Angus taken up a habit of hiding away when his brother came home, stumbling through the door, mumbling incoherently about his day, or about the meeting he'd just come home from; about his girlfriend, or about the latest hooker he'd found off the corner and fucked in the alley. There was always a bottle in his hand. Vodka, Jack Daniels, Expose, Vat 69; whatever his poison was for the night...
The house was old. Large. Drafts curled through unreachable spots, through unknown nooks and crannies. The floor boards were always chilly, footsteps groaning against them. Bed frames, left behind from the previous owners, creaked at the slightest movement, rapping against the hollow walls of the many rooms. The electricity wiring was shot, cheap, lights going on and off during random points of the day, even during the night.
But it enthralled them. It was their first big purchase after the release of their first album.
Angus's favorite spot was the attic. A small enclosed space, tight and dark where time would disappear and he'd wait until his brother passed out, or until he did, tired from the waiting.
But he didn't make it that night.
He wondered why the others didn't hear it...
Angus sat across from Bon at the kitchen table, a draw of five cards in his hands as he sat slumped in his chair waiting for the other to make the next move. In the other room, they could hear Phil cursing at the television as the football game dragged on, the opposing team obviously winning. And they could hear Cliff beside him, prodding questions, usually the same ones, over and over again about what was happening.
He'd heard the car drive up.
He couldn't help but always be surprised about how his brother always made it home. One of these days, he knew he was just bracing himself until the day he didn't...
“Hey, um, wanna finish this later?”
Malcolm made him uncomfortable whenever he would get like this. He was always so...touchy-feely, hands grasping at the nearest person in sight, groping in places they shouldn't be, feeling up in places they didn't belong. And he was always so crude. It was as if the worst of everything would collapse on his shoulders when he got drunk, everything spitting from his mouth in nasty slurs.
“Yeah, sure, I promised Phil I'd watch the rest of the game with him anyway.” Bon picked up the cards as Angus murmured something about an excuse that he was tired, wanted to sleep out the rest of the night.
He was halfway to the stairs when Malcolm came through the doorway, nearly tripping over the threshold as he went. Their eyes locked, if only for a moment, and Angus made a rush for the stairs, clambering up them and down the narrow hallway, twisting about the corners he'd come to know so well...
Malcolm startled him in his speed as much as ability to drive a car inebriated.
A pair of hands clamped Angus by his shoulders. He was so close. Close enough in fact that he could see the attic door shadowed against the ceiling at the end of the hall.
“Where're ya goin' Ang?” A reek of alcohol filled his nostrils as Malcolm leaned in, head brushing against his shoulder as he squirmed about, trying to wrench himself from his brother's tightening grip. He was spun about, back rammed against the wall, air heaving from his lungs in a heavy sigh.
“You were runnin'.”
“No, I wasn't, I swear I-”
“Then why'd you run?” The words were breathed against his face, and Angus's nose scrunched up at the sharp stench of liquor, the smell enough to make his stomach roll. He turned his face away, swallowing away the burning rise of bile in his throat, gagging slightly. The hands clamping his shoulders tightened, nails digging into his upper arms as he was shaken.
“Why'd. You. Run?”
“Mal, please-” Malcolm shook him again and his head cracked off the wall behind him, and he yelped. His hands clenched into tight fists, his breath quickening as Malcolm closed the gap between them, locking him between the wall and his body.
A hand came up, grasping him firmly under the chin, nails digging into his jaw. Angus tried to jerk away, but Malcolm's grip was strong and instead he was forced to stare into the bloodshot eyes glaring down at him. There was a spark in them, almost a flaming hatred that made him shudder and want to fall away, to just disappear...
Hands suddenly came up and framed Angus's face, almost in a gentle manner, but that fiery spark still held his gaze.
“Why are you so easy to break?” The words were slurred, and again, the scent made his stomach curl and knot, but the silence that followed it blanketed them in the dark hallway like a shroud.
“Why? Why are you so easy to break? Why?” There was almost a desperation in Malcolm's voice now, and Angus opened his mouth to retort, to try anything that would get Malcolm to let go, to back off---instead, a sharp sting to his cheek was all he got as the back of his brother's hand connected with his face.
His mouth fell slack as he felt the pained heat spark from the stinging flesh and he bit his lip, holding back a choked whimper. Trembling, Angus dropped his gaze to the floor, only to be wrenched up again.
“Look at me.” Malcolm snapped as Angus averted his eyes away from the ones currently trying to bore holes into his head. With a soft whine, he did so. The strange pity he'd seen only moment's before, the twisted form of sympathy was gone, replaced once again with that drunken glower.
