You could say things have gone swimmingly, well… not entirely. Young Brahms was forced to undergo another play date with the one person he despised most in this dark decrepit world of nasty lads… because she was not aladyin his eyes. More like a dog without a chain to keep her contained.

Stupid… bloody…. Emily… Cribbs.

He'd been playing with his toy in the massive living room without a care in the world. That is… until he heard overly expanding words falling out of his mother's mouth. She was always forming plans and arrangements but not just for Brahms. Of course, it was a high-status life, an annoying one at that too because he was forced to be a part of it, and when there was a big sign that hollered-

'No kids allowed in the rich section!'

A nanny was waiting to pat his behind straight to bed. Which was way too early for his liking mind you. Brahms was still too young to deal with that high life in society… thank God, he thought, not… completely comprehending the full extent of its true meaning. With such a young mind he'd hate this feeling of dread. When would it go away? Everyone else was so mean and just utterly unpleasant. There was no fun, no games, no edible food, there was only law and order. Brahms was living in a world of proper uptight etiquette and overly served caviar. It was GROSS! Where were the grilled cheeses, the PB 's, the apple juice boxes, and most importantly the COOKIES?! If he had to eat a piece of broccoli one… more… time… he'd throw a goddamn fit! Punishment or not, this is unjust! This was not for Brahms, no, no, no, he needed food he could tolerate or at least be able to swallow without making a nasty gag.

Brahms knew though deep down there would be a day of only duty and that duty would ruin him for good. To do as the parents commanded without a say in his trial he was forced to attend. Perhaps Brahms was born into the wrong family, can that be true? Can a boy- a person be born in the wrong era? He felt as though he wasn't meant for this life. He wondered why else he would struggle to fit in, why others see him as odd, and yet his parents use him as a cunning tool to impress high society. Maybe God made a mistake but didn't care to rectify it. There is a lot that man in the clouds did wrong and yet people still pray to him. Brahms prayed, but there was never an answer. On his judgment day, he wondered what God would do to him at the end of that cliff he always found himself leaning over. To push back or forward on the teetering cracked edge. Time would have to wait until his story was fully written to receive the final verdict.

Still, Brahms felt like it was hard to live, hard to breathe at times, and look for something worth living for, but that was sadly impossible. How can there be so much air and yet he can't seem to breathe without breaking? So young and yet so negative on his short little lifeline. Why is the forest that surrounds him so bright with life and yet it only seems to dim the further he walks in? It was as if the forest knew something that Brahms didn't. A dark entity that swirled inside his very being- his very soul as it discreetly conquered all he passed. Leaves would shrivel and trees would decay to hollow paste of dense bark. Brahms could see the fire within the tree. The hole he created, and he was slowly setting it free. The demon from below separating the gates in his mind was discreetly making its way up leaving sprinters. A trail of blood was written in his name and played games by puncturing wounds in his weak little heart. Switching and twisting the way he was thinking about everything. The chemistry in his brain was in a state of irreversible with a constant dilemma on his persistent actions. There was no room for him to turn back. There was only forward and beyond the lengths of what a man can become. With the demon, he held from birth trailing not far behind. It was only the beginning for him, and he didn't even know he was starting to blossom into death's immoral rose.

.

"Come along, Mr. Heelshire. Our guests will be arriving at any moment, and I want you to be here when they arrive," Helen called from the staircase. Her workers moved quickly around with the food and set up everything. "Yes," she nodded at the maid."Right there, sit it down, perfect, and I expect to have those tarts ready by the time Mrs. Cribbs arrives with his lordship."

"Yes, mum," the woman hurried. Mrs. Heelshire sighed as if she had to do everything herself, seeing her sweetness sitting on the carpeted floor. He perked up as she spoke to him.

"Oh, my dear Brahms you're so lucky you don't have to plan. Otherwise, we'd be here all day." She went over to him as he sat on the floor leaning on the table with his little train. "Come now, Brahms, no toys on the table, you know better." She patted him to move his behind when she suddenly saw his outfit. A state of shock that was over drama to her son's attire. "Nanny!"

"I'm here, Mum." The woman came over dressed in a very simple beige dress that reached her ankles.

"He's still in his afternoon wear, it is evening Miss. Harrington," Mrs. Heelshire said rather annoyed. "Go change and make sure he wears one of his nice suits." She nodded. "He must look his best."

"Come along Master Brahms." The women took Brahms in hand as he seemed relented but did as told in the end. The maids picked up his toys and followed the pair up the stairs.

Helen was already stressed as it was, considering she needed this to be perfect. Mrs. Cribbs was coming over with his lordship from the royal council. A man from the British monarch and his wife too of course. Helen's doors were opened wide as the servants went to set the massive table in the beautiful gardens. She was born for this and was already richer than anyone from her society but with Mrs. Cribb's purpose how can she refuse? She'd have to be completely idiot to decline such an opportunity. Let alone, she could have refused it though. The Heelshire were already high up there and everyone knew them but held no title, just their last names. It was nothing to be ashamed of, but The Heelshire had a son, and he was to ticket to achieve such greatness in their family name.

This arrangement to marry off their son was brilliant. Emily will make Brahms happy, they were practically glued to the hip, she convinced herself. Of course, they were both practically babies at the same age of seven years old. Time goes fast though, she smiled with hope for the bright future ahead of them all.

"I want the silver polished," she said to a pacing man as he nodded. "Do we have enough tea and seats? Napkins at every corner and something to nipple on at every corner."

"Yes mum, all has been done as you instructed."

"My, my, Mrs. Heelshire if you spring another word of worry, I'll have your head." Mr. Heelshire chuckled as he came down the stairs fixing his tie. Mrs. Heelshire struck him with her handkerchief.

