Catch Me (Synacky)

Chapter Nineteen: Brian

I was assaulted.

Jimmy showed me the horrific scene in full detail. It was like I was outside myself, watching Uncle Peter defile me. I was dreaming, was this only a nightmare? Surely this hadn’t happened, not to me.

Was Jimmy making this up?

He murmured to me, ‘This is what you’ve forced me to keep, Bri. It’s about time you’ve dealt with it.’

I thought I really couldn’t remember the events, but as they played out in front of me, I felt it. I felt that pain, that fear, that humiliation.

I tore myself from sleep with a cry, sweaty and shaking. Zacky was at my side. Damn, that boy really could sleep through anything. I tried to calm my breathing, stop my form from shivering. Slowly, I went to pick him up, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t strong enough.

“Z-Zacky.” I whispered, shaking his shoulder, “Zee, wake up.”

His eyes opened slowly and he yawned, looking up at me blearily.

“You have to get in your own bed.” I whispered. “I… I don’t feel well.”

He nodded, sitting up. He brought his hand up to stroke my cheek, and I leaned into his touch.

The memory flashed before my eyes, a blue striped tie and the smell of alcohol. I shook my head, jerking away from Zacky.

He picked up his pet and got into his own bed, and I slipped out into the hall. There were two aids, one at either end of the hallway. I headed to the bathroom, pausing to ask the aid nearest to me if that was alright.

Once inside, I went to the sinks, turning one on and splashing my face with cold water. I tried to remove the memory from my mind, but how can that be accomplished?

‘Jimmy!’ I growled, ‘This is nothing but a nightmare, it never happened, take it back!’

There was silence in return. Not even Johnny was with me.

Rough hands forming bruises, a voice harsh and venomous growling. “Don’t cry, little guy.”

I felt my breathing quicken, heart racing as I lifted my head from the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

Jimmy stood behind me, looking at me over my shoulder, contempt in his eyes.

I gasped, spinning around, to find me face to face with… no one. What was happening?

I tried to calm my breathing, sinking to the floor, bringing my knees up to my chest.

It was cold outside, and my tears traced frozen tracks down my cheeks. I closed my eyes tight.

‘Stop it!’ I cried, ‘Jimmy, take it back!’

The bathroom door swung open, and I was expecting an aid. But it was just a few of the antisocial kids, cackling and yammering as they entered. I should have stood up, I knew that they’d take their opportunity, but I couldn’t bring myself to my feet.

My mom’s voice, “Brian? What’s wrong? You look awfully shaken up.”

“Hey, look, it’s the fag.” One of them grinned and approached me, “What are you doing, queer?”

I clenched my hands into fists. “Get the hell away from me.”

That was what I should have said. I should have put up a fight. I should have at least screamed for help, people that cared about me were just inside the house. But I hadn’t. I had just cried, too horrified to do anything.