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For years your Bro came home and beat the shit out of you. You never really knew why, but you figured he really hated you or was angry.
He'd come home, slamming the front door of the apartment shut, shouting your name.
"Dirk, get the fuck in here!" he commanded. You would get out of your warm bed in your dark room into the living room, trying to adjust to the light. Bro was completey shit faced. Maybe today's beating won't last too long.
He looms over you, glaring at you and you only avert his gaze from behind your pointy triangle shades. His red suit is messy; black shirt unbuttoned half way down; hands in his pockets.
"Why aren't you asleep?" Bro slurs out. You know he's only trying to find a reason to hit you. Any form of response will end up become an unsatisfactory one even if valid. So you don't speak, attempting to not provoke any anger, but you know silence will make him frustrated.
"Don't ignore me," Bro manages to say. When he slides his hand out of his pocket, you flinch, but with good reason as he slaps you across your face. It stings, but you don't complain or make any sounds. He's analyzing you, still searching for a reason to beat you.
Bro obviously wasn't satisfied with his handywork he had done on you yesterday. Your left eye was swollen and dark. There were various bruises along your arms from when you tried to soften blows with them. Patches of dark purples, yellows, and blues decorated your body from your head to your toe. Your Bro somehow made sure to be thorough with you even in his rage.
Then, his next slur of words catch you off-guard, "Go to bed, kid."
It seems not giving him any lip prevented him from busting your lip open and your eyebrows inch up in surprise, but you don't protest. You just slump back into your room, mentally victory-dancing for avoiding a beating from your older brother.
A couple of days pass by and your bro hasn't really shown up, or maybe he just comes home so late that it doesn't wake you. One night, his arrival is unusually loud and it's enough to wake you up eben from deep sleep. You hear him shouting, but his voice isn't addressing you. His line of shots pauses and then continues as if he is listening to a reply. Did he bring someone home? This was a first. Your big Hollywood bro bringing strangers into his private home.
His shouts cease and loud thudding followed by chaotic crashes could be heard from the living room. Then, silence. You scrunch your nose and clench your eyes shut, but they shoot wide open when you hear sobbing. Immediately throwing your blankets off, you rush into the living room before freezing in shock.
Before you stands Bro holding up a crying man by his wrist. This man looks pretty young, older than you but maybe a couple years under Bro. He looks like a total twink, wearing blue clothing with a logo related to Ghostbusters. His face is bruised up badly, mirroring yours. Hickies decorated his neck, most likely the work of your Bro. You weren't the only one receiving this kind of treatment from him. You felt a deep anxiety bubbling in your stomach as you related to this young man.
He's sobbing, resisting and tugging at Bro's grip on his raised wrist.
"Please... Dave let me go," he whispered out a desperate plea. It was strange hearing your brother's real name. This guy must be really close to him.
Bro chuckled cruely, "Shut up John."
He threw him with harsh force onto his folded out futon before climbing on top of him, caging him down. Shit, looks like they haven't noticed you yet, or your brother wouldn't be preparing to do the deed right in front of you.
You falsely cleared your throat, making sure it was loud enough to be heard over John's pleas. The room immediately went silent with the exception of the black haired man's sobs. Your bro shot his gaze towards you while the man under him covered his face with haste in shame.
You can tell from Bro's face that he hasn't been drinking much. Nothing influencing his current actions, but pure cruelty and horniness. He slowly gets off of John, who is now weeping loudly into his hands, and walks over to you. His lips are pulled down into an angry frown, nostrils flaring, and chest puffed out. His height towering over you. Neither of you say a word, yet you know he is sending you to your room. You shoot John an apologetic glance, but he's still weeping into his hands. There's nothing you could do to help or save him from what's coming next. Judging from his body language and appearance, it's probably happened before.
Defeated, you walk back into your room and Bro returns back to John. You peek out the door as you slowly close it. Bro tears John's hands off his face and holds up his wrists.
"Please don't hit me!" the blue eyed man begs and you shut your door, muffling the rest of his words. "Dave, I'm sorr-"
You clench your teeth when you hear smacking and cries of pain. Running over to your bed, you clamp your head between your pillow, trying your best to muffle out the sounds. You can still hear shuffling and John crying out pleas.
