It was me... and it wasn't
It's also why I never questioned what father had in plan.
But then we'd pulled up at a brothel. I'd learned it was a brothel because the soldiers started talking. That, and the naked women parading themselves inside the place. And as we walked around, I realized what father had in plan.
I did not like it.
My introduction to sex had been the sight of mother being raped by father on the altar in her room. And it had been enough to turn me off the act completely. After that, I'd been exposed to lewd talk, mostly done by father's soldiers. It hadn't impressed me or made me change my stance towards sex. Which was also why the thought of doing anything in that dirty place threatened to make me ill – my poker face be damned.
Father hadn't cared to ask for my opinion. He'd demanded that the Madame bring in a woman, and then he'd taken me to a room, forcing me to undress. When the girl had arrived, father had pulled a chair and watched as she'd tried and failed to arouse me. Eventually, given the futility of the matter, father had thrown her out.
I'd really thought the ordeal was about to be over.
But I was wrong.
"You're a faggot, aren't you? That's why you can't fucking respond when a woman touches you." He'd sneered at me. "No son of mine will be a faggot, you got me, boy?"
I could only nod.
He'd left the room for a minute, before returning with a pill, and forcing me to take it.
"You'll become a man today." He'd declared, and two more women had come in. Both seemed to be older... twenties, or maybe thirties? What had followed had been the worst experience of my life. Eyes blank, I'd just sat there, letting them do whatever to my body. Father had joined in as well. Bonding. That's what he'd called it.
Water still pouring on me, I collapse on the tiled floor, shivering from the cold air.
Please make it go away!
I wish I could erase the feel of their hands on my body... the way they'd coaxed a reaction where there wasn't any.
I'd lost more than control over my body that night.
I'd also lost control over my mind.
IT CONTINUED.
Father forced me to accompany him to the brothel every time. I've already lost count of how many times we've been there.
He also introduced me to his favorite pastime — orgies.
Every time we went to the brothel, there was an event that entailed a room full of people fucking like rabbits.
I was there... and I wasn't.
It slowly became as normal to me as killing.
It was me, and yet... it wasn't.
My body complied, but my mind retreated somewhere safe.
I can never remember the people. It's like I black out after every single event.
And somehow... I'm glad for it.
Maybe it's my mind's way of dealing with things. I've been doing a lot of reading into the brain and how it functions... especially how it reacts to traumatic events.
Why?
Because I'm afraid. My entire life has been a traumatic event. How much more can one human possibly take? How much more until I snap?
And I'm afraid... Because what if I just... lose myself? Retreat so deeply in my mind that I never reemerge. Yes... That scares me.
I COULD HEAR THE SCREAMS all day. Which is odd, given that father is not home. Although I'm fairly certain mother must have lost it again.
So many years, and she's gotten worse and worse. At this point, I'm not even sure if anything can help her.
It's a little after six in the evening when the screaming resumes. This time, it doesn't die down. Since I've gotten used to mother, I know that her hysterical fits usually last a couple of hours, until her throat gets sore. Then there is a break in between when she loses her voice.
The way she's going about it now, I'm pretty sure she won't be able to speak for the coming days.
I try to mind my business and ignore the permeating noise, but when another voice joins in, I frown. That's not mother. What's happening?
I reluctantly go downstairs to check what's going on. I'm on the top of the stairs when I see mother on top of one of the cleaning ladies, screaming and kicking.
Going closer, I notice mother is holding a hammer and nails and she's trying to hold the hand of the cleaning lady and drive a nail through it.
"Mother!" I call out, reaching out to grab her.
"No! Impure... you... devil!" She stammers when she sees it's me. Her eyes are wild and unfocused.
"Mother, stop." I repeat and drag her off the already bleeding woman. I try to loosen her fingers off the hammer, so she can't hurt anyone anymore, but she takes me by surprise by shoving a nail as hard as she can in my thigh.
"Fuck!" I mutter under my breath, and mother takes advantage of this to shove me back, running up the stairs to her room.
I take a few stabilizing breaths and without even thinking remove the nail embedded in my flesh. I revel in the pain as it gives me the mental acuity necessary to deal with mother.
I stride determinately towards her room, intent on removing all weapons from her person. She can hurt herself as much as she wants, but she shouldn't abuse the staff. I reach her room, and I kick it open, hoping the display would intimidate her.
How wrong I am...
Mother is looking at me with terror in her eyes. She's holding a knife in her hand and as I step inside the room, she keeps on retreating towards the altar.
"Mother, give me the knife." I tell her, my voice steady.
"No...no" She shakes her head. "Devil...." She takes a cross from the altar and shoves it in front of me, probably hoping I'd suffer some side effects from the holiness of the cross.
"Mother, stop this. I'm not a devil and you know it. I'm your son."
Her eyes widen for a moment before she frowns.
"My son?" She asks as if this is the first time she's hearing it.
"Yes, now please drop the knife before you hurt yourself." I take another step forward and she does the same, hitting the altar.
"No... my son is the devil..." She keeps on shaking her head, her eyes bleak as she looks at me. It's like she's a shell of a person.
I try to reach out, but she brandishes the knife in front of me, making me retreat a little.
"Let's drop the knife, ok?" I do my best to keep my voice calm. "God wouldn't want you to hurt yourself, right?" I change tactics, hoping it will somehow make her more receptive.
"No... You're the devil... You're trying to tempt me, aren't you?" She snickers, an ugly scowl transforming her features. "Yes... I knew you'd come to test my faith. But you won't win."
She gives me a smug grin before lifting the knife once more. I think she's going to attack me, so I instinctively take a step back.
She's not.
She takes the knife, and she positions it close to one ear. My eyes widen in understanding, but it's maybe a second too late. I start towards her at the same time that she cuts through her own flesh and drags the knife from one ear to another, grinning like an idiot as the blood flows down her clothes.
I stop.
She's gasping for air as her life's essence leaves her body, and I just watch. The rivulets of blood flow down until there's nothing left. I watch until the last drops of blood have left her body. She's a mess on the floor, her eyes still open and glaring at me defiantly. Her lips still carved in a dark smile.