The Brother

by K Larsen

  “As you wish,” I return. She hooks her arm at my elbow and escorts me down the long hallway, into the bowels of the club. My gait is clipped as we walk. Candy squeezes my forearm but it does nothing to abate my tension.

  “Haven’t seen you for a while,” she muses, as the door clicks shut behind us.

  “I’ve been busy.” And I have, watching Nora Robertson. I am only tolerating Candy because my father is here and watching and I don't want to listen to his inquisition if I pass on Candy.

  She stands before me and narrows her eyes. “Take off your suit.”

  I do as I am told. My movements feel robotic. I wonder if Candy can tell? She slowly circles me as I undress. The room is warm or maybe it’s just the gin taking effect in my bloodstream. A bed resides in the corner, simply made. A wall of toys rests across from it. There is an assortment of whips and paddles. Ball-gags and bondage items. A shiver of anticipation courses through me. With Candy, I don’t have to think. She knows what I like. She knows and keeps my secrets. She is the only girl I see here for pleasure. Of course, I know the others, but Candy is the one I usually limit myself to. Her hands grasp my shoulders and massage.

  “Tense. That’s unlike you,” she says rounding me.

  “It’s been a while. You know how I get.”

  She bites her bottom lip. She takes the belt from her silk robe and uses it to blindfold me. As soon as the blackness creeps in, a chill climbs my spine. The sight of her still glows on the insides of my eyelids. Before I can fully adjust to the moment, a cattail cracks against my skin.

  “Breathe, Liam.” Her words cut through the pain. “You’re going to be punished tonight.” I inhale sharply as the whip hits again. This is only the warm up. Part of me already feels guilty. Like I am cheating on my counterfeit girlfriend. I push Nora from my thoughts as the whip cracks against my skin again. My teeth gritted, an exhale leaves me in a hissing sound. Candy circles me. I can feel her presence. The slight breeze her body creates moving around mine. I want to pretend it’s Nora inflicting pain.

  It’s black outside. Midnight velvet. It makes everything more bearable. I’m at ease. The stars litter the sky with small bits of light. Candy gave me just what I needed to make it through another week. I hadn’t realized how pent up I was. How focused on Nora I’d been. How good the release would feel.

  Here she comes. Ponytail swinging back and forth like a pendulum as she jogs. I wonder when she put her hair up. She’s a vision. She shouldn’t be out here alone. Not at this time of night. Where has she been? She’s too pretty. Too young. Too naive. I want to give her everything but I stand in awe of superficial things. I like money. I like control. I like things and pain. Hunger and greed leak from my eyes, my pores—for her. She’s a dark temptation. My temptation. Temptation comes in many guises. It’s been known to provoke lust, incite jealousy or even unleash fury. Her sneakers make little sound on the pavement as she walks. I want to step out from my spot and say something but I don’t. I hope she has a safety net because I intend to drag her over my dark edge. I love the game. I’m well practiced in the art of deception.

  Forceful as the wind gusts, I’m certain she’ll be swinging blind, punch drunk, when I reveal myself. My palms are clammy. My heart stutters in my chest. I’m wrapped up in excitement for what’s to come. Her natural milky complexion is smooth, and dark lashes frame deep blue eyes. She’s beautiful. I want to hold her, taste her. Instead, I hold my breath as my slacks grow ever more constrictive at my groin. She bounces down the street in running pants and a sweatshirt. I am mesmerized by the way she moves. Breasts bouncing. Mouth open. Muscles contracting as she jogs. Too soon, she is at her house, bounding up the steps. The front door spills warm light from inside as she opens it.

  In she goes.

  I work hard, everyone around me works hard, and for what? I refocus my thoughts. I’m excited. She is at the kitchen sink filling a glass with water. She is staring right at me. My breathing picks up as I stare back. My cock stiffens at the thought of her noticing me. I wonder about this sustained, distorting euphoria I get from my time with Nora. It’s thrilling knowing she doesn’t realize we’re spending time together. The anticipation of what it will be like when we finally meet, makes me buzz with energy.

  I simply watch her.

  For now.

