Work Text:
1978
Lyle had been on his knees for an indefinite amount of time. He wanted it to stop as soon as possible. Please, hurry. I can’t take it anymore. He was screaming in his head. His eyes were squeezed shut. He didn’t want to see. He shouldn’t see. If he had even witnessed that disgusting scene, he would have thrown up on him and, surely, punished him severely. That was the way he was. He held his hair tightly between his fingers, guiding his movements. What would a ten-year-old know about oral sex? What would a child know about all those disgusting things that Josè did to him. Lyle wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. Stop! Please. I don’t want to. His mind kept wandering, praying for the violence to stop.
Josè had locked in the bathroom with his son for at least twenty minutes. Twenty very long and interminable minutes. Kitty had stopped by several times to get the dirty laundry, hearing her husband’s moans and her son’s retching. She had done absolutely nothing. She had prevented Erik from passing through the corridor.
Don’t you dare leave your room for the next thirty minutes. His mother had threatened him, at Erik’s umpteenth question about where his brother was. He wanted to go look for him. Erik had no idea where he was, much less what he was going through at that moment. Erik couldn’t imagine. Lyle had never told him about it and never would. He wanted to protect him. He wanted to protect him at all costs. If Josè hurt Erik, Lyle would never forgive himself. He was the older brother, it was his duty to protect him.
Finally, after an interminable time, Josè let himself go into his mouth and Lyle had to swallow. He wanted to throw up. The cinnamon had worked well enough, disguising the disgusting taste.
‘Good boy.’ Josè smiled, stroking his son’s head. Lyle had tears in his eyes. He didn’t want to do anything like that again. Ever. He didn’t want thay his dad use things on him anymore… he couldn’t even brush his teeth anymore, thinking about that damn toothbrush. He also felt incredibly guilty for Erik. A few weeks ago, he had done the same thing to him. He had played with Erik with a toothbrush. He felt dirty, slimy and mean, just like his father. But he wasn’t like that at all.
He begged Erik to forgive him, but he loved him too much to be angry. He didn’t say anything. He hugged him tightly and said not to worry, it hadn’t hurt him. From that point on, however, they began to grow closer and closer, unexpectedly, establishing an almost morbid relationship. Lyle had Erik, and Erik had Lyle. End of story. They didn’t need anyone else. As the years went by, they developed a mutual dependence, falling into a sort of forbidden relationship. The years of abuse had triggered a sense of protection in Lyle towards his brother, but over time, it had transformed into a real need to be with him, like that. ‘Dad, I don’t want to do this anymore.’ He said, holding back tears. His father had taught him not to be a loser, a sissy. Sissies cry. He said. He had always taught him to be a winner, to be the best. If you’re not the best, you’re nobody. Those words hurt, and a lot, but never like those things. Josè had made him believe for years that it was their moment, a father and son moment. At six years old he had started with massages. At first Lyle might even enjoy spending time alone with him, but then as time went by, he had started doing unpleasant things and he was no longer okay with it.
‘Okay, Lyle. We won’t do it again.’ He said, smiling indifferently. Lyle had never imagined such a calm reaction from him. Was the nightmare really over? Without any consequences? So he thought. The nightmare for him was over, sure, but it would soon begin for someone else.
1988
Erik was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Lyle had a tennis match that afternoon and wouldn’t be back until evening. Josè and Kitty had gone with him, leaving Erik completely alone with his dark and macabre thoughts, with his skeletons in the closet and the terror in his heart. Bitter tears were streaming down his face. He sniffed and wiped it with the sleeve of his sweater.
Just before going with Lyle, his father had raped him. Again. In that month it had happened three times, and not twice, like always. Three fucking times. He felt dirty and guilty. Guilty about Lyle. He felt like he had betrayed him. He felt like that every fucking time. But how could he say that to his brother?
How would he feel if she told him that the molestation had started a few weeks after Lyle told his father to stop? It would have devastated him. Jose was also threatening to kill him if he even spoke to him about it. But he couldn’t take it in silence anymore. The pain and shame were consuming him. Not to mention his bitch of a mother. She knew everything, from the beginning. She had never spoken to anyone. That alcoholic bitch.
He had to find the courage to talk to Lyle. The salvation of his life, his anchor, his light. His only reason to wake up every day in that shitty life. God, how she loved him. He was the center of her world, and for Lyle, Erik was all of those things. They gave each other strength, locking themselves in that forbidden and dangerous love. In that carnal relationship that made them feel in a safe place. In each other’s arms. This was the perfect place. It was okay. It was the only right thing in their lives of abuse and violence. It wasn’t sex, to them. It was love. And they had protect that love at any cost.
