And I'm Paralyzed

Gerard:

I lay back on the bed, panting hard. There was dried blood on my arms and sweat beading on my forehead. Tears streamed out of my eyes, because it had been impossible to fight this time. The release the cutting offered had been too much, and I had taken the razor to my skin once more. There were just a series of long scars, though on the soft flesh of the underside of my elbow joint, his initials were carved. It was a very inconspicuous place, and I hoped he wouldn't ever find it.

I had talked to him. With words. Out of my mouth. I had spoken to him, after a year or more of silence, it had been broken. Unfortunately, another problem had appeared as my lips had brushed Mikey's forehead. I hated myself because of what that simple contact did to my body, I hated that after so long without touching myself, my eightteen-year-old's testosterone levels were through the roof, and that little brush had set me off.

It had been so long, in fact, I didn't really know what to do anymore. In the end, I had figured it out, and I was left with red and white stains on my sheets. It took a moment and a lot of willpower, but I finally sat up and managed to pull my pants up. I turned to my stained bed and used my good arm to rip the sheets off, throwing them into a pile in the corner of my bedroom. Before I went to retrieve clean sheets, I cleansed my arms of the dried blood and cum.

As I finished, I dried my arm gingerly, trying to avoid re-opening the cuts. Once I was done, I returned to my room quickly, grabbing a hoodie and pulling it over my head. The long arms and bagginess made me much more comfortable, and I headed up the stairs. Most unfortunately for me, our linen closet was on the top floor, which meant I had to walk past Mikey's room. I hoped his door was closed. But of course, it was open. He saw me shuffling past his room, my head down.

“Gee!” He called, making me freeze. I hadn't heard that nickname in so long. I felt his body heat and his arm close around my wrist. My left wrist, the one I cut. A gasp of pain escaped me, and I looked up and him before desperately trying to free my hand, which only aggravated the cuts more. If I wasn't careful, they'd start bleeding again.

Seeing my distress, Mikey let go of my wrist. “Did you cut yourself?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

I looked away, studying the floor before approaching the linen closet, fumbling with the cabinet, and pulling out fresh sheets. I kept my eyes away from him, too afraid to see disappointment in his. There was a quiet moment before Michael sighed and shook his head, returning to his room and shutting the door.

~

I was curled up in my bed, thinking now. As much as I hated to admit in, the act of pleasuring myself to him earlier could only mean my lust for him was growing. I felt as though fate were out to get me, for, how could I be in love with my brother? Why couldn't I fall for someone else, anyone else, but instead I go for the one boy who is, beyond others, completely unobtainable, and also everything I'd every want.

I hated myself. I hated myself so much I began to cry softly. I knew he'd be able to hear, out air vents are connected, but I hoped by this time of night, he was asleep by now. Every now and then, weak sobs would escape me as my mind admitted what a monster I was. Even though I tried so hard to be attracted to other human beings, it never worked. He was my worst possible need, worse than the nicotine in my cigarettes. Worse than any imaginable want. And, I think, the thing that upset me most wasn't that I thought of him that way, it was more because I could never have him.

I fell into a fitfully light sleep, and woke up screaming. This isn't unusual for me, it happens all the time when I think of Michael before I sleep. I never know why I scream. Maybe because my dreams are swirling abyss's of fear and sorrow, maybe because I'm waking up to my reality. I don't think I'll ever know, really.

~

Mikey:

The next day we had no school, and though I was honestly hoping Gerard would communicate with me now, I suppose I shouldn't have wasted effort hoping for that. We spoke once, but that doesn't erase a year's worth of silence. Whatever his reasons, he won't speak to me. I just wish he knew it hurt me to hear my brother wake up screaming every morning. I wonder if he knows I still care for him. Even after a year of being completely ignored, I still count him as my brother, my family, and family look out for each other. Well, Gerard isn't in a situation where he can look out for anyone. He can't even look out for himself. I really wish I could see in his head, I wish I knew the motives, the reasons he does what he does. Life just isn't that simple, I suppose.

I picked up a pad of paper and began to draw idly, trying to escape the intense thoughts for once. My room was utterly silent, so I turned on some medium-loud Smashing Pumpkins and tried to escape thoughts of my demented brother.

It even seemed to be working when I heard a knock on my door and his soft voice, one I was so unused to, say, “M-mikey?”