  Nora

  My skin is slick from the humidity. A pimple is forming on my chin. Just under the skin, like a little molehill. Rain pelts the roof. Twap twap twap. The dog’s asleep in the oversized chair to my right. I’m supposed to be working but I can’t focus on a god damned thing. I get lost staring at the items on my desk. The peonies. The framed inspirational postcard; Girl—you are, quite simply incredible. Snort. The water stain from my sweating iced coffee cup. The notification light blinking on my cell. I don’t bother to check it. I finger that molehill developing on my chin. Maybe enough finger grease rubbed into it will make it come to a head faster. Gross.

  My brain spirals. Pimple. Dog. Get shit done. Do nothing.

  I break for lunch. There is a spider web glistening between the screen and window pane. That spider’s going to starve to death. There’s no food in there. I open the fridge. Scan the contents. Sparse and mediocre. Nothing looks appealing. I bump the fridge door closed with my hip and mumble to myself about going grocery shopping.

  I pop into the bathroom, flip the light on and check out the molehill in the mirror. Nowhere near ready to pop. Simply ugly and obvious. I briefly contemplate ways to hide it with makeup. Lost cause. I’m terrible with makeup. I wear the bare essentials. Mascara. Eyebrow pencil. Maybe eye shadow. Maybe eyeliner, if I’m feeling steady handed.

  I go back to the fridge. Grab a cheese stick. Peeling the wrapper away, I wonder if it’s even real cheese. Probably not. The dishwasher sits open. Waiting to be loaded. I hate loading. I sigh and lift the door closed with my foot. Tomorrow.

  The dog’s moved from the chair to the floor. He’s practically touching my feet. He can’t get close enough. I reach down and rub Burt’s head for a moment. I remember feeling that kind of love once. Like you needed your person to constantly be in contact with you to breathe. My year goals are printed and framed, staring me in the face. A good idea in theory. But irritating in execution. What if I don’t make them happen?

  I should shower. I’m supposed to go out tonight with Eve and Aubry. I will go out tonight. I owe them a round. I will have to shower before then. What I really want to do is finish my project. Or get side swept into a new one. I could paint the baseboard trim. I could pull the shutters off the house and get them ready to paint. What a difference it would make. But in the last year, I’ve buried myself in house updates to distract myself from real life. Busy work keeps the anxiety in check.

  I could step outside. Enjoy the sunshine. I sit in my chair. Fiddle with the hem of my shirt. Adjusting. Nothing fits right. I’m hot. My coffee’s empty but the ice has melted. I drink up the water. Let the dog out. Watch him for a moment. He’s so adorable. Full of happiness and love. Why can’t I be like that? The dog was Dr. Richardson’s idea. She thought it would soothe me, no, all of us, really. Give me something to care for. And he does, in a way. But it does not make the aimlessness I feel in life subside. Burt looks up at me as though he knows I am thinking of him.

  I put my ass in the chair again. A stamp. Ear buds. Lemongrass essential oil. A hair clip. Where is my drive? Where is the insight and creativity? Why am I stumped? There’s a picture of me and my best friend, Aubry. We’re so happy. Huge, silly smiles plastered on our faces. We look young. We look full of life. We were. She still is.

  There is a puddle buzzing with damselflies, thick with swampy rot. I pull my hood up, even though it is too hot for a sweatshirt tonight. I don’t want to chance anyone seeing me here. I sit in front of his headstone that holds no name and press my hand to it. The stone is cool to the touch.

  “I don’t know how to let you go,” I say. Of course, there is no answer. I sigh and close my eyes. I pict
ure his eyes, so green and full of passion. His lips, full and soft. His strong jaw line. The feel of his beard between my fingers. His taste.

  I am not supposed to be here. So many would be disappointed in me but it is my way of grieving what my heart lost. I anonymously paid for Holden to be buried here. I paid for the headstone that marks his spot, too. Eve and Lotte wait at home for me. I hate to keep this secret from them.

  Each time Aubry and Eve take me out with them. Each time they encourage me to date. To move forward, I end up here. With him. I know it is wrong. I know I am not supposed to mourn him. I understand the entirety of what I lived through as his captive, but my heart ... my heart is a different beast. Mythical and magical and it still yearns for a man I cannot have.

