(A/N: Here's another obscure one-shot. I have some warnings: Incest, non-consensual, slash, and sadomasochism. Magical. All of this is implied, so there's nothing graphic, but I've been told that this is "creepy" and "dark" and "weird." So, be warned. It's actually, mostly what one would expect from Jonathan.)
By Tenebrus
J,
I should have known the moment you set foot in the door. I should have remembered you. My scar started to hurt... You still smell the same, and I don't know how you manage it. You smell like a hospital. Too sterile. Far too sterile. I can smell it on your breath, and the hint of blood you haven't quite washed away, no matter how many surgeries you have or how long you soak in acid, anything... you remain, and always will remain, mine.
That, I find, is a strange word for what I have endured from you.
You have the same smile, too... you might have a different face, but your smile is the same. It never quite reaches your eyes. It's very disconcerting, you see, especially when that smile is not quite a hand's length in front of my face, and I'm breathing you in. I breathe you every day of my life, forever and ever and ever. Every time I look at her, and she smiles at me, I check to see if there are crinkles below her eyes. And if there are, that means I'm safe. She won't hurt me.
I might be crazy like the rest of this family. God, I hope not.
I feel almost sorry for that plastic surgeon boy you tote around behind you. Sure, he's a man, but you've made him a boy, or a whore. Whatever you choose to call him. I don't like him very much, though. Some part of me feels like you're betraying me in him. And that is ridiculous.
I could tell that you weren't going to like Elaine either, considering the hold you worked so tirelessly to have on me.
You are circling me like a cat, or shark, or you... you, in all your glory, glory that kept me up late with nightmares or other things... things that make me break out in cold sweat to remember. Things that make my scar hurt again. You know, I have quite a few, still, but only one really stands out. It is a great relief that I don't have to see it, but sometimes I stand in the mirror and try to catch a glimpse. It makes me feel human. Or connected. I suppose it reminds me of family, as sad as that truly is.
After you left, I still dreamt of you, and not in any good way. They... the dreams... they were all so real, and I could even feel your cold hands on me, on places they should never be. I had to bite my tongue to keep from screaming, and then I'd taste the blood, and taste you. I would wake up, and I couldn't tell the aunties what was wrong. No matter how many cookies they shoved down my throat or how much I wanted to scream it to the world. I couldn't let it form on my lips.
Johnny isn't nice.
I think they knew that you weren't nice. After we went through about the fourth cat, they started to get a clue. But those things... the calibur you stooped to... no one really believed you capable. Which is why it choked in my throat night after night and made me vomit. It just wasn't real. Yes, I am a Brewster, and this is my insanity. I still love you, wherever you may be.
You were not the boy who threw me into matresses, or clawed or scratched or bit. You were the boy who cried at completion. I always felt the tears dripping onto me, with a sizzle and a sizzle, and I wondered which of us you were crying for.
Tonight, there are no tears, and I struggle half-heartedly at the ropes that bind me to my chair, for fear of breaking loose. I only stare you right back, feeling the sting of that scar you left, waiting for the smile to reach your eyes.
It never comes.
You signed your name in me, and I remain forever yours.
Your brother,
Mortimer.