He was dozing off when he heard the front door slam loudly. His father was screaming like a madman. Lyle had lost his tennis match. Jose was calling him names. Faggot, sissy, loser. He repeated them with malice and sincerity. Lyle had grown accustomed to them by now and didn’t pay attention to him anymore. He didn’t shed a tear. Not even one. Losers cry. He wasn’t one. He wasn’t one at all.
He walked up the stairs with his back to his father, never looking back. He went straight to his brother’s room.
Erik heard footsteps getting closer and knew Lyle was coming. This was the right time. He had to do it. He sat up straight on the bed and heard three knocks before the door opened.
Lyle came in, furious and pissed off. He kicked Erik’s chair and slammed the door behind him.
‘That piece of shit. I hate him. I hate him.’ Erik stood up, walking towards him, trying to calm his uncontrolled anger. He took his hands, moving closer to the bed again. They both sat down.
‘You lost that damn game, didn’t you?’ Erik said, wrapping his arm around his brother’s hip and he automatically rested his head on Erik’s shoulder. He sighed.
‘Thank God I have you, Erik. I’d be lost if you weren’t here.’ He put his nose between his neck and collarbone, breathing in his scent. It was so fucking good. It drove him crazy. He was wearing his favorite perfume and it smelled like body wash. The body wash they had used together that morning, in the shower. Erik held him even tighter. His heart began to beat rapidly, pounding in his chest, causing him to ache like crazy. He felt a lump in his throat, hard to swallow. He took a deep breath and tried to speak. It was the right moment. He had to get all that shit out that he’d been carrying around for ten fucking years now. Ten years of abuse. Ten years of rape. Enough.
Lyle..’ he began, his voice shaking. ‘I have to… I have to tell you something.’
His brother raised his head, looking him straight in the eyes. Erik bit his lower lip hard. His eyes filled with tears. There was no point in telling him. Lyle could tell by the look in his eyes.
‘He did it to you too…’ he gasped. ‘Since when, Erik?’ he asked, afraid to actually hear the answer. He had to say it twice more before Erik would tell him.
‘This doesn’t matter, Lyle…’ he tried to hold back the tears. He had to be strong. He had to do it. ‘Lyle… he never stopped. He’s still doing it.’
The words were like blades to Lyle. That piece of shit, that pedophile maniac, was still abusing him.
‘I didn’t know how to tell you, I felt dirty, disgusting, like I was cheating on you. Betraying what we have.’ He burst into tears, freeing himself from the pain he had been carrying for far too long. Lyle grabbed his face with all his strength, then wrapped his hands around his neck. That was his way of letting him know that he was his. His and no one else’s. He kissed him hard on the lips, almost hurting him.
‘I fucking love you. You are my life, Erik.’
He smiled, so grateful he was to have Lyle as a brother.
‘And you are mine, Lyle. I love you.’
And before Erik could say anything else, Lyle came running downstairs, screaming and furious, slamming the door behind him.
‘DAD!’ he screamed with all his might. Josè, for his part, jumped, heading in the direction his son had screamed. ‘DAD!’ he shouted again, running down the stairs, finding a scared and worried Josè. ‘Lyle? What’s going on…'
‘DON’T FUCKING PLAY THIS SHIT WITH ME. YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS.’ He faced him. José took a step back. Lyle was taller and fitter than he was. ‘YOU DON’T TOUCH MY BROTHER. YOU HAVE TO LEAVE HIM ALONE. I SWEAR TO GOD, IT’S DONE, DAD, IT’S DONE.’ His voice was shaking, but he had never felt so alive in his entire life. José, for his part, remained impassive, keeping a low profile.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lyle…’ Lyle then pointed a finger at him. His expression distorted with anger.
‘You even touch him again… and I’ll kill you. I’ll fucking kill you.’
He swallowed. The vein in his neck was throbbing. José winced. He held up his hands in surrender.
‘Okay, Lyle. I… I’ll never do this again.’
‘You better.’ He hissed through gritted teeth. He frowned, his lips twisting in hatred and resentment. He hadn’t been able to protect him.
He turned his back on his father and ran up the stairs, heading back to his brother Erik’s room.
When he opened the door, he found Erik standing at the window, looking out. Their parents had gone out.
‘Erik? Are you okay?’
Erik turned slowly. His eyes were full of tears. His heart was full of hatred.
‘I want to kill them, Lyle. I want to kill Mom and Dad.’