"Do not utter a word like that around his lordship," She huffed. "I already have one child, and I don't need another to add to this nuisance of a ghastly headache."

"My dear, you worry too much-"

"You don't worry enough," She poked his chest. "My love, I need this to go perfectly, we are presenting our son to the Royal Dutch. I want nothing to go amiss, and Brahms needs to be superb."

"You have peaking doubts?" Mr. Heelshire questioned. "I can say this whole wicked scheme is a sham in the rain."

"An absurd proposal only you could say is a swindle," she exclaimed her disbelief in a quick spit of tempered flames. "No, of course not, this is for his future."

"An increase of social status for who though? My dear, we are known, we might not have royal blood, but we do hold a title. The Heelshire Estate is well respected. Perhaps you missed the part of recalling we have a very large estate that all other counties would weep on their knees to acquire it. To do this I want more on my part. I will only agree with this if it acquires more land and increases the social status of Brahms's image. Is this truly what you wish for Brahms?"

"Precisely, I'm glad you're finally catching up." She dabbed some blush on her cheeks glancing into the mirror. "And yes… it is what I want. Added to that is the high life of those lower scandalous simpletons who think they deserve it by weaseling their way into our endless pockets. I know we may be pawns in their play, but The Heelshires know how to play chess. Perhaps that is what they fear, we won't take them when we go, we'll forget them and move on. It's checkmate for us but a loss on their part. That is the game in Great Britain's social gambit. Mrs. Cribb wishes to wear these jewels I hold around my neck. They all want what we own so much that they'd do anything to get to the weak spots of this family to acquire it… Brahms. She throws her daughter in the ring just to get into my circle. We need to remain in control and not become the fly in their web. We are the spider, dear husband, I know you understand my troubles. Mrs. Cribbs is related to the Dutch of Buckingham, so I'll take advantage of that and stone my son's name on the royal wall. My Brahms is too young, he wouldn't understand, not now anyway, but believe me, dear husband. I will win this war."

"So, what better way to win the game than to agree to their proposal of sending off their daughter to our son? There at our bet and call, you are wicked my dear." He chuckled. "Always thinking a mile ahead of the entire monarchs. I do like the idea though," He paused for a moment with guilt in his eyes, but he quickly cleared his throat. "But I must admit… I know we were once young and overwhelmed with an intertwined marriage written in arrangement by our parents but perhaps it may be aminornecessity to maybe ask what Brahms wants?" Helen would not hear of it. A dismissive look on her face spoke in waves before she even uttered a puny word.

"He doesn't know what he wants. He's a baby."

"A baby with a ring on his finger." He challenged.

"Don't start please, you want what's best for him, don't you?"

"Of course I do- "

"Then throw your trust in me. I'm his mother and I know what's best for him. My son deserves the best and this will give him that glory and the privilege of opening golden doors. I know you agree with me, and we'll discuss this more, I promise." She kissed him sweetly on his bearded cheek. He smiled a tad, nonetheless. He couldn't say no to her, he knew she was right. There were too many after their money. The estate must be protected. Putting royal blood into the line of the monarch will secure them entirely without trouble. Brahms would thank them for this… one day. What made Mr. Heelshire feel better was knowing his shy boy would marry a sweet girl, just like Helen. Brahms would be intertwined with his best friend. It would be perfect, and it would be a lovely day when he could finally see his Brahms smile like his father.

"I suppose you're right, my dear," He took a sigh. "Our name is a symbol for all in the county. Our donations, publicity, our words of inspiration, they'll expect him to be a voice in the council and a symbol of royalty. Our duty is to the crown, and I cannot go against Her Majesty."

"Thank you, my love," She smiled sweetly. "And we've grown to love one another, perhaps Brahms will do the same with dear Emily. He can learn, just as we did. We just have to wait and let the years simply… pass. That's all we can do for now."

Heritage, money, image, and the never-ending exploration of one being thrown into high society like it was easy as one, two, three. It was all about the type of life one may live. To have other cheers and weep at their feet. It was true though, money was a great security, and everyone needed it and was willing to do anything to get it. Others were in line to get the Heelshire name and they had many different offers to go on. Maybe one can do the other opponent can do better. What can one person give to get the boy who will inherit everything? Written in Brahms names the living trust bound was unbreakable. Brahms were getting everything once the Heelshire's passed on. Already creating his future for himself and yet so young without a clue in the world. There were suitable and well-created offers, but they weren't good enough. They deserved the best and that was nonnegotiable. Only one stood out, only one gave way to the life they needed, the life only they deserved. Brahms was in the mind of this storm. Hush, hush, it was of course, let him play, eat, and sleep in peace until the very important time came.

.

It was such a bright day. In the center of the massive garden lays the large table with fancy plates and utensils for the top ten displays. The bees gave the flowers life to witness such a lovely place. So green and fresh with a smell so divine. The angels that protected this place had their own different colored flowers. There was one statue that was Brahms. An angel of a woman in the garden. With her shield from the sun, he stood there at peace. His name was carved in that statue at the bottom reading,

'Brahms Heelshire'

'Being Good Can Lead To Love.'

It wasn't his words though; it was his parents' words. Brahms didn't get it as much as the rest apparently, he didn't care for the true meaning. He knows love because he was born to love his parents, but he didn't knowthattype of love. That would need time, and time was so cruel to make his clock extra slow.

"There you are, Master Brahms." The Nanny adjusted his tie, but she saw his face seeing the discomfort as she frowned a bit. "Tell you what love it's a little hot outside I'll loosen your tie to let your neck breathe." He didn't say anything as she fixed it. It did feel better though. With a sky face, he looked away wanting to focus on something else.

"Here," She turned him to the mirror showing him the finished product. "What do you think?"

