Thurston Moore. That's the voice that echoed against the walls of my adolescent bedroom, deafeningly loud causing the papered posters that adorned the barriers to wrinkle. They masked the pale blue paint that had endured since birth.
"Everywhere it's six-sex-six by luck, A satellite wish will make it just enough. You'll be making out with a witch in a coffee truck"
I stood hunched over the vanity mirror that perched on the edge of my dad's old desk; carvings along the wood were old and new. Mainly words that I'd etched in to the oak, lyrics and poems with dark intent. I can admit now that I was an odd kid at heart, creating the illusion of a well-mannered teen in a small town. Perceptions were everything once the neighbors laid eyes on my brother and I we were to allow the mask to reclaim our faces and morph into thick armor. We had to act a certain way but I could escape the pressure when I was alone which is exactly what I did. Wearing the clothes that I wanted and listening to the music I enjoyed. With my stereo cranked up I couldn't hear anything but the continuously play of Sonic Youth; Grayson had to bursts into my room and turn the sound down to yell at me.
"Are you deaf, little brother?"
The question that left his mouth joined his expectant expression as he stared at me with a bewildered visage when he focused on the dark charcoal I held in my hand poised next to my eyelids.
"Don't assume make up, think of it more as a medium for art and my face is a canvas. What do you want?"
My sullen tone screeched the question as an accusation. I didn't bother tearing my gaze from the mirror, I could see Grayson in the reflection and his exhausted presence had not altered.
"Do you plan on leaving the house today or are you going hole yourself up in here like a depressed kid? I don't want to worry about coming back to blood stained walls and dead animal carcasses piling up."
His gaze hardened, unrelenting as he anticipated an amused reaction but instead he got an uninterested one.
"What do you care?"
I spoke without expression; stating a question that required no answers and didn't receive one. Grayson expelled a harsh frustrated groan before storming out of the room with his hands thrown up in a conceded fashion.
The slam of the thick door echoed through the room and I reached across the desk to return the volume dial to its original place and proceeded to claim the charcoal that marked the pads of my fingers with a dark smudge. I did have plans for the day not that I would share them with my golden boy of a brother. What we did in our free time was nobodies business and I couldn't stomach another lecture about responsibility and perceptions. I didn't comment on Grayson's extra curricular activities; the flurry of women that paraded through his bedroom. As if I was stupid enough to believe the 'Study partner' story, who did he mistake me for? Someone who gave a crap?
I snorted vehemently and hurled the charcoal across the desk hard enough for it to splinter and dust. I had to escape while I still could