Author: vitto_lf
Genre: Drama
Warnings: Violence (not in detail), AU, What if ...?
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I have to repeat it? The Kaulitz twins are very lucky to not belong to me and they do not live as I live. So it's all a figment of my malignancy.
Note: I have no special notes to do well to say that this is my first post and it is therefore not exclude the possibility of combining various disasters O_O The parties to the right are excerpts from the Song Title: "It is never a mistake," that holeggermente adapted to the needs of the shot.
The other part of the heart
I never wanted to utter that word.
It was not a problem his . No, it was not, despite the opinion and looks apprehensive of our mother or medical records. It was my problem. This was true from everlasting to always would be.
For me it was pretty normal. Our life was something that eluded the understanding of those who did not have the ability to completely immerse themselves in our shoes, in fact, to be honest, eluded the comprehension of anyone, perhaps even to my own.
I could not explain in other ways, patients talk of our mother, made separately and served with piercing eyes and gentle caresses her hair. As if I were a child . But I do not have never felt that ADM. After all, it was not even his fault.
I tried to explain, but still I can not achieve if you have never understood.
On the one hand it seemed obvious that it should do so, because Tom was his son. We were twins, same blood, same eyes. Maybe not the same brain, but the same heart.
the other appeared to me equally obvious that she could not understand. How could he? She did not live with us, no longer had the power to keep an eye around the clock, and despite the numerous and heartfelt advice dispensed in the hope of making it easier, the meaning of what we lived every day she could not be so clear.
In the end, it almost seems that I have the disease there. I, who are inconsistent and I can not decide and I think I exist in a parallel dimension.
However, I know that was not his problem. It 's always been that way since birth.
Tom and I have always had a special relationship and this has never changed. The only change was to him.
You could never say how it would end one day. We could not classify a period of time as "quiet period" so that during the early years was the monster under the bed was always there, always ready to attack us from behind and revolutionize not a day but an entire lifetime.
In fact, our mother could really control us when we were kids, when you could not even honestly say that we understood what was good and what was bad, although everyone knew us assumed that l & rsquo ; only one able to reach that stage I was.
They never knew what was wrong.
Because Tom was capable of discernment, and perhaps more than me. I would understand if they had seen even one of her tears, those tears that have fallen over time to give way to an inner torment no less heavy. Those tears that burned in my eyes as in his, the tears that only I could dry.
Yes, Tom was really capable of discernment. It was, because otherwise they would not have made sense to close the nights spent in the same bed, would not have made sense to the caresses his shoulders shaking and light kisses on the forehead until the moment when the eyes were closed.
's kept his hand, holding on tightly.
Sometimes the despair and anger reached insurmountable limits and Tom squeezed my hand so hard that my fingers are numb instantly. But just because I lost the feeling I found the courage to strengthen the close.
and we hugged. We'll be rocking one another in silence, her face against my chest, my arms around his head. His breathing increasingly mild ...
"It's okay, Tomi."
I hear you breathe
does not take a photograph
not bring me no trace in
Nothing that I have to remove
Sure, sometimes it was not so simple.
Other times, the monsters came back and I saw them stir in the eyes of Tom, in his dilated pupils and irises just darker.
And then, it could happen.
could hide in my arms and hold me up to the breath-taking could shake and close his eyes not to see those demons that haunted him. He could call me and say my name in a low moan and suffering, could not see me even though I was there, tight in her arms.
But he could also choose to see me in a different light.
Maybe the darkness enveloped me in a different way, a faint glow through the window ajar and had distorted images. Maybe this time I was the demon.
And then the next morning my mother took my face in my hands and I leaned her mouth into a grimace of pain.
"Bill, darling, what have you done?"
There was no need to ask and she knew it. But that hope she would never die, was fed and gave reason to believe that during the night I could turn around and beat his head against the edge of the table. But the other part of her was well aware that this would not be enough to justify a scratch on the cheek, or a bruise on the side, or a red blood on the forearm, or all of these together.
But I do have never regretted it.
Why was worth it to get some points and give the bear skin was blowing, then there were days when ability to repay the whole of physical suffering.