Not much as he examined himself slowly. It was the same… boring tight suit. He shrugged as a response looking down.

"Is something troubling master Brahms?" She asked. She could hear his little sigh as he spoke.

"I don't want to see Emily. I know mother will make me play with her." He squeaky voiced wind.

"Oh, Master Brahms you don't want to upset your parents now, do you?" He didn't answer for the longest time. No, he didn't want to upset them and do something wrong, but he still didn't wish to see Emily. He shook his head in response.

"Just do as your parents say. They know what is best for you." She walked up next to him in the mirror. "Now, I see a bright young lad with an even brighter future and if you do this for your parents I'll sneak you an extra cookie before bedtime, how does that sound?" Brahms looked up at her with widened eyes as if he hit the jackpot. He'd love to have an extra cookie, that would be a delight! Still, this cookie came with a price. She drove a hard bargain he must admit but he couldn't deny any sweets. He needed as much as he could get, he thought desperately!

"Ok, I'll be good Miss. Harrington." He nodded. She smiles with glee at the little boy.

"Come along, our guests will be here any minute." She led him outside his room, and he followed. Swiftly the Nanny shut his door. Even though he was getting a cookie by the end of this whole ordeal… was it really worth it? He supposed he could've just stolen a cookie from the cookie by the time everyone went to bed. It was too late now, he cursed himself annoyed.

.

Just like butter, everything was running smoothly and prompt on timing. Brahms stood next to his parents outside as the guests finally arrived. Brahms noticed the car was rather fancy and shiny. His parents' cars were always black with dark hues while this car was whiter than the snow. There were many men and women but the one gentle that stuck out the most was the tallest one. A man with a pale complexion, ginger hair shaped so smoothly, and wore a suit grander than he'd ever seen before in his life. Seeing metals and strips of honor only adults would understand. Brahms thought they were stickers… he wanted them. Emily's mother walked up to his mother promptly.

"Ah! Mrs. Heelshire, thank you for having us." Mrs. Cribb came over and shared and cheeky kiss with Helen. "We weren't long were we?"

"No at all my dear. You're just in time." She looked over at Cribbs to see the other men approaching. Mr. Heelshire took over.

"Your lordship," They bowed a little. "It is an honor to have you stay here." The man was smitten with a cocky chin-up smirk.

"An honor indeed." He responded promptly. "This is quite the estate. I'd say your Worcestershire has been standing since the early 19thcentury inspired by Queen Victoria herself." The men agree with him promptly with praise. Mrs. Cribb brought the couple over to him.

"I'd like to introduce you to his lordship, George Villiers The Duke Of Buckingham The Second. These are The Heelshires." The man glanced down at the very young boy. Mrs. Heelshire seemed to have taken notice.

"This is our son, Brahms. Say hello." Brahms seemed to glance away not interested in saying hello. Helen breathed out a rather uncomfortable sigh. "Please, forgive him, he's rather shy."

"I'm sure he'll grow out of it once I take him hunting." Mr. Heelshire added quickly.

"Ah, I remember my first hunt. Nothing makes you feel more like a man than gunning down a few bucks. Mr. Heelshire you must allow us to return to your land for a hunt. I have not seen such uncharted territory that hasn't been explored." He meant it too. A man with a lust for a hunt and seeing a poor defenseless deer slain in vain was ravenous. Mr. Heelshire owned acres of land that were so fit for hunting.

"Of course, we'll make arrangements." Everything was going according to plan.

"Perhaps you'd like to take your son along with us and break him of his wary fears."

"Oh no, no not yet your lordship." Mrs. Heelshire added quickly. "Much too young to hold a gun. Besides, he's been wanting to see his Emily." She smiled.

HIS EMILY?! Brahms cursed himself like a little madman in a fit of rage inside of his brain. She was not his anything! She was an annoying little brat and a bully at that! Why, God why mother are saying such things?!

"Ahh," The Duke raised a brow in sorrowful sweet glee. "Of course, my dear little cousin." He looked over his shoulder and to the side and saw little Emily emerge with the othersmall guests gathering. "Emily my love, do come here." She smiled all too overly sweetly and always held such a sour presence.

"Yes, cousin?" She gazed up at the very tall name as he smirked mischievously.

"Do you think Master Brahms fancies you, my dear?"

Brahms got a most dreadful feeling in the pit of the stomach. He felt sick as a dog mind you he needed a bag so he could throw up in and feel nothing but utter shame and embarrassment. His parents were laughing and going along with this talk he didn't wish to be a part of. Brahms fancies no one, maybe not even himself. He just wanted his toys and his damn COOKIE! All this nonsense for a god… damn… cookie. It is worth it for the hell been put through. That wasn't even the worst part for him too. They were waiting for a response; he didn't know what to say. He was always looking but now it was looking up. Eyes opened so wide they might've fallen out. Emily looked at him with narrowed eyes. He wanted to throw a rock at her nasty face. Maybe that would finally fix the strands in her brain. Redirect those nasty plugs to a nicer port. Suddenly she spoke up sounding rather preppy in her high voice.

"I think it's ill-mannered to fancy anyone else but me. Why must you ask this cousin?"

"I only tease," He chuckled darkly. "Young love," He mused. "And most of these stories of wooing hearts always end in tragedy anddespair for my people but not for you Master Brahms. You're one of the lucky ones, my dear boy, cherish it." He leaned forward a little with his hand over his chest all humble in his teethy grin. Brahms tried so hard not to sneer; it was practically twitching his tiny top lip. What Emily uttered was just gross to Brahms's ears. He was surrounded but idiots. This is the moment where he wishes… just a little…. That Malcom was here right to give them the business. Granted he was annoying too but if it helped get rid of them Brahms would gladly take up that splendid offer.

