, trying to clear it, but it was too late. I had spent two years NOT thinking about it, and now, the dam had burst, and nothing could stop the flow and ebb of painful memories.
The night when Lance snuck in a cake on our birthday, after the tyrant had ruined the celebration that morning by getting drunk and shouting obscenities at the neighbors.
How he never left my side those nights at the hospital, when the old man lost at poker.
How he lied to my teachers about my bruises.
The time he distracted my stepfather so that I could change out of my dirty clothes, after a day at the beach I wasn't supposed to have.
How he stood up to the old man when he decided that a bat might vent his frustrations.
He gave his life for me. Did he know I wasn't worth it? I knew if he knew what I contemplated now, he would have given me that look, and a lecture, and everything would have been better. But he wasn't here now, and it was my fault. Two years of bottled pain and rage were bubbling to the surface. It wasn't about Alex anymore. It had NEVER been about Alex. It was always about Lance.
Someone next door cackled, and a radio blared.
"Gonna lay my head on the railroad tracks,
Waiting on the Double E.
But the train don't run through here no more
Poor poor pitiful--"
I shut the window. I knew what had to happen. I had to make amends. Lance had given his life, a life so full of promise, so that I might live. And for what? I was nothing. I was an empty shell, a husk of who I was. So, it comes to this. I had to do it, and I would. I had decided. The pain had to end. Now.
Warning: This chapter contains allusions to child abuse.
Chapter 2: Poor Poor Pitiful Me
No one was home. For some reason, that didn't surprise me, being it was only 3:30 or so. I rummaged through my bag to find my keys for a few minutes, before remembering I had left them on my desk this morning. Glancing around to make sure the coast was clear (True, it IS my house, but I wasn't up to explaining that to the police) I deftly scrambled up the side fence and onto the roof. The window that led to my brother's room was never locked, perhaps foolishly so. It occurred to me again that it would be so much easier if I got an extra key and left it under a rock somewhere, but... oh, well.
I slid through the window with the skill of years of practice. It suited me that no one was home. I could play in peace.
I was trying to keep a positive outlook, trying not to think about it, but the events of the morning had left a dull ache in my stomach. I was alone again. He hadn't even apologized. Hadn't shed a single tear. He had made it seem like it was all my fault. My fault, because I hadn't paid him enough attention. Never mind that my entire last year had been CENTERED around him. It was my fault he cheated. He was the martyr here. I was scum. Right. I had figured out long ago that everyone had one single person who was the most important thing in their world. He had been mine, and I thought I had been his. I guess I'll always be stuck playing second fiddle. Suddenly Zelda had lost it's attraction. Who can play video games when you're all alone in the world? Everyone I knew had someone that was more important than me. My mom had her boyfriend. My elder brother had his girlfriend, April. I had no one. I've never had anyone.
I choked back a sob. That wasn't entirely true. I HAD someone. Lance. My brother. My twin. The other half of my soul. But he was gone, now. He had fallen prey to the senseless violence that had dominated ten years of our lives. He died to protect me from my stepfather's rage. He had always protected me. But with his death, he had unwittingly signed my death warrant. In his wake, I tried to live my life, incomplete and alone. I suppose that was what had attracted me to Alex. He reminded me of Lance. People always assumed we were brothers.
And for a while, it was OK. I could ignore the emptiness that threatened my sanity and my soul. I could hold the darkness at bay. But Alex was not Lance, no matter how I tried to convince myself. There was a hole in me that would never be filled, and Alex was tired of trying. Or so he said.
I shook my head, trying to clear it, but it was too late. I had spent two years NOT thinking about it, and now, the dam had burst, and nothing could stop the flow and ebb of painful memories.
The night when Lance snuck in a cake on our birthday, after the tyrant had ruined the celebration that morning by getting drunk and shouting obscenities at the neighbors.
How he never left my side those nights at the hospital, when the old man lost at poker.
How he lied to my teachers about my bruises.
The time he distracted my stepfather so that I could change out of my dirty clothes, after a day at the beach I wasn't supposed to have.
How he stood up to the old man when he decided that a bat might vent his frustrations.
He gave his life for me. Did he know I wasn't worth it? I knew if he knew what I contemplated now, he would have given me that look, and a lecture, and everything would have been better. But he wasn't here now, and it was my fault. Two years of bottled pain and rage were bubbling to the surface. It wasn't about Alex anymore. It had NEVER been about Alex. It was always about Lance.
Someone next door cackled, and a radio blared.
"Gonna lay my head on the railroad tracks,
Waiting on the Double E.
But the train don't run through here no more
Poor poor pitiful--"
I shut the window. I knew what had to happen. I had to make amends. Lance had given his life, a life so full of promise, so that I might live. And for what? I was nothing. I was an empty shell, a husk of who I was. So, it comes to this. I had to do it, and I would. I had decided. The pain had to end. Now.