“Mal, I-” Lips suddenly meshed against his own, teeth sinking into the plush flesh of his lower lip hard, the metallic tang of blood staining his tongue mere seconds later. The hands framing his face slid down to his neck, tightening, nails digging in despite the muffled gag that was shortly swallowed in protest.
Angus squirmed desperately, the lack of air finally getting to his head as the darkness about him swirled. Didn't Malcolm need to breathe as well? There was a wet snap as their lips parted, and Angus gasped, his lips throbbing painfully. Out of instinct, he opened his mouth, the scream half way up his throat when a hand clamped over his mouth, successfully stifling it.
“Don't even think about it.” The words hissed against the air, seething with hushed rage as lips were crushed to his own again, effectively silencing the muffled shouts and whimpers that tore from his throat. Angus twisted about, wriggling a leg in between them, managing it between Malcolm's own and pushing out the support---and his brother---off of him and to the floor.
Legs shaking, Angus made a break back down the hall...when a quick hand latched about his ankle and yanked, nearly sending him face first into the floor. He fell, the carpet burning against his hands and knees. He scrabbled to get to his feet, but was practically tackled to the floor, his arms giving out from underneath him.
“Get offa me!” Angus shouted, jerking frantically to get away as hands tangled in his shirt, prying it off his shoulders, the material ripping easily as the seams tore under the pressure. He could see out of the corner of his eye as it fluttered down beside him, and he went to grab it when his wrist was pinned to the floor. Whimpering, he tried to pull out of the grasp to no avail.
Hips ground up against him roughly, and Angus could feel Malcolm hard and eager along the back of his thigh. Desperation began to give way, and his fingers dug into the short fringe of the carpet as he tried to drag himself away on his stomach. Malcolm's hand tangled in his hair, slamming the side of his face into the floor, the other palming the small of his back as it roamed about, searching for the waistband of his pants.
Somewhere along the line, he realized Malcolm no longer had his hand over his mouth...
“You scream and I swear to god you'll regret it.”
He thought about it, thought about it for a long time, thought about it long enough that Malcolm was able to fumble around with his belt and yank it free and was clawing at his pants, desperately trying to tear them away. There was a momentary blankness that settled over Angus and for a long while, he couldn't see, only feel his brother's hand tearing him bare, hear the irritated grunts and low growls and smell the rank of alcohol that plugged his nose.
He came back he was suddenly drug back by the hips, nails biting in firmly enough that blood pooled beneath each finger. Angus struggled again, a hand suddenly palming the side of his head and pressing down, keeping him still. There was another minute of stillness, the silence so thick that he was pretty sure he could grasp it---and suddenly his entire body erupted into pain as it crescendoed higher in an arch until he screamed...
Or tried to, a hand was over his mouth again.
Tears immediately burned at the back of his eyes and everything blanked again and he thanked God for it. He could feel the heated sting of salt from his tears on his cheeks, as the skin reddened under the continuous flow. The pain sparked again and again, maiming up and down the course of his spine, his throat raw under each shriek gone muffled against his brother's hand. The carpet burned at his knees.
And suddenly, his thighs were warm, a hot, wet sensation dripping down the insides of his thighs that he soon recognized as blood without even having to see it. Angus screamed again, nails biting into his palms as Malcolm suddenly locked behind him, groaning low in his ear, with teeth on his neck so hard he was sure they'd cut through the skin.
He was crying, crying so hard that, even when his vision cleared, he wasn't sure if it had; the film of tears was so thick. He panted and gasped for breath behind his brother's hand until it was pulled away, the weight across his back, unmoving and heavy before it too, pulled away. He heard the shuffle of clothes and suddenly, the heel of his brother's foot colliding with his side and pushing him over. He groaned, eyes screwing shut tightly as a wave of pain flushed through him.
“Pathetic.” Something wet was on his cheek and it took him a moment as his eyes flickered open, his fingers touching the wetness---his brother had spit on him. Angus began to sob then, quietly, as he drew into a tight ball, burying his face in arms.
He hated this.
He was so tired of it.
Fuckfuckfuck, I can't breathe.
He clutched himself tighter as the staggering footsteps wandered away.
But I keep letting it happen. Why? Why?
Did he even have an answer?
Did it matter?
Because I'd let him do it again anyway.
Because I'll never get away.
Because he'll always find me.
Because I...I don't know.
No. It's not okay.
It never had been. And it never was going to be.