"Well put your lordship." Mrs. Heelshire smiled and looked down at her son. "Now Brahms why do you take Emily and show her around the gardens." Lord knows he didn't want to, but he knew if he didn't cooperate the cookie would be off the table. Why did it have to be her, the person he despised most to see? Brahms took a silent sigh as he gestured to walk in the direction he was instructed. Emily smiled sweetly at Mr. and Mrs. Heelshire returning a gesture as she followed Brahms.

He can sense the burning of her hateful eyes boring into the back of his skull. He felt the same way.

"Uh," Emily's distaste oozed out like unwanted pestering flies. "This place is getting more and more boring by the minute." She complained but Brahms quickly shot back with equal annoyance.

"You can leave at any time!" He continued to walk along the path with heavy stomps.

"Oh, I'd bet you'd like that wouldn't you- butthead." Why must he be subjected to his madness? He felt like he was already going mad, but she was pushing him over the edge. "Well guess what, I'm staying, but that's because Mother said I have to."

Brahms rolled his eyes and shook his head. This was his day. It was being wasted away with bloody Emily. This is the part where he wishes he had a few hounds and sick all the dogs on her.

"And I don't fancy you." She said a little too quickly. "I have a boyfriend others would die for." Oh, dear God, what is this ridiculous chat? He doesn't care in the slightest.

"Well, I feel sorry for him, and I don't fancy you either." The look on her face was a rather taken-back one. As if it was utterly impossible to have a boy not like or find her cute. She knitted her brows at him from the side with her head up.

"I never did, and I never will." Brahms looked over his shoulder as he ran to the tree he preferred to sit under.

"Wait! Where are you going? You're supposed to walk me over there!" She continued to stand on the path looking out at the far-off Brahms. He stood up to the massive tree with ease. He felt like he could breathe once more until he started yelling again. "Hello!? You're not doing your duty! I'm a lady and should be treated as such, that's what Mother always says."

"I don't care." He crossed his arms. The look on her face showed nothing more than a losing streak. "You can bake in the sun."

"You are such a twat, Brahms!" She huffed as walked over the grass in a huff pulling up her dress. "No lady will ever want a boy like you anyway. You lack manners, and no one will want that. Your parents have failed in what my mother succeeded in." Brahms rolled his eyes at her words of rude insults. Yet he couldn't hold back as he tried to spit out the words.

"Your mother is nothing but a leech and a big… ugly…" He struggled to get the words out from the emotions he was feeling. Anger, sadness, and utter annoyance. Angry at his parents. Angry at the Nanny. Angry at The Duke and bloody angry at bratty Emily. His sorrow was left to hide within his tiny mind.

"Why am I not surprised you still can't talk without sounding stupid." She finally gave in with a huff as she held her dress in hand. Brahms hated being insulted by a little twat. They say the older you get the wiser you become. Yet, she was the oldest and she did not seem to be anymore wiser than a fallen grape.

"I'm not stupid," He muttered.

"Yes, you are."

"God, if you hate me so much, then why are you here, Emily? Just go away… somewhere," Brahms asked, his voice stressed and utterly confused.

"It wasn't my doing. If it were up to me, I'd be with my boyfriend, but mother insisted I come." Yeah… sure, he thought rolling his eyes. As if she had an actual choice either to be tied, bound or dragged into this lame party.

"If your motherinsistedthen you didn't have much of a choice." He rolled her eyes at her stupidity once more. Who was the idiot now? She was not fooling anyone. Brahms was the smart one here. He knew how the parents' idiotic game rolled. If the child thought it had any choice in the matter of picking and choosing whether they wanted to join them for dinner… you are graveling mistaken. Emily was at a very young age just like him and held no voice in making rules. No one made rules with reason unless given something in return. Brahms didn't like rules all that much, but his mother and father insisted he needed them in his life, or he'd go bonkers. That's just absolutely ridiculous. Rules, rules, rules, were meant to be inscribed inside his mind. Everyone was still treated as if he was some foreign entity standing in of light for everyone else to see. Was he truly just always the shadow to be left behind the light? A pocket of darkness locked from within without a key to open inside? Why is it always so quiet in the dark?

"Whatever." She crossed her arms. It was quiet now, thank goodness, he thought with the slightest bit of relief. Her insistent nagging was annoying and purifying as all hell. It was bad enough he saw her at school along with all the other assholes but now she was here… at his house. A house she only wished she could have, he thought darkly.

"Who was that girl you were talking to?"

The question made Brahms's heart stop momentarily as he tried to process the words. He was confused as he just stayed there a moment puzzled.

"What girl?" He asked.

"Uh," She huffed a girly breath. "That girl at your party. She came after everyone left."

"How do you know that?" His brows knitted together.

"I was inside with our mothers talking to some man. He talked rather weirdly, and I didn't know who he was, nor did I care I just wanted to leave but she takes forever." She rolled her eyes thinking of her mother's constant yapping. "Who was that anyways?"

"That… must've been her father. I don't know." He truly didn't know who Emily was going on about he hadn't the slightest clue. Knowing her she'd lie through her teeth about seeing someone or not and blame whatever cruel faith she had in store for them. He rolled his eyes as he took a sigh.

"So, who is she? How do you know her? I've never seen her at our school-" The constant childish inquiries about an utterly annoying interrogation process were making him feel extremely ghastly to the pits of his stomach.

"WHY do you care?!" He snapped.

"I DON'T! I'm just asking a simple question, or it is too hard for you to answer?" She shot back at him with equal spice. Brahms was silent for a moment. He didn't know her all that much, but he couldn't pinpoint why his chest ached a little at the sudden mention of her. In all honesty hadn't even thought of her. She never came back, and it was rather… sad. He thought she might've returned. After all her father was friends with my father, even though he never met the man, he thought desperately for someone else to accompany him besides bloody Emily. She's just got to visit at least once more before the day's end.