  In the distance, a branch snaps under foot and I whip my head around. I squint, as if it will help me see better in the dark. It is getting late. I need to go soon but I want a few more stolen moments with my ineffable first love.

  Liam

  The sky is diamond clear, lit by millions of bright pinpoint stars. From the change in the sky, and the way the sweat has cooled on my body, hours have gone by. The stone holds no name. It reads ‘Only Ever You.’ The inscription is large enough that I can make it out from here in the late dusky sky. There are fresh wildflowers surrounding it like a halo. I want to get closer but someone sits cross legged at the headstone. I can’t quite tell if it is a woman or man. Jeans and a black hoodie are all I can make out. I bend and pretend to tie my sneaker to buy myself a little time. Maybe the person will leave. I have things I want to say to my brother. I squint, mostly hidden, and try to see who is sitting with him.

  I have no right to be here and it was hell tracking down what happened to Holden’s body, but I did it. I persisted and was rewarded with the location. I’m also out four thousand dollars for it. Bribing people isn’t cheap. The person stands and dusts off their rear end. They are slight figured. Perhaps a woman. Could it be my Nora? Does she come to spend time with my brother? No. Why would she? The man who terrorized her, surely she wouldn’t be visiting. The person scans the area before heading away from me on foot. When I am sure they are gone, I head to my brother’s grave.

  I stand before it and stare. It is strange. Here, in the silence of the dead that doesn’t want to be broken, I feel compelled to obey. It was so long ago that I last saw him. It feels surreal to be so close now. There is a burst of wind that sets me on edge. As if Holden is here, cognizant of my presence.

  I kick some of the wildflowers and jam my hands in my pockets. “Long time, Brother. You made the papers.” I sigh. “I fuckin’ hate you for what you did me. I hate you for so many things.” It feels good to finally say something out loud to him, even if he is dead.

  “You could have saved us all. Me. Laura. You were old enough to take us away but you didn’t. You left me with Dad. He was no different than Ma really. Why didn’t you leave? Why didn’t you protect me?”

  I put a hand on his headstone and lean in. “I saw your girl, Holden. She’s pretty. Apparently, you had good taste. Yeah. You know what? You shared your punishment with me and now I think you’ll share your girl, too. How’s that for revenge? I’m going to take what’s yours.” I laugh, because, what’s he going to do about it?

  “I’m going to make Nora fall for me and forget all about you.” I slap his headstone once and quickly turn. This is the first and last time I will visit my brother.

  Payback is a bitch named Nora.

  It doesn’t take long to garner the information that I want on her. Although extremely private, she is not a ghost. She has an Instagram account. She’s on Twitter. She is not on Facebook. The pictures she posts never show her. They are all related to her charity or flowers or food or books or home renovations. She tweets random sentences from books she is reading. It is easy to deduce that she loves reading and the outdoors. She likes using her hands and fresh air. Tidbits that I can use to make a connection with her.

  On my lunch breaks, I watch her. Sometimes, she is at yoga. Sometimes, she sits in a park near the center of town and eats her lunch. On those days, she is lost in a book while nibbling on food. Despite the heat wave we are having, she never wears anything revealing. Her lips are naturally pink-hued and I love the way she uses them to snack. Thin and delicate fingers toy with the food before delivering them to her luscious lips. Her hair is stunning. A shade of red that strawberry blondes would kill for. I can see what Holden saw in her. She is a natural beauty, demure, yet unembarrassed.

  In the evenings, after work, I go to her house. Sometimes, she and two other women are out front painting the porch or weeding the garden. Sometimes, I can only catch sight of her head through the front window. Always, near these other women, she is smiling. Her teeth are white and straight. And her eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles. It makes her eyes sparkle. I wonder if she looked at Holden that way. I wonder if she will look at me that way. I fantasize about her hands on me. Her lips. Those straight white teeth grazing my skin. The way a whip might look in her hand.

  On weekends, I follow her when my schedule allows. I learn everything I am able to about her life. She takes her coffee black. She prefers baked goods to candy and fresh food to fast. She keeps a bottle of pills in her small purse. Sometimes she takes one, sometimes she just holds the bottle, as if taking one will ruin her somehow.

