his thin-lipped smirk when she burnt herself on the eggs she was trying to cook while drinking mimosa this morning. I’ve been here for a week now and if anything I think he’s the one torturing me with his mundane life. He looks tired and older than his forty-two years. It’s hard to believe we’re related; he’s not attractive like I am and doesn’t hold even a fraction of my intelligence, and he definitely doesn’t crave to live out my urges. He’s miserable, unhappy with his life and depressed to be married to a whore. There’s nothing to work with, which made the trip a waste of my precious time.
He has inheritance from his mother’s side and works more hours at his accounting firm than he spends here at his huge fucking house. He never knew our father; he was told the man his mother married was his dad. I’m one step away from using my whiskey tumbler to cut his throat and put him out of his misery but he sighs and starts opening up for the first time since I arrived.
He’s lonely, that much is clear. He invited me inside and asked me to stay when I first arrived claiming to be his brother. It’s the truth, hard as it is to believe. I’m his half-brother but he doesn’t know for sure, yet he didn’t ask for evidence. That leads me to believe he must have always known who his father is, but in actual fact he’s that lonely. He was willing to take me in, real brother or not. How pathetic and desperate do you have to be to invite me in to stay without any details of who I really am? Some people deserve my torment; they invite the devil into their lives and bring upon themselves debauchery. At least Blake has some balls; this fool is an embarrassment.
I swill the whiskey in my glass and wait for him to speak; his mouth keeps opening and closing, making it clear he’s trying to decide whether he should speak what’s on his mind.
“You know, whiskey in Gaelic translates as ‘water of life.’ Uisge beatha,” I murmur.
His laugh draws my attention from the amber liquid. “That makes sense. It really is the water of mine.”
Blood’s mine. I grin to myself and debate whether I should spill some of his tonight. I already want this trip over with. I’m bored and my thoughts keep drifting to Cereus. She’s living a normal life, going to college, pouring herself into art. I miss her though, and the selfish ruling part of me is finding it difficult to stay away. I battle with my own mind every day with the choice to stay away and let her have a normal life. She isn’t normal, she’s mine and I want to claim her back. She’s meant to live in my world, give it color and chase the shadows with me. She knows the real me, learned all the details of every desire I’ve indulged in and yet she still yearns to have me in her life. I occupy her thoughts; she brought me to life in her art. I’ve never not obeyed my inner urges before and fighting to stay away from her is taking more focus than I have. I need something or someone to play with to take the edge off, and to stop me going to her and ripping her from the world she’s living in.
The moon is full in the sky tonight and every time it catches my eye through the open blind at the window, I imagine Cereus, blossoming under its glow.
I FIDGET IN MY SEAT like a preschooler. If his mouth doesn’t open and speak . . .
“You ever thought about killing someone?”
I almost drop my drink at Joseph’s question.
We’ve just finished dinner and Margaret, his wife, mocked his manhood and decided to play footsie with me under the table during the second course. She’s vile; I think I’ll take my time when killing her.
Joseph and I left the room before she returned with the dessert. We sit in his study and I accept his offering of a re-fill, and sit forward to give him my full attention. “That’s a loaded question.”
He sighs, placing the decanter filled with whiskey back on the mantle.
“Some nights I hold a pillow over her head and just want to
He has inheritance from his mother’s side and works more hours at his accounting firm than he spends here at his huge fucking house. He never knew our father; he was told the man his mother married was his dad. I’m one step away from using my whiskey tumbler to cut his throat and put him out of his misery but he sighs and starts opening up for the first time since I arrived.
He’s lonely, that much is clear. He invited me inside and asked me to stay when I first arrived claiming to be his brother. It’s the truth, hard as it is to believe. I’m his half-brother but he doesn’t know for sure, yet he didn’t ask for evidence. That leads me to believe he must have always known who his father is, but in actual fact he’s that lonely. He was willing to take me in, real brother or not. How pathetic and desperate do you have to be to invite me in to stay without any details of who I really am? Some people deserve my torment; they invite the devil into their lives and bring upon themselves debauchery. At least Blake has some balls; this fool is an embarrassment.
I swill the whiskey in my glass and wait for him to speak; his mouth keeps opening and closing, making it clear he’s trying to decide whether he should speak what’s on his mind.
“You know, whiskey in Gaelic translates as ‘water of life.’ Uisge beatha,” I murmur.
His laugh draws my attention from the amber liquid. “That makes sense. It really is the water of mine.”
Blood’s mine. I grin to myself and debate whether I should spill some of his tonight. I already want this trip over with. I’m bored and my thoughts keep drifting to Cereus. She’s living a normal life, going to college, pouring herself into art. I miss her though, and the selfish ruling part of me is finding it difficult to stay away. I battle with my own mind every day with the choice to stay away and let her have a normal life. She isn’t normal, she’s mine and I want to claim her back. She’s meant to live in my world, give it color and chase the shadows with me. She knows the real me, learned all the details of every desire I’ve indulged in and yet she still yearns to have me in her life. I occupy her thoughts; she brought me to life in her art. I’ve never not obeyed my inner urges before and fighting to stay away from her is taking more focus than I have. I need something or someone to play with to take the edge off, and to stop me going to her and ripping her from the world she’s living in.
The moon is full in the sky tonight and every time it catches my eye through the open blind at the window, I imagine Cereus, blossoming under its glow.
I FIDGET IN MY SEAT like a preschooler. If his mouth doesn’t open and speak . . .
“You ever thought about killing someone?”
I almost drop my drink at Joseph’s question.
We’ve just finished dinner and Margaret, his wife, mocked his manhood and decided to play footsie with me under the table during the second course. She’s vile; I think I’ll take my time when killing her.
Joseph and I left the room before she returned with the dessert. We sit in his study and I accept his offering of a re-fill, and sit forward to give him my full attention. “That’s a loaded question.”
He sighs, placing the decanter filled with whiskey back on the mantle.
“Some nights I hold a pillow over her head and just want to
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