"Her name is Rose and no, she does not go to our school and I… don't know much else."

"Well, she certainly dodged a bullet there in being your friend. Everyone knows you fall for the first girl to give you eye contact. You're too easy." She laughed.

"That's not true and we are friends. I just… don't see her a lot. Rose told me she's visiting her family." He defended. "Why don't you call your dumb boyfriend and leave me alone." Brahms was calling it quits. He didn't need to explain himself to anyone… other than his mother of course, if she so demanded.

"So, she does have a name, how queer, I think the next time she's here I'll intrude myself- "

"NO- you don't need to because she's not staying very long, and she doesn't need a friend like you. She's already nice. That's something you lack Emily." Her eyes knitted together at him.

"Stop pretending to be tough. You know you're not like Malcolm- "

"I'm better than Malcolm! I don't need him to stand up for me. I know who you are and how you like to fool my parents into thinking you are some kinda… angel! Now I see where you get your nastiness it's from your stupid cousin!" He was in a fit of rage, and he wanted to snap her neck. No that would be too easy- too lenient even, he'd hog-type her and throw your weeping butt over the cliff. Let her drown slowly and let the river carry her to the sea. Never to be seen again. One less nasty bastard in this damn hell hole. She wouldn't be missed, in fact, people would thank the anonymous killer. It was such a bloody image he seemed to be pulling into reality… but no. The softer image of a rose took over. It was her, little Rose, she was a reminder to him that not all things were painted in black and red.

"How dare you- y-you stupid boy! You're a freak! Just a freak with no friends! A little odd weirdo! That's why no one likes you in school because you're a loser, Brahms! You should be grateful I'm even talking to you right now because sooner or later Rose will find out whoyoureally are. A sad sack that no one will ever love. If you think your parents wanted you- no, they tolerate you, that's what mother says," It was times like these that made Brahms believe Emily cursed him from consuming what little light he had left.

Brahms turned away with his arms crossed and head bowed slightly. The words hurt like hell, he wished they didn't, but they did. He shouldn't even care about what she says about him but why… why did the last part make his heart feel so empty? Little tears started to build like a dam waiting to explode. He pushed it down hard as he tried to stay calm and hold himself tight. He frowns so hard his lips start to twitch and the muscles in his face hurt like hell. Why… is everyone so mean to me? What the hell did even do to deserve such treatment? What did he ever do to these damn people?! Why was he the odd one out of the circle and everyone else was in?!

"Emily dear I need you!" The small echoing holler from afar around the corner was Mrs. Cribbs. Summoning her daughter for who knows what, good, Brahms thought, just go.

"Coming Mother!" She hollered back in her girlish tone as if nothing ever happened. Brahms cringed hard as he sucked himself in tightly. Brahms sniffed hard as he shut his eyes tight with the heavy tears that tried to hide. He wasn't tough… he wasn't tough. In his mind, he liked to imagine he was tough. The role-playing of killing someone he hated most made him feel better. More alive than before but it was struggling to maintain a perfect bloody image. His feelings were hurt, and he hated to admit Emily managed to get a hold of him. A bloody leash, he hated himself for it. His coping mechanism was beyond morbid and too young to comprehend the full extent of this terrible thinking. A sin he was supposed to go against, but it seemed to be the only logical result to end his suffering. No one understands him but his demons, it was just sad.

He wished Rose was here to cheer him up… just a little before he went completely silent.

.

Brahms was worried, just a little… well, that wasn't entirely true. He was always worried about her well-being, but he could see how strong his Greta was and bold in tone somehow managing to still maintain a soft voice. He was in his room sitting at his desk as he carved away some fresh wood. With a super sharp knife and a brown handle with his name on it. A creator of unique ideas turned into matter not many had the skills nor the talent. He thought on and on about yesterday. His statue, his bloody childhood statue. Yes, it was his gift from birth by his naive parents. Yes, it was indeed his angel, and yes, he saw his Greta within that statue that protected him all these years. It was the only coping mechanism he could subside his demons. It came to the point of seeing the face constantly changing because he didn't know what she would look like throughout age. Now that his Greta was here, he could see her. It was crystal clear she was the product of the spitting image. A reflection on God and his glorious creations. God seemed to get so many wrongs in his acts of trickery but not this one, no, she was perfect. His statue was complete. However, there was a time the words that were carved in solid stone were vandalized by Brahms himself. He thanked God though that she didn't see the writing he inscribed covered by the vines.

At one point he lost all hope in wondering if she ever would return to him. It was a complete and utter heartache he was forced to endure for years on end without a savior. Not an ounce of understanding and compassion for his mind, body, and soul. He felt like he was always alone until she came into his life and yet so suddenly. She must've been lost, she must've been, he thought vigorously. She couldn't find her way back into his arms. She needed assistance, and even a guardian herself may have needed a little push in the right direction. Right back to his home. Yet, there were too many strings of direct to pull. So, it was a loss of hope that began to arise. From the words his parents wrote for him, he selfishly carved over it one night many years ago.

'Being Good Can Lead To Love.'

So young he was but he recalled it like it happened just yesterday that night. He remembers staring at it so lifelessly. So… inhuman. So utterly immune to what once was a simple prayer for love and friendship had need crushed. He couldn't stand it anymore; his hope was now fleeing the perfect scene he'd always imagined would come climbing into his reality. What a load of bull shit. Nothing be a cruel fairy tale in a book for a mere dumb child. So, he changed it.

'Being Good Can Lead To Loving The Bad.'

