I watch Matt unnoticed. He looks so tired and pain is clearly displayed on his face. He is shaking in the chilly night. The voices of the other's slowly drown in his heavy breathing.
He hides his face in his hands, a cigarette between his fingers. I didn't know, that he smokes... until now and I thought I knew him better than myself.
Hiding his weakness, his imperfection, that's what he did all his life, now he's slowly falling apart. The image he had built with iron will and a determination born from despair slipped off him like a mask, when he rose his face from his hands again.
His eyes shine with the unshed tears of ages. He looks lonely and lost, a boy, that has grown up to fast and suddenly wonders what his childhood dreams have become.
He is silent, stripped from his overconfidence, his big gestures and even bigger words gone. Just smoke curling out of his mouth and quickly vanishing in the darkness of the night.
Nothing was real about him, it dawns me, he just made up this character and forced himself into it.
Now he's 34 years old, ECW champion, still living alone his big and empty house with his dog, there's no wife, no children filling the silence, just his friends drinking themselves to stupor and talking about the good old times they are still living in, trying to forget the meaninglessness of their lives. Omega is gone since a long time.
He's craving for respect, feeds from approval and adoration, spending all his free time online, reading all comments on his myspace site and feeding from the love of his fans.
They make him go on.
Even if he feels empty. Even when he's in pain every day and just a breath away from becoming addicted to painkillers. Even if his beauty fades rapidly and his body finally taking revenge for all those years of abuse.
I slowly walk towards his disturbingly small form sitting on his porch. My bare feet make no sound. My shadow covers the dim light and he looks up to me. His eyes are defenceless, he's so bare, that I almost can't stand looking at him.
Before I recognise, what I do I lean down and place a kiss on his forehead. His trembling hands reach out for me and hesitantly curl around my upper arms. They are cold on my skin and I shiver.
He looks hurt and ashamed and guilty and turns away from me.
My body still remembers, what he has done to me. I forgave him, but the memory won't fade. I still don't understand, why he did this to me, how he could be so cruel.
There are no scars marring my smooth skin, but the pain lingers. In a way, I'm like him: displaying a perfection I can never achieve.
Pureness, beauty, innocence... I was like this eternities ago, but I can't remember, what it felt like, I just pretend as good as I can.
I close my eyes and fight the flashback, but fail:
"Shannon!", I try to forget that this is my name and try to overhear the message in the intonation of those two syllables. The promise of pain, fear and degradation.
His body is heavy on mine, almost crushing me, I can't breath.
I'm so small compared to him.
His hands around my wrists. My forearms look fragile in his grip and I feel my fingers growing numb under the pressure he applies.
I never fought him, but he doesn't take any risks.
Jeff already lies curled up in the corner of the room, whispering to himself, the words frayed and making no sense at all, his large green eyes drinking the shadows and staring into mine. His long legs are pressed together, but I can see blood smeared over his thighs, black in the moonlight. His skin looks almost white, glowing. He's like a ghost and his pretty face is covered in snot and tears. I'm a little jealous, that he still can cry. I've lost this ability long time ago, I'm already numb. At least I'm still sane unlike him.
Matt's fingers invading me distract me from my musings. I hiss in pain, at least he uses lube and makes sure, he doesn't rip me apart like his little brother. Because my mother cares. Their father looks away. Matt is seventeen and still climbs into his little brother's bed every night like a nightmare and steals the last parts of his sanity.
Jeff dives into his hiding place for hours every day already. His imagination. Behind his eyes, there's his own world. Nobody can follow him there. He's there alone, but happy. No pain can touch him there and there's just beauty and colours and nothing else.
Once he tried to take me with him, but I didn't find the way.
The coppery scent of Jeff's blood still lingers thickly in the room and it probably still covers his brother's cock, that slowly sinks into me.
Matt moans and comments on my tightness like he ever does and the head of his cock nudges this one place, that makes me feel funny, no matter how much I fight this feeling.
Jeff is humming to himself, his arms wrapped around his upper body, embracing and rocking himself, but he has trouble to escape the reality, because I'm crying out with pain quite loudly with every thrust.
Matt is more careful with me than with his brother, he never bruises me or makes me bleed and always pets me and whispers into my ear how much he loves me and how pretty I am.
He never does that to Jeff. Matt calls him names and hits him, if he does something wrong or struggles.
I close my eyes. Later I'm gonna curl up with Jeff, wipe his tears away and watch sadly and a little envious, how he slips away into his imagination, leaving me behind with the reality of Matt's cum dripping out of my ass and the scent of blood in my nostrils.
I was eleven years old, when this had happened. Jeff was fourteen.
He's still not whole. Matt has damaged him beyond repair, even as he stopped doing those things to him since Jeff moved out of their father's house.
Jeff is still driven by impulse, unable to organise his own life, unable to stand one day without seeking refuge in his imagination. He even built it. His own world. The dreams of a little boy became solid, but weather and erosion made them too real.
Once he said to me, that he can't love anyone else but Matt. When I catch him looking at his brother, I can see, that those words are still true. He still can't hate him, but he is afraid of his touch as I am.
On Jeff's 18th birthday we got a little wasted. We kissed, because we've trusted each other and cared... Matt caught us and forced Jeff to touch me, undress me and fuck me. Jeff's tears fell down upon my face like warm summer rain. His long blonde hair tickled me and his green eyes looked at me in disbelieving pleasure as he slid into me.
He whispered my name. His voice sounding like rustling leaves, like autumn, like decay, he almost broke apart totally this night, when he was forced to rape me. It didn't touch me. Most of the time I've spent outside my body, looking down upon our mingled flesh, my own hands digging into Jeff's shoulder blades, my legs wrapped around his waist and I've moaned into his ear as he fucked me as gently as possible.
It must have felt so good... but I don't remember feeling anything but Matt's cum splattering all over us, when everything was over.
I watch with satisfaction how Matt fights with his inner demons. He suffers and the little kiss I've chastely placed on his skin must have burned his soul. I smile like the perfect pretty angel he adored so much.
He ripped my wings out and made me eat them.
I can't go back to who I used to be. Jeff's strong arms embrace me from behind and I lean back with a sigh. His lips briefly touch my neck and then we watch his brother together, staring at him with the innocent interest of children torturing insects displayed on our faces.
We are patient. He will slowly destroy himself. We'll be there to grind the remains to dust under our heels. It will be an empty victory, but I don't care, because sometimes I see something like love flickering in Jeff's gaze, when he fucks me.
Maybe he will heal and learn to love me.
Carved in stone by Antimatter
What a big man you are Could fight a war with just your face Take it on the chin and leave me open-jawed.
What big words you've got,
Reciting lines you've heard on film,
Could write a script with just your lust for respect.
Rip off this face, it can't persist,
Like shadows in the rain, undefined lines,
A symphony muted and greying.
You're not real, and neither are your goals.
Exposed and fruitless,
Suspended from a childhood insecurity,
Perpetuated beyond the boundaries of logic and reality.
Many times i held my hand out to you,
When it should have been me was destructive.
In my own rights i should have been..
I had hoped somewhere that through your clouded portrait of rage
I could eventually count on human nature to rear its head
And shine over the darkness that we had created for ourselves.
And human nature did shine through,
but I never realised that human nature was truly so jealous and vile.
That is the nature of men,
The very man you strive to be,
And you will succeed.
Stretch up to your pain as long as it may carry you,
Until your body becomes consumed and decayed by the ravages of time.
For one day it will forever change your mask,
And you will be carved in stone...