Why me and Tom also liked to simply just stay slouched on the grass on his stomach, pull a few blades of grass and talk about what made us more afraid.
In those moments, I realized how wrong it was to get away from him because I was a nobody without him. In those moments, Tom's eyes were obscured by the presence of his demons and his heart was the most pure and sincere in the world. In those moments, Tom leaned his cheek on folded arms and asked me if that scratch down my arm I had done him.
'It was so bad this time? "
There was nothing worse than feeling utter phrases like, realize that Tom understood. It was easy to think that not understanding the magnitude of what he did, but it was not. It was not at all.
"No," he answered, smiling. "It was not so bad."
I was sincere and he believed me. Next to him, nothing was bad.
"But I hurt ... "
" Do not you hurt me. "
was true. It was very painful to know more prey to those questions rather than hear her nails sank into the skin.
"I did not do it on purpose." She murmured, pressing her lips, and I saw the shadow of the ancient and hated tears. So I continued to smile, I approached him and hugged his arm.
"I know, Tomi." I whispered against his forehead. "I know."
I was convinced.
was so just.
If you have played is equal
Although it hurts now
If you loved was love
It is never a mistake
was good to hear from you and keep you close
Even just for the space of a morning
We called them "no time".
When we were younger, it was not uncommon after one of its crises Tom asked me if it was bad . I I never said yes.
It was not bad and had to be convinced. Was not he the one that the impetus for a hug and a prey to some kind of fears, I had almost suffocated, he was not what I had shouted to disappear, slamming the door on the face and closing his fingers inside.
It was the other part of his heart told him to do so, the black part. He would never do such a thing, would never have done me, so it was not his fault.
That was why, when it touched the bruise that stretched inexorably on my shoulder and asked me if he were to provoke him, I will say no. It was not madness, it was a form of protection. It was the truth.
It was not him. It was the other side of the heart.
why I never classified as an abnormal event is part of our lives. I did not when, twelve years, Tom went into hiding in the basement of the school and the teacher sent me to seek to avoid having to deal with him in his times, bad times, when I did not spent a night Full-pronounce disconnected phrases, but without looking into his eyes and hold a boom because I stay awake and listen to him, I did not even when, in one of his crisis, his head spun around as I was to lay a kiss on her cheek and ...
should be painful to remember the events that had sprung from that episode. In fact, I do not know that feeling cause. And 'as if it were a story, a story that does not concern me.
That night, my lips were on her finish, and nothing would have happened if Tom had calmed down, as it always did when he hugged and posavo some little kiss on her face. It was one of the many occasions when, unable to predict the reactions would have been better not to gamble. Except that this was completely unintentional.
At least that was the beginning.
We had a little more than fifteen years. I had never kissed anyone and he was such a thing out of the question, so I thought that there was nothing wrong with a gesture of affection, like that in the end, it was.
It was a simple touch of the lips, a contact just mentioned, which, however, we added a narrow steel around my waist and two hearts in tachycardia. If Tom could not calm down, what else I should do? Ran my fingers between his hair and gently stroked her neck, squeezing it gently with the painful arm and placing another kiss on his lips dry. Another. And another. And another. Then again, not until Tom closed his eyes and rested his forehead against my throat.
And as if by magic
You will not be thinking
You're not really
I was convinced it would end there, but I was wrong.
I was convinced it would be a sort of secret between me and Tom, but I was wrong in this.
Our mother knew, but never said anything.
How could I blame her? She was a woman alone, it had always been. Our father left her after the first medical report with clear explanations about the mental health of Tom and then after we heard no more about him.
She knew and remained silent.
knew that certain night the demons came back behind the eyes of Tom and me that I would find him and sobs had already been replaced by gasps, he knew that the bruises were not the result of close or too vigorous a kick misguided.
But maybe I did not know that, that pain there, I did not feel either. Or rather, do not consider it such.
It's never happened through. Tom ran out of the crisis in a fairly short time, at most could be upset for a whole day after one of his many actions disproportionate.
The questions were simple.
If sfregarmisi and suck on her neck were her medicine, why would I deprive him of it?