He was smarter than that, he was a child, but there were times when must admit he did not act as one. A man would crawl out of him, that very being was his demon. They were the temptation, and they taunted him every day for thinking such a lovely light would find her way back to him. He was supposed to be innocent. Holding innocent thoughts like a child would, he always reminded himself but then that same demon would arise once more. It wanted to take, and it slithered its way into his groin with a violent intent. It was all in his head he remembers repeating to himself, go away, please, it was all in his head…. right? Such a child so young shouldn't have to face such things. The older he became dark side would take over because time was so cruel, and it had let him marinate. The first touch on himself was confusing, hot, wet, and calming. It was supposed to help him, put his mind at ease but instead, the demon showed him something more than a simple pump or two. Then it came into an addition, a very violent addition. With nothing to see but his imagination, it was sinful… very deranged. He wanted someone to look at him while he pumped his cock too hard it started to hurt him. Her tiny hands over it, yes, he wanted to see where this goes. He grinned his teeth like a feral animal. He'd hold her down, the little thing, she probably wouldn't even be able to fit over him- NO, please… stop. He'd thrust himself in hand like a crazed lunatic searching for something that wasn't there to penetrate until what little senses came back… he was disgusting. He was fucked up as he remembers… falling on the floor with his filth, it was where he belonged. He didn't understand any of this, he was not told what was right and wrong to masturbate to. He was so lost and cold, even after the heat he created because he thought of her in such a sickening way. He didn't even know why this piece of his caused him so much pleasure and pain all at once. All he knew was that he wanted her to see him, he thought that was the point to watch and touch him with equal force. He wept over and over, he missed her, and he wished he knew what she looked like now. A teen no doubt just like him, in school going to classes, everything he couldn't do. He never got to see many women, only his mother, so his imagination of girls was rather limited. All he had was the image of her as a child… he needed to pray; he needed forgiveness before to turned back into the mad dog he despised to be. God help him, God help him, can he be saved? Through the eyes of God can a deranged person with two sides of light be saved from the demons that await him? He did not know, and God never answered his prayers. He did not doubt that God was simply punishing him for his sinful little mind. With his black beaded cross around his wrist, he prayed on the edge of his bed with his head in shame. Deep down he knew it was wrong, but he still didn't understand like the devil's way felt so much better. No, please, she can never know- never know, for her- I'll turn, I-I'll be good- I will, I promise. Sadly, that did not last long once those dark feelings came back, the only difference was the image in his mind changed once his parents hired a new nanny…. women. I'm trying to be good; he'd wished she was here to hold him, he wished he could simply touch her what he imagined to be utterly beautiful with milk-white skin. So soft, so smooth, and sweet to smell, an antidote to his insanity, he imagined it so perfectly. His once wrong mind turned around as he got older, and he was able to open a new door in his mind. His creativity was once reconnected because of her, he thought on and on and drew her in his books. Imagine what life could've been like if she was never taken away from him.

A man can only dream so much though, and it turns once again into a violent spree. Only this time he'd done something he hadn't done in years, he killed someone. The Nanny couldn't even do her job correctly, he tried to be nice and tried so hard to get her to play the rules but NO she was stubborn. An idiot who'd rather freeload than take care of a child. We are supposed to protect children, not neglect them, and let them all starve like peasants. His mindset was imprinted in his brain now, he was paying for his sins of the past but now he had a new bill to pay but only this time he did not care. They deserve to die if they CAN'T follow the rules, his mother set them after all for his own good and he must abide by them thoroughly as should the bloody Nanny. She was bloody indeed, he remembered. Do not take advantage of people's generous hospitality, no, no, no, that would not do in his book. It's privacy to be here and it must be shown respect. Brahms may think that so swiftly and strongly but how can you show respect as he gets blood all over the carpets? The number of carpets he had to bury is insane. Brahms was fully set on rules, he needed them, and it's what helped him keep himself in line. There might've been times when he didn't want to do something, but he always listened to a stern voice, it scared him. He needed order and he needed things to be done right for his sack. If those standards were not met… well, you know the rest. Many nannies with his name carved over their skins in blood. They were not her and it triggered him to no end that he needed to eliminate what he didn't like in his manor.

It came to a point of enjoying the blood he spilled on the sinners he deemed unworthy of even his love. Unworthy of anything but being a complete and utter fucking nuisance to his hidden presence. Loving the bad was a dangerous game in Brahms's gambit. He could not stand the sight of all the nannies he had throughout his life. They all swayed him into thinking they were on his side but in the end, it was just a pawn to get him to do his parents' bidding. No one was on his side, and they all held ugly complexions. Call him selfish, fine, he liked a pretty face and body he could imagine touching a fine woman's curves now. The books he read in his room for hours on him gave him a different perspective. It was cruel of his parents to give him such wicked creatures without an ounce of acre nor even kindness. God, he hated it, he hated all those times of being pushed aside like his innocent doll.

Now though, right now, in his present-day of living with lighter air, the doll of Brahms was such a distant memory… he'd come so far because of his Greta. He learned he didn't have to be controlled by words he deemed were forever asking God's forgiveness. To just live and forget the past he suffered through, he wasn't the same being and he couldn't remember the past he survived through. He just wanted to be the man Greta needed in her life and always be there at her beck and call. He didn't need the inanimate object to define him. He was breathing, ALIVE, and well. Greta reminded him though in darker times he craved to be touched, feel warmth, and what love neglected to give him. Brahms must admit in his bloody words of threatening others with death he was a little…. desensitized. He didn't know how to work on that, and he didn't want to scare her off like a helpless kitten. There are just some things that Brahms would always keep a secret and for her sake, it was hidden deep in the closet. Well, everyone has their skeletons in the closet, right?

