Llevame

A WARNING TO ALL READERS:

This story deals with several disturbing issues,

including but not limited to incest and rape.

Please use discretion.

~ ~ * ~ ~

Among light flurries of white, I’m being chased around. A boy, bigger than me, is at my heels. In our puffy winter clothes, we can’t move as fast, and he’s gaining on me with every step. In a final burst of speed, I duck behind a trash can, just as my brother takes aim with a snowball. It splatters on the front of my hiding place, and I emerge from behind it in the midst of giggles.

~ ~ * ~ ~

That dream, which is actually a memory, seems to be with me ever so much more often these days, probably because it is the first time that I can remember being the object of my brother’s pursuit. We’ve always been close, that much is true. So close that people have commented on the bond between us. But recently, my parents have started to notice that there is a problem between us. Or, rather, a problem with me, because there couldn’t possibly be anything wrong with Holden, nothing wrong with the golden child of the family.

Me, on the other hand - I’ve been the wild one where they could see it. Me - Holden’s polar opposite - I’m the one who is suspect to everything in this house. They suspect that I have issues - and they’re not wrong about that. They’re just looking in the wrong places.

My brother’s the one who needs help. His deepest, darkest secret remains hidden to everyone except me. I suppose it would be my deepest, darkest secret too.

I’m thinking about that dream right now as I lie in bed because I want to go to sleep, but I can’t yet. I know he’ll be here soon; at least he’s faithful. Late each night, I am forced to live a waking nightmare while my brother lives out his fantasies.

There is a soft knock at my bedroom door. I don’t move. Holden slips in, shutting the door quietly behind him before locking it. Wouldn’t want to be discovered.

He comes over to my bed, pulls down the sheets, and pulls my nightgown up above my waist. I let him. I know by now that struggling is no use; he doesn’t want to have to hurt me. As he leans over me to caress my cheek, I don’t look at him at all, only past him.

I pretend not to notice when he is finally on top of me, his lips brushing my neck, his hand on my breast. I pretend not to notice him, pressing into my leg. And when he finally pulls his boxers and my panties down past our knees, I still don’t act like anything is wrong. After all, this is the way he likes it.

“I love you,” he whispers before he begins. And I have to wonder, if he really loves me, would he be doing this? Ten minutes of him moving around on top of me, ten minutes of staring at a point on the ceiling over his shoulder, and it is finally over.

Sweaty and panting, he begins to replace my clothes and his own. I still haven’t moved. I just lie there, impassive. A statue, not a girl. And then, in a parody of the brother he should be, Holden tucks me into bed, a porcelain doll, and kisses me goodnight on the cheek.

When I go down to breakfast the next morning, he is already there, polishing off his bowl of cereal. Our parents have already finished eating. My mother is rinsing her dishes in the sink, and my father's face is hidden behind this morning’s Wall Street Journal. It is nothing but an ordinary day in a series of ordinary days.

I sit down at the kitchen table across from my brother. I begin to pour some cereal for myself. I refuse to look at my brother.

My mother has taken due notice. She turns to me with a half-concerned, half-confused expression on her face. Here will be mom’s daily attempt at parenting. Naturally, she will fail miserably.

“Daphne, what’s the matter?” she asks me, placing a carton of milk in front of me. I reach for it eagerly, and begin pouring as slowly as possible, so I have an excuse to look somewhere other than at her face.

“Daphne, are you fighting with Holden?” she asks after I haven’t replied to the first question. Actually, I haven’t even looked up from the pouring milk.

“No, mom, Holden and I are not fighting,” I say quietly, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Well, it is the truth after all, if what I left out of it can be forgotten.

I pick up my spoon and take a bite of my breakfast. At the same time, my brother swallows the last of his milk and pushes his chair back, standing up.

“Hey, Daph,” he addresses me as he goes to put his dishes in the sink with a clank. “Want to hike up to the old treehouse today?”

I finally look at him. My mother observes me from where she is already loading Holden’s dishes into the dishwasher.

My mind is turning over as I process his invitation. Hike up to the treehouse? I’d like to get out of the house, but it’s the dead of winter. The trail is likely covered with snow, and no one in his right mind would ever go that far just for a treehouse. And then it hits me. Holden is not in his right mind at all. And the treehouse is the first place that we ever had privacy.