  She wears Converse or flats, but rarely heels. She never wears tank tops. Only T-shirts or long-sleeved shirts. Her hair is long but mostly pulled away from her face. There is always a book near her and a notebook, too. She holds an air of mystery and submission and willpower. She’s a walking contradiction and I love that.

  Nora

  “Come on, you guys, it’s a movie. What exactly do you think will happen?” Lotte whines. These are the moments I dread. I am not her mother. I am not her sister. Technically, I am no one to her—legally—and so I feel out of place knowing I don’t have a say. She is not mine. She has grown up so much in the last year. Her face has thinned out, taken a less child-like shape. Her body is longer, more lithe and her muscles have become more defined.

  “If there isn’t a parent there with you, I’m sorry, but no,” Eve says. She is not budging.

  Lotte stomps her Converse-clad foot and looks to me. “Come on. Talk to her, Nora.”

  “Can’t, kiddo. This one, I agree with her,” I say. Eve gives me a small smile of thanks.

  “You two are the worst,” Lotte says. She whirls around and disappears—loudly—upstairs.

  I sigh.

  “Don’t,” Eve says. “Don’t do that. She’s not ready. Too young. What if—”

  I hold a hand up to stop Eve’s rant.

  “I agree with you. But I also think maybe we’re being too protective. Other kids in her class are going to the movies with friends, unchaperoned.”

  “I don’t care what other kids do.” Eve crosses her arms over her chest.

  I laugh. “Said like a true parent.”

  Eve grins slightly. “I am.”

  I give her a look. “Yes. You are. And a good one, too, but if you want her to have a normal childhood, or whatever is left of her childhood, you have to start treating her like an ordinary kid.” I tuck my hair behind my ears.

  Now, it is Eve’s turn to sigh. She slumps into the armchair behind her. Her pretty blond hair rests at chin length. It frames her tan face well. Her big brown eyes pin mine.

  “I know. I know.” She throws her hands up in the air. Our lives are muddied by our experiences. It is laborious to trust. A struggle every day for Eve. She appears much more together than me, but she is vexed and solicitous. I hear her in the middle of the night. I know her dreams are nightmares. Sometimes, I believe she was more traumatized than Lotte or I. It was not just her with Holden. She had to worry about Lotte, too. Her guilt is cancerous. It gnaws at her soul.

  “I’ll go,” I say. It is a concession, but one that benefits each of us.

  “Go where?” She brushes her bangs fro
m her eyes.

  “I’ll bring them to the movies. Sit in the back row. Bring them home.”

  Eve looks at the ceiling. “Nora, no. That’s not the point.”

  “It’s kind of the point, isn’t it? She’s bored. She wants to do something. It’s a good compromise,” I offer.

  Eve narrows her eyes at me but she is not mad. Not really. “Fine.”

  After the movie, Lotte is in a buoyant mood. She hugs Eve and tells her she is sorry for being an imp. They both laugh at her word choice. Their bond makes me beam. I am lucky to have them in my house. In my life. I retreat to my room. The house is frowzy but it can wait until tomorrow. I shut the door behind me, glance at the clock. It is past nine p.m. but I am wide awake. Energized. Invigorated. So I make myself comfortable on the window seat and boot up my laptop.

  It is daunting some days trying to be Nora the Survivor. I often wish to be Nora the Victim again. These two sides of myself battle constantly. As if being with Holden somehow changed my very chemistry. So, I hunt online. I pick someone. Someone who is intrigued by my sexual assault fantasy. When I enter the room, that same click resonates in my brain. The same click that happened on the mountain. I flip from survivor to willing victim and I am able to feel those little shoots of pleasure vine from my core throughout my limbs.

  No one makes me feel like Holden did, but then again, none of these men attempt to learn my body. What it likes, what it needs. This is only a quick fix. A hit to keep me sated because I do not want to replace Holden. My dysphoria craves the feeling. The memories. Even if they are cursory.

  I need to abandon this town for the night. Go and fuck around. I log into my laptop and bring up Craigslist. I spend a few minutes searching for the right one. I don’t really want to go out, but my body does. I know it is not right. I know it is wanton and odd.