Hollowmire

Brothers

                Liam's mom had gone out with Marty, off to the local bar nearly an hour ago, and he knew they wouldn't be back anytime soon. His brothers were scattered somewhere, doing their own strange things. Davey was "deer hunting," though all that meant was chasing deer through the woods until they inevitably outran him. Brock was likely prowling the neighborhood or in town practicing his newest obsession: stealing. He'd gotten quite a kick out of it lately, slipping trinkets and candy bars into his pockets whenever he thought no one was watching.

Alone in the house, Liam lit a joint, the leftover weed from a party a couple of nights ago. It wasn't what he would've chosen, but it was all he could find. He took a slow drag, sinking deeper into the lumpy couch as the scent of stale smoke filled the room. The TV was tuned, as always, to the cooking channel, where a woman was preparing stuffed bell peppers. It wasn't exactly riveting, but there was something comforting about it.

The rest of his family didn't get the appeal of the cooking channel–didn't care for it at all, really–but Liam had grown to love it. There was something calming, almost hypnotic, about watching food being prepared step by step, the predictability of it. No surprises. Just methodical instruction, simple ingredients, and a guaranteed outcome: a beautiful plate of food at the end.

It made him feel safe, somehow. Like being told what to do was a gift, a way to feel grounded when everything else around him was chaotic or unpredictable. Liam took another puff of the joint and watched the chef on the screen delicately slice into a pepper, her calm, measured voice narrating each step.

There was a sense of stability in it, a structure he longed for but rarely found anywhere else. Maybe that's why he kept coming back to it–these cooking shows that never changed, never raised their voice, and never demanded more of him than he could give.

"Is this the shit you do all day?" Willy asked. Liam's shoulders dropped, and he anxiously clenched his jaw. He thought his brother had drank enough the night before that he'd be asleep until Marty and his mother came back.

"In prison," his brother continued, walking closer to him, "If you lay around like that, you get fucking raped." Liam jittered and shook as slowly backed away from his older brother, who had a particularly devilish look in his eye tonight. Maybe he hadn't slept well.

"I was just watching TV," Liam muttered.

"Come on," Willy said, putting up his fists, "You and me, right now. Time to toughen you up, fag."

Liam didn't bother making up an excuse or trying to run, and he certainly wasn't going to try to fight his brother. The boy leaned back on his last resort and simply said, "Please, Willy, don't hurt me."

"There's certain things that kids like you just got to get used to," he said. Liam retreated until his back pressed against the living room corner, while Willy crept closer. The boy clenched his jaw and prepared for whatever came next, pressing his back against the dusty wall behind him. He had no idea if his reaction was making Willy more or less frantic.

"You got nothing?" he said, throwing a few soft punches at Liam. For a second, he wondered if Willy was genuinely just joking around. He desperately threw his elbows up in front of him, and his brother continued to punch them. They weren't as forceful as he'd feared, offering Liam a small sense of relief. The many scabs on Willy's hands scraped up against Liam's arms, but he didn't mind.

"Show me what you got," Willy said, a little louder this time. Liam wondered if he'd just leave him alone if he threw a punch at him, but he decided against it. Then suddenly, without warning, his brother reached around and punched him hard in the gut. He then sneered as Liam desperately gasped for air, his eyes watering. Willy then grabbed onto his brother's long, tousled hair and threw him to the ground.

Liam wondered if his brother was trying to kill him. He choked and gasped, clutching his stomach as he fell to the floor. His brother kicked him in the stomach a few more times until he was nearly limp. His lungs pleaded for air as his brother put his knee down on top of him, saying, "You got nothing. You got nothing!"

"Get off!" Liam tried to scream, but nothing but a hoarse wheeze escaped his lips. Willy put his palm down on the back of Liam's head and forcefully shoved it into the ground. He almost expected his brother to smash it against the floor until it exploded like a watermelon, but what happened next made him far more scared.

Willy leaned his knee down and pressed his groin against Liam's tailbone. Tears were silently making their way down the boy's face, and he knew attempting to scream would be fruitless. His brother went silent as he pinned his elbow against the back of Liam's head and violently yanked his dirty pants down.

Liam already knew what was going to happen at this point, and his mind was long gone. He was simply listening to the man on the television explain how to bake the stuffed bell peppers in the oven to get the mozzarella and ground beef to the perfect temperature. He closed his eyes, though it didn't stop the tears from coming. It also didn't stop his brother's rancid body odor from seeping into his nose, or his sharp fingernails from digging into Liam's side.

Willy unzipped his pants, and without hesitation, he forced himself on Liam. In that moment, Liam wished for nothing more than for his brother to have killed him instead. He longed for Willy's anger to explode into violence, for him to smash Liam's head into the floor until there was nothing left. The thought of disappearing forever, of vanishing from this nightmare, consumed him. But soon, those dark thoughts faded, and all he could do was focus on the voice of the man on the TV, a distant distraction. Far, far away from his reality.

I wish I had a cigarette.