Then, he lets out one particularly loud scream, following by sobbing and the creaking of your brother's futon. It settles into a rythm and John's forced moans are in tune with them. You can hear him crying inbetween his moans.
It's pretty obvious Bro is fucking this kid into his futon. These sounds go on for what seems like an hour, maybe more. It increasingly is getting harder and harder to ignore. Disgust is brewing deep inside you. The rhythm of the sounds starts to get louder and sloppier. John is begging for your Bro is stop. He doesn't.
"Oh! John, I'm almost there! Shit!" you hear your Bro's muffled voice and panting. He continues to let out a string of swear words until you hear a distinct cry from John followed by heavy panting. You're pretty sure that's your Bro because the other sound accompanying it is weeping.
You roll your eyes, relieved that it's finally over. It was hell just for you to listen, you couldn't imagine how John felt experiencing it.
"Hey, stop crying," Bro demanded. "I said stop crying!"
They both grow silent and after a while you hear nothing from them. You take this opportunity to sleep, hoping you don't get nightmare replays of tonight.
Morning arrives faster than you want it to. The kitchen is filled with noise. Bro must be making breakfast or some rare shit he doesn't ever do.
When you leave your room, you are greeted by the sight of your Bro wearing nothing but his trademark avaitor sunglasses and boxers decorated with poker suites. He has a cigarette in his mouth. John is sitting at the table. He's wearing one of your Bro's record t shirts and its a bit oversized on him, allowing a view of his collarbone which has patches of flowering hickies. You take a seat next to him and he flinches, but then relaxes when he realizes it's you and not Bro.
His face is thinly smeared with traces of blood, coming from his nose and lip, carelessly wiped off of him. His eyes are puffy from crying last night with the exception of his left eye which is swollen and different shades of deep purples, blues, reds, and yellow. The edge of his lip matches this palette as well.
He gives you a sad small smile, before looking away. Everytime Bro made a noise in thr kitchen or walked near the table, John flinched. You flinched too a couple of times, but shit John was terrified of your brother. You thought you had it pretty bad, but at least Bro wasn't sexually abusing you like this kid. Who knows how long this has been going on between the two of them.
When Bro sets down a plate of breakfast in front of him, he flinches and gives out little quick pants, his chest puffing out in a panic. When the older blonde moves back into the kitchen, John's panic leaves with a sigh of relief. He doesn't move to eat though. Instead, he waits for your Bro to sit down at the table next to him and take the first bite into his breakfast. Even then, he still waited until Bro nodded in his direction.
"Why don't you make yourself breakfast?" he asks you inbetween chews.
You shrug in response, "I'm not hungry yet."
Bro also gives you back a small shrug, indicating he accepted the answer or he just didn't care enough. Then, you catch him shifting his gaze from you to John. Eyeing him all over as if admiring last night's work. John is averting his gaze, but he tenses up and he knows your brother is analyzing him.
Bro looks back at you with a smirk and wiggles his eye brows when you turn to look back at him after watching John. God, he was such a fucking douche. You don't react, you just keep a pokerface on and break eye contact with him.
Bro munches down his breakfast and finishes before John can even get half way through his. He sits back in his chair as he watches the black haired man immediately stop eating, get up, and pick up both their plates to take them to the sink. Holy shit, your bro has this guy whipped. You stared in amazement.
As John washes the dishes, Bro gets dressed and ready to head off. John sits back down at the table and watches with you as Bro gets ready. He gets his keys and heads out the door without even looking in either of your directions.
When the door clicks shut, John lowers his head and hangs it. He begins to tremble and you catch a few tears drip from his face hidden behind his messy black hair. He's crying silently, probably letting out what he's been holding for so long. You knew that if he cried in front of your older brother, he'd give him another beat down.
You sit there awkwardly for a while, unsure of what to do. He's been going through the same thing you have for years, but worse.
You decide to do the only thing you wish someone could have done to you during all these years of suffering: you pat him tenderly on the back and whisper, "It's okay."