Now that I’ve figured out why he’s asking, what little desire I had to get out of the house evaporates. I open my mouth to refuse. Just as quickly, I realize that if I refuse to be in my brother’s presence, my mother might just send me off to that counselor that she’s been threatening me with. Besides, accepting would be the perfect way to convince her that we aren’t fighting.

“Please, Daffy?” he asks. His use of my old childhood nickname does not placate me. He looks at me pleadingly.

“Sure,” I mumble, my surliness retuning. I put down my spoon and push my barely-touched bowl away from me. My appetite has disappeared.

My mother turns her back on us, satisfied. Thankfully, she hasn’t noticed my uneaten food. My father hasn’t moved the newspaper from in front of his face throughout this entire exchange. He’s more interested about reading the latest Wall Street scandals. He wouldn’t notice if scandals were being committed right under his own nose.

“You’re a right old champ, Holden,” he says from behind his newspaper.

Later, as I am pulling sweats over my head, Holden enters the room. He helps me, like any other brother might, to search out my cold-weather coat from the depths of my closet. The coat is white, just like the snow. Holden pulls the sleeves over my arms, then kisses me roughly. That isn’t so much like him, and certainly not like any other brother. There is a craziness in his eyes, and I know immediately that this is a mistake.

Then again, one might say that keeping this secret is a mistake also.

We set out, he pulling me along behind, never letting go of me. When we reach the treehouse, it is almost as cold inside as it is out. He can’t possibly expect me to take off my clothes.

He does. After we’ve squirmed out of our layers of clothing, he drapes a blanket over me, then pulls me to the wood-planked floor. I am freezing to the bone, but every part of my soul burns. For once, I am almost thankful for our closeness as his body heat slowly warms me up.

I stop shivering, and he begins moving. What I thought was a nightmare is now happening to me in the light of day. I squeeze my eyes shut and whimper inadvertently.

He stops and draws a cold lungful of air carefully. “Daphne,” he murmurs my name softly. I hold my breath, afraid. He’s even less of himself today. “I love you,” he says, as if this will solve everything.

He continues, and suddenly I feel as if I can’t breathe. Somehow, though, I don’t faint, and I wish I could. At least I would no longer be aware of the atrocity being committed to my body.

I have no idea how much later it is when he decides to let me up. I am no longer cold, but instead burning with a fever in my head.

When I return to the house, I am certain that I can’t take a day more of this. I don’t want to have to feel any more guilt. I don’t want to think that it’s my fault that Holden is the way he is.

I start to formulate a plan. My parents are out; my brother said he wouldn’t be back until the afternoon. I’m alone in the house; finally alone, away from my parents’ oblivious gazes and my brother’s perpetual presence amongst the shadows.

I enter my parents’ room and open their dresser drawers. My father is paranoid, and I know there is a handgun around here somewhere. There won’t be a lock on it. Once it is located, I take it, leaving in its place a note.

Not that they will believe me, of course. In their eyes, Holden can do no wrong. But at least I don’t have to take his secret to my grave.

I wander back to my room, saying goodbye along the way. I look outside a window at the swirling flakes, and I have a vision of two children, the boy chasing the girl. It is then that I know I am saying goodbye to my brother as I remember him, not as I know him now.

Once I reach my bedroom, my last goodbye is to myself. I take a good look at my reflection in the mirror. I am so preoccupied with my coming freedom from this hell that I would not have noticed my door opening if I had not seen the flash of light in my mirror.

Holden slips in silently, just as he always does. It takes him a moment to realize that this will be the last time. He sees the gun in my hand and his mouth opens to scream “No!” but it is not soon enough coming.

I turn towards him, shut my eyes, pull the trigger, and I am deaf…blind…numb…………....................gone.

~ ~ * ~ ~

My sister drops to the floor, and it only takes a moment before her head is surrounded by a halo of her own blood. I kneel at her side. I touch her arms, then her face. Then the tears come, along with the disbelief. I don’t even notice that there is blood covering my hands. All I can think is, I’ll never get to hold Daphne close to me again. (What have I done?) I kneel there, sobbing, as she grows stiff, pale, and cold. I don’t know how long as I stay at her side (thirty minutes? three hours?). I don’t notice when our parents arrive home and come to check on us. I don’t notice as my mother almost faints at the sight of Daphne’s dead body. I don’t even notice the wails of the approaching sirens. There is only one siren, and it is in my mind, repeating, “I’m sorry, I love you, I never wanted to hurt you.”