He sees that now, but at the same time, there are times we like to see others strung up with thick rope being pulled to the highest part of the ceiling. Seeing the breath be stolen from their lungs caused him great joy in his mind. Out of jealousy, he does it maybe, even when he's angry he'll do it. If there was acompetition to gain Greta's hand, he'd always won. He butchers and cleavers the man who dared steal her from him. That part still lingers in his mind, and it scared him at times thinking it might affect his Greta to the point of killing herself. NO! He scowled himself harshly, squeezing his eyes shut so tight he could blood tears of sorrow for thinking such a horrible thing. If she offered to do the same would be a problem, but he wanted them to breathe. Just… breathe… together. She wouldn't leave him though, he was so sure of it, Greta and he shared too much at this point and there was no going back. There was probably so much he could learn from her. He called himself crazy now thinking he wanted to go out into town… AGAIN?! That's not like him, he was so isolated he thought going out was out of the question, but he wanted to see more of what he missed. With her though, Greta lightened the dark world he always saw. She helped him, immensely, and he was grateful for it. Still, he hated seeing people though, that didn't change, but at least he got a few… interesting things out of that splendid day.

Brahms snapped out of his thoughts as he slightly nicked himself from the blade he held. He flinched dropping the knife on the table. The small piece of wood he had was being carved into a little Greta a she twirled into a ballerina had fallen by his hand once more. He was making it for her… a gift and got blood running down its cracks. No, no, how could he be so negligent? His own eyes turned red at the sight of the blood ruining the tiny gift in frustration. He gave too much freedom to let his mind recklessly wonder once more about the past he wanted to never reconnect with. Greta was in the room with him as she was cleaning the floor but stopped hearing the clatter.

"Brahms?" She called with knitted brows of concern. Well, there was no hiding the gift now, he cursed himself into utter oblivion. He could not face her because of the embarrassment he felt right now. He'd always cut people, not himself, he felt so stupid.

"Hey, you have to be more careful." She hovered over quickly, and she took the knife from his grasp. "You shouldn't use this if you don't need to." Greta sounded like his mother. She was scowling down at him for something like a stupid moron. He didn't need the obvious to be stated. He had eyes, two of them in fact, he could see just fine. He knew what he was- he was in control, it just…

"I know…. how to use a knife." He sounded slightly peeved but at who, her, or himself, she thought questioningly. Had it finally come to a point of being around each other too much and he was finally getting bored, she thought. Suddenly he noticed the blood on his hand as he tried to hide it. Oh my God, really, she rolled her eyes.

"If you did then you wouldn't have cut yourself now, would you?" She countered, taking his hand into hers. "It's a little deep on his side, but I'm sure it's nothing you can't handle, hold on a second." She took tissues from his desk and swiftly held his bloody hand in hers. Trying to cease the blood. For the first time, there was tension between the two broken souls. A build-up of frustration- uncertainty, and confusion with a mix of emotions that just couldn't be explained. One wanted to find a reason to hate him and the other wanted a reason to have her love. There was a great deal of reason positive and negative. Greta wanted to distance herself from him in the way he wanted. They never truly… discussed it, that whole factor of feelings and seeing reason that there might've been something there but perhaps in a more distant life. One where it might've been normal, and she'd happen to meet a dear Brahms by the park or store with morals and manners. Sadly, it was an adducting- a kidnapping against her will of consent and moral reasoning. At the same time though she did feel bad… perhaps that makes her crazy in some dysfunctional way. Was it so bad that Greta did not understand someone's pain in losing those you trusted? She knows he feels the same way, but it goes deeper than the very foundations within this manor. She didn't ask to sympathize for a loony and yet she always… always felt the need to ask him if he was ok. Perhaps that was the mother's side of her talking- counseling… or so she hoped.

"Are you ok?" she asked carefully, seeing his descended eyes. He didn't answer why was he acting like a child, she thought. "You don't… seem like yourself."

"Neither do you." He whispered.

"What- "

"I'm fine."

"You… you don't need to hide from me Brahms." She sounded so soft and caring. In her words, she truly means it. Greta didn't wish for Brahms to put himself in the dark whenever something was wrong. She did… care, about his well-being and his state of mind. She couldn't come to terms with the idea that this would be anything else but a lie in string ties. Greta still held guilt but tried to push it aside for now and be right now… more… understanding.

Greta leaned on his desk, and she looked down at him with careful movements. Something was bothering him or perhaps he was thinking too much. She may not be able to see his full face, but she has an idea. Still, it was that side of her fear that he could perhaps see through her and wicked lies but not everything in her words painted with deception. There were times though when she couldn't even trust herself and going forward with the plan. Why does this heart… beat for him, in such a way that shouldn't?

"Was your mind somewhere else?" She asked. Brahms did the slightest nod. "Care to share? My mother always said never to bottle things up… it did wonders- so I heard. I wish I followed her advice during the time, but you can." From those words she uttered to him, it was deeper than a simple label of advice. A past of regret from her side of her life. How different things would be if she'd just listen… just fucking listened- and not be so blinded by a sly charm and a greasy grin. They told her, Greta's family told her they were too fond of Cole and her friends knew from the start. She would deny it and claim to them she never heard anything of the sort.

'WHEN? When did you tell me he wasn't good for me?!'

'When you first came home with him!' Greta's sister yelled. 'And I asked, is this the one- is this the guy you want to spend the rest of your life with?! He's no different from our father! A player, a fucking controlling asshole who hates women and only wants to control you! You never listened! Don't do this!'

She had God damn bricks in her ears and it was a shameful and humiliating memory. She knows what it's like to not open up and ignore all those who wish only to help you. Even if you don't see their aid right now, you'll only become more blind in the future. You'll become lost in a love that was never there. Reciprocation is key, she thought, I'll scratch your back and you scratch mine. Cole scratched her back with blades and Brahms was there to bandage her up. Thinking of him in such a caring way was almost relieving to know there was a soft protective touch from behind. It scared her because was all too familiar.

