You Can't Keep My Brother
It's Hard To Say I'm Shaken
9 years have passed since that night. No sign of the man or Mikey since. Of course my parents had search parties and had the cops involved. But after about 3 months and no sign of Mikey, not even a small lead to go off of, they gave up. But then something happened, something that I never thought they would do. They erased him. No pictures, no mentioning him, I wasn’t even allowed to draw him. My parents went even as far as trying to convince me that I never had a brother, that it had all just been a dream. If that wasn’t enough to spin a 7 year olds head, try adding in therapy. They lied to the therapists, told them I was crazy, said that I was convinced I had a little brother but really didn’t. So of course I had a million treatments. I never forgot though. Mom and Dad don’t know but before they threw all Mikey’s things and pictures away, I stole one. It’s just a simple picture of me and Mikey sitting together, but it’s enough. Enough to keep me from forgetting him.
Since that night Mom and Dad don’t let me leave the house, not even the back yard. I was taken out of school and told it was so bad people wouldn’t get me too. They like to lie a lot now. They say I’m sick, that I’m not well. Who are they to judge that? Maybe they’re the ones who are not well.
There was a knock on the door. “Gerard…” It was my mother “Gerard open the door, you know you’re not allowed to lock it!” She raised her voice. I shoved some papers out of view and hurriedly crossed the room and opened the door, to find her standing with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. “What where you doing in here?” her eyes darting all over the room
“Nothing Mother” I answer obediently, I really didn’t fancy a beating at this point in time. She scoffed and pushed me aside and started looking at the room more closely. “Mother I wasn’t doing anything”
“Liar” she said, her voice having a bit of threat in it “you’re a very sick child, Gerard, not just body and mind, but your soul is sick as well. I know you where playing the devil’s game up here” She glared at me with disgust. Since Mikey was taken, mom and dad have delved deep into Christianity, they where pretty much puritans. “Why was the door locked?” she snapped
“I just wanted some alone time to think” As soon as the words left my mouth, I wished I hadn’t. Her lips pursed, her eyes enraged. “Not for that mother, I swear”
“You filthy boy! Touching yourself and the like, you will surely burn in hell unless you repent!” She went out into the hall and came back with a cane. I backed up a bit.
“M-Mother I wasn’t….” I stammered “I promise”
“The lies never stop do they boy?” she ran her hand along the cane “How many whippings till the devil leaves you?” my mother paused for a minute “5 for locking your door, 7 for lying, as it is a deadly sin, and 10 for doing unholy things, god saw you doing that, and he is disgusted” she hissed, trying to shame me “So 22, take your shirt off and bend over the desk” she ordered. I didn’t really have a choice. Slowly I removed my shirt, shaking slightly, I approached the desk and used my arms to brace myself. I curved my back slightly, exposing many scars from past whippings. I heard the swish of the cane cut through the air, only accompanied by my mother screaming bible verses. Cries escape my lips as the cane met my flesh, welting it and cracking it in other areas, allowing my blood to escape.
I was 19 into my punishment when I collapsed onto the desk, panting. I heard her walk over to me. Gently she tilted my face towards her “Mommy loves you, I hate it when you make me do these things. If you would just be a good boy, I wouldn’t have to hurt you…” She kissed my forehead and turned to leave “I will be telling your father about this when he gets home, I do not know if he will punish you or not” She closed the door behind her as she left. I weakly stood up, gasping as my back stung me. I made it to my bed and fell face down into it.
I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be bad. I know I didn’t do any of those things she accused me of. But I still deserve every last beating. I know I deserve it because it’s my fault Mikey is gone. It’s my fault that I ruined this family. Hell I didn’t even know if Mikey was still alive or what that man did to him. All I know is that if he suffered any, it was on me. My father is a lot more tender than my mother, so his punishment probably won’t be that bad, if he even decides to come up here. After Mikey was taken they moved me into his old room so they could keep an eye on me. Didn’t want me leaving the house at night. But they don’t realize I still do. They don’t realize that I’m still going out and searching for my baby brother. I have to find out what happened to him.