And if that rubs me I sucked on his neck or not bothered me, indeed, gave me a sort of ecstatic pleasure and unconscious, why should I deprive myself?
Perhaps the mother had guessed what was gained not only in my head, but also in my body, perhaps that was why, when we met, lowered his head and avoided looking at the purple sign that stood out on my skin too light, just above the clavicle. Maybe he thought we had driven up to a high level.
And, again perhaps I should say that it was not so, because once Tom had realized what was happening when I was focused, caught between his knees and a shallow cut in the chest and left shoulder, and collapsed in my arms, weeping bitterly and often stammered "I did not want."
I had taken a hand, I had a closed fist and then kissed her. I had toyed with the hair, bare back, I touched her forehead with her mouth, but I had not said a word. I had not said a word because it would surely have been the wrong one.
That night, it was almost successful.
That night, our relationship was about to reinforce to the point of maximum tension.
But I never had the strength to say anything about it.
Because if Tom did not realize that his groin was pressing insistently against mine and his voice turned into a heavy rattle, do not even realize that I do not reject it nor gave any sign of doing so. He did not realize that, after seeing him fall asleep, I curled up beside him and stand by and rubbing his face until my eyelids also not yielded. He did not realize the strength of my hope, hope that at least this time, even a small part of him wanted to do what he did.
go into your thoughts
one night you could sleep
And you will feel cold inside
will enter into a dream
when it is already morning
And that day you take me with you
Sometimes, I could not tell if Tom was in a moment at a time yes or no.
Sometimes, I was just instinctive embrace and comfort him, though he did not need it.
Come il giorno che lo vidi in piedi davanti alla finestra chiusa, le mani mollemente adagiate sul davanzale e la testa china. Quel giorno fu uno dei tanti e mi venne spontaneo avvicinarmi a lui e sfiorargli una spalla.
Lui non sussultò quando avvertì il mio contatto.
«Mi hai mentito.»
Neanche il tono di voce era un buon indicatore. Nei momenti no, poteva essere bassa e rabbiosa, o simile a una cantilena. Quella volta, mi sembrò semplicemente incolore.
«Perché you say that? "I murmured, moving further and with his arms around her waist. I felt him stiffen.
"You told me that nothing happened this time."
early this time.
"This time" was another way to define the moment.
'E' as well. Nothing happened. "
Tom spun around. My grip was too weak to be a barrier. "So what is this?" He growled, grabbing her by the wrist and lifting the arm. I do not twisted, I do not bent, he simply plants under the eyes purple bruise that extended from wrist to mid-forearm. At the time, I did not know what to answer, so he preceded me. 'You lied to me, "he murmured bitterly, shaking his head," lied to me like everyone else. "
" No, Tomi, it is not ... "
'It happened again. I hurt and you say that is not true. Why treat me like this? You think I do not understand, right? "He let me go, bowing his head and leaving your arms at your sides. "Why do not I stop?" Was his despairing cry after a few minutes of maddening and heavy silence. "Eh? Why Bill? Why are you doing this? "Shortly after, I found his hands on his shoulders, but even that time I felt pain. Not what I feel caused the his plea growing momentum and despair. "Why do you think is different for me? Why do you think I do not even notice because you ignore it? Why do not you know it hurts? "
" It's no different, Tomi, "I muttered, taking my hands on her," there is nothing to pretend. You did this to me. "
He drew both hands, but he clenched his fists so hard that he seemed almost to see the nails in the palms conficcarglisi.
" not true! "blurted out, does not veer from my eyes. "Why do not you see, why not ...?"
could not say a thing.
not think that I could not understood.
"Tomi, it is not, you've never ..."
At that moment, in that precise moment, the world stopped. The my world stopped.
I could not even move my head. He stood there, turned to the side as if it really ended at that time. Her cheek burned and Tom's hand was still up.
... hurt.
Then he closed his fist. He slipped silently along the side.
heard it yet on my face, I felt the imprint of his five fingers branded skin. And, Strangely, and despite all smiles.
was fire that burned in my face?
If you loved was love
It will never be a mistake
0 comments:
Post a Comment