Brahms looked as though he was out of words. They seemed to have all fallen and yet his eyes spoke in waves of colors. He took a sigh as looked down at the fallen little statue of Greta. He picked it up slowly with his long arm extending and collecting. He brushed it off a bit from the dust it hit. It was like a child wanting to be saddened that the gift was simply no longer a gift but a spoil. This blood had seeped into the wood coating her little off-shoulder dress. It was sullied, rotten to his eyes now, it wasn't the same. The beauty he tried to make of her was diminished into one of his victims. Another deadly kill he'd ruthlessly committed without much thought, he hated it so much. Why does everything he touches turn to shit, he thought disheartened. She wouldn't like this; he should throw it away before she sees-

"What's that," Oh no, he thought desperately like a child wanting to hide his bad grades.

"It tainted. I need… to fix-" He whispered again that she could hardly hear him. He turned to her in his chair as if ashamed to look up at her. In such a state of defeat, he gave in and handed her the gift. Greta took it scaring into her light grasp. Looked at it carefully and with puzzled eyes. She took a step back and sat on the edge of his bed. Brahms was silent in his secret eagerness waiting for what she might say or perhaps maybe he should say something. Yes, that's it, it was too quiet even for his liking.

"It…" He struggled as he breathed through the mask carefully and rather nervously. He leaned forward in his chair to her. He still held the towel around his bleeding hand, he didn't feel though really, but he did feel the pain in his chest.

"Is this… me?" She finally asked the right question. Seeing it was indeed a little Greta twirling on one high tippy toe as if she was ice skating so gracing, she thought. Little does Brahms know she's a terrible ice skater.

"You… made me… this?" She spoke so utterly carefully as if she might've worried about scaring him off. From the looks of him, he was rather meek.

He makes his signature nod like the good boy is, yes, yes, it is for my dear Greta. Is what he wished he could say but what seemed like brave words of confidence was sheer tiredness. Aching in his heart… he was so desperate for her affection. They've held hands, yes, but those hands can do so much more, it almost scared him.

"I never get you anything," So soft and yet so sad she sounded. The hand holding guilt and trying to wash away the tears of regret.

She sounded so… raw, so true in this act and way of speaking such a sentence. Sounding too familiar to guilt, he didn't wish for her to feel like she needed to get something. That's not how this worked, he wanted her to feel special and like she was only being the one he wished to be in the pleasant pleasure of.

"You're enough- "

"No- "She interjected which caught him off guard. She adjusted herself as she faced away. "No, please, I'm sorry, Brahms. You're too kind for someone left in the dark. You think of me and carve me into… this." She twirled it like a ballerina can still dance and find happiness without the music. Greta was the dancer, and he was her music. The sweet and savory duet she didn't want to hear, for she was afraid he'd dance with her. "I don't deserve nice things."

Suddenly took large and yet skinny hands and pulled her face to him. Without any word exchange, she knew he wanted his Greta to look at him. So would give it to him. He may have pulled her closer, but her eyes remain averted. The all-too-familiar breathing and smell of heavy musk were too welcoming. With his thumb, he wipes away the fallen sorrow she far too often sheds.

"Why… do you cry… most nights?" Brahms said softly. Eye connected and all. She looked up at him now in unspoken embarrassment with a rapidly beating heart. "I hear you… in the night, tossing… calling out your dreams. Why do you… not call for me… I'm here, let me sing to you." He swallowed as if this was all too much for him to speak.

"Can you truly believe I am worthy to hear your song?" she asked boldly. Taken back but pushed forward.

"Only if you dance." He whispered. She didn't get a chance to respond before he started to release the hold on her. Taking his hands from her soft face. He stood up strong and walked away. It made her feel empty now that the attachment was torn so suddenly. She wanted to speak more, to spill her guts, to talk about her past. Her weeping in the night did not go unheard. She slept in constant sorrow and loss. Why was Brahms bringing up such things, it made her want to open and it was rather terrifying. Did Brahms truly want to hear it, or would he take her words and twist them out of jealousy of a past he never knew? She was conflicted and didn't know what to do- what to say- how to even answer without bursting his bubble. It was too risky to open the stitched wounds and release such a story and yet Greta hadn't the slightest clue that Brahms had his own story he wished to tell her, very soon.

With so many thoughts running amuck in her mind she didn't realize he was playing soft on his old record player. Like the one from the library. Greta didn't even get a chance to ask what he was playing before she heard such beautiful sounds clashing in Gaelic harmony. Yet the piano duet with the violin sounded so sad like they lost and yet found one another. Her heart was beating to such sweet sadness, and she was so tired of this feeling. She felt so naked and alone. Greta was so far from home… so far. For now, though, he'll be the one thing she needs. She'll use his brewing hunger and chase his shadow selfishly to keep safe from this feeling away from being so far home.

Brahms turned around to her as he extended his hand. He didn't need to wait long before she took his hand. Blinding darkness surrounded them as they pulled one another close. With hands on her waist and hands around his neck. Reaching for one another, two souls chasing the light they desperately needed. They swayed as Greta rested her head on his chest. The beat was heavy and alive, it didn't sound like it belonged in the dark. She cried silently as she closed her eyes content to be held. She was so far… just so far.

Brahms was reaching for her and didn't wish to drown as he held her tight. He feared if he was released, they'd never be like this again. Brahms rested the side of the jaw on her. Damn, this face he was cursed with to be denied feeling the rest of her on his real face. He'd always return to her, his Greta. He wanted to speak, she made him want to speak more, so much more. Yet, he was so far sane.

It's been so long, so hard, so unforgivably tiresome. So many more treacherous betraying days to come. They've both come so far… so far from home.