I sat up, wincing a bit. Quietly as possible I crept over to my desk and opened the bottom drawer. I pulled out pictures, maps, newspaper clippings, and school records I had collected over the last few years. I grabbed my flashlight and shone it on the papers. This was my file, my spider web to Mikey. Though the name on the paper wasn’t Mikey Way, I was sure that “James Pritchard” was him. I opened up my notebook to little facts I had collected on him. It says he was adopted at the age of 4 on Dec 2nd, one month after Mikey went missing. Found on the streets near Belleville, more like snatched. He only lives a few miles from here. I pulled out the pictures I had collected of him, mostly from yearbooks, but recently I had been going out and following this kid around, getting to know his habits, schedule, and other useful things, while taking pictures of him. If I could only get ahold of his medical records to be sure. Hearing my dad pull up into the drive way I quickly jammed everything back in the drawer, clicked off my flashlight, and rushed back into bed. That’s where he likes me anyways.
Apparently the bible condones incest. So it’s not a sin when my father punishes me. Even though I beg him to stop, he never does. It hurts, a lot. No matter how many times he does it, I still never get used to it. He says it’s because I’m sick, if I wasn’t sick it wouldn’t hurt so bad. Mother says it’s normal for a father to do this to a son, that it’s healthy and that I’m sinning by not wanting him to do it. Mother has tried these punishments on me as well, but my body wouldn’t act right because of my sickness. So she leaves it to father.
My door creaks open, heavy footsteps cross my floor, and the sound of a belt buckle being undone. My father had come to punish. He was nude by the time he reached the bed. My stomach churned as I felt his weight sink into my bed. “Father please…I didn’t do anything…I was just thinking, honest”
“Shhhh” he cooed stroking my face “Relax, maybe it won’t hurt so bad if you weren’t tense…just relax” his voice was soft as he began to strip me. My heart rate sped up as I began to panic. He rolled my onto my stomach, spreading my legs and positioning himself in between them. I bit down onto the pillow, getting ready for what was coming. Intense burning filled me as he started to violate me. The familiar sensation of tearing and sharp stabbing pains. Through my sobs and please for him to stop, all I could hear in my mind was
I deserve this.
Since that night Mom and Dad don’t let me leave the house, not even the back yard. I was taken out of school and told it was so bad people wouldn’t get me too. They like to lie a lot now. They say I’m sick, that I’m not well. Who are they to judge that? Maybe they’re the ones who are not well.
There was a knock on the door. “Gerard…” It was my mother “Gerard open the door, you know you’re not allowed to lock it!” She raised her voice. I shoved some papers out of view and hurriedly crossed the room and opened the door, to find her standing with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. “What where you doing in here?” her eyes darting all over the room
“Nothing Mother” I answer obediently, I really didn’t fancy a beating at this point in time. She scoffed and pushed me aside and started looking at the room more closely. “Mother I wasn’t doing anything”
“Liar” she said, her voice having a bit of threat in it “you’re a very sick child, Gerard, not just body and mind, but your soul is sick as well. I know you where playing the devil’s game up here” She glared at me with disgust. Since Mikey was taken, mom and dad have delved deep into Christianity, they where pretty much puritans. “Why was the door locked?” she snapped
“I just wanted some alone time to think” As soon as the words left my mouth, I wished I hadn’t. Her lips pursed, her eyes enraged. “Not for that mother, I swear”
“You filthy boy! Touching yourself and the like, you will surely burn in hell unless you repent!” She went out into the hall and came back with a cane. I backed up a bit.
“M-Mother I wasn’t….” I stammered “I promise”
“The lies never stop do they boy?” she ran her hand along the cane “How many whippings till the devil leaves you?” my mother paused for a minute “5 for locking your door, 7 for lying, as it is a deadly sin, and 10 for doing unholy things, god saw you doing that, and he is disgusted” she hissed, trying to shame me “So 22, take your shirt off and bend over the desk” she ordered. I didn’t really have a choice. Slowly I removed my shirt, shaking slightly, I approached the desk and used my arms to brace myself. I curved my back slightly, exposing many scars from past whippings. I heard the swish of the cane cut through the air, only accompanied by my mother screaming bible verses. Cries escape my lips as the cane met my flesh, welting it and cracking it in other areas, allowing my blood to escape.
I was 19 into my punishment when I collapsed onto the desk, panting. I heard her walk over to me. Gently she tilted my face towards her “Mommy loves you, I hate it when you make me do these things. If you would just be a good boy, I wouldn’t have to hurt you…” She kissed my forehead and turned to leave “I will be telling your father about this when he gets home, I do not know if he will punish you or not” She closed the door behind her as she left. I weakly stood up, gasping as my back stung me. I made it to my bed and fell face down into it.
I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be bad. I know I didn’t do any of those things she accused me of. But I still deserve every last beating. I know I deserve it because it’s my fault Mikey is gone. It’s my fault that I ruined this family. Hell I didn’t even know if Mikey was still alive or what that man did to him. All I know is that if he suffered any, it was on me. My father is a lot more tender than my mother, so his punishment probably won’t be that bad, if he even decides to come up here. After Mikey was taken they moved me into his old room so they could keep an eye on me. Didn’t want me leaving the house at night. But they don’t realize I still do. They don’t realize that I’m still going out and searching for my baby brother. I have to find out what happened to him.
I sat up, wincing a bit. Quietly as possible I crept over to my desk and opened the bottom drawer. I pulled out pictures, maps, newspaper clippings, and school records I had collected over the last few years. I grabbed my flashlight and shone it on the papers. This was my file, my spider web to Mikey. Though the name on the paper wasn’t Mikey Way, I was sure that “James Pritchard” was him. I opened up my notebook to little facts I had collected on him. It says he was adopted at the age of 4 on Dec 2nd, one month after Mikey went missing. Found on the streets near Belleville, more like snatched. He only lives a few miles from here. I pulled out the pictures I had collected of him, mostly from yearbooks, but recently I had been going out and following this kid around, getting to know his habits, schedule, and other useful things, while taking pictures of him. If I could only get ahold of his medical records to be sure. Hearing my dad pull up into the drive way I quickly jammed everything back in the drawer, clicked off my flashlight, and rushed back into bed. That’s where he likes me anyways.
Apparently the bible condones incest. So it’s not a sin when my father punishes me. Even though I beg him to stop, he never does. It hurts, a lot. No matter how many times he does it, I still never get used to it. He says it’s because I’m sick, if I wasn’t sick it wouldn’t hurt so bad. Mother says it’s normal for a father to do this to a son, that it’s healthy and that I’m sinning by not wanting him to do it. Mother has tried these punishments on me as well, but my body wouldn’t act right because of my sickness. So she leaves it to father.
My door creaks open, heavy footsteps cross my floor, and the sound of a belt buckle being undone. My father had come to punish. He was nude by the time he reached the bed. My stomach churned as I felt his weight sink into my bed. “Father please…I didn’t do anything…I was just thinking, honest”
“Shhhh” he cooed stroking my face “Relax, maybe it won’t hurt so bad if you weren’t tense…just relax” his voice was soft as he began to strip me. My heart rate sped up as I began to panic. He rolled my onto my stomach, spreading my legs and positioning himself in between them. I bit down onto the pillow, getting ready for what was coming. Intense burning filled me as he started to violate me. The familiar sensation of tearing and sharp stabbing pains. Through my sobs and please for him to stop, all I could hear in my mind was
I deserve this.
Notes
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Will this be updated?
6/10/14