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This part of the house is colder and dustier, his nose itches horribly, and his frown is purely due to his displeasure at having to move boxes and stuff broken things into a garbage bag.
He and Paul are doing this because Mum asked them very sweetly, in that manipulative way she has when she asks for something with that look Noel can't say no to, a look of affection he only receives from her, kind blue eyes, filled with love and patience just for them. Anyway, she promised them to make whatever they want when they're done with this hard work, and the attic is the only place Liam won't intrude because there's no light and it's too high up. He has heard her say there's a monster up there, one that makes noises at night and growls when she passes by. Noel knows it's not true and that she's just very crazy, traumatized perhaps, like he's heard the aunts say when they think they're far away. Although he always hears them, always hears everything, because he has to, becayse he need to be always in alert.
Liam is helping Mum with the garden and the roses they've planted together, although, in reality, Liam is just playing alone and shouting as if she had an army of children out there, even though it's just her and her enormous imagination without a hint of limitations. And Noel is grateful for that. Neither Paul nor he had the chance to keep their imaginations running wild for more than four years in their short, tiny lives, all their wishes being filed away too soon in the trunk of memories, deep inside their little heads.
It's the seventh time he has sneezed in less than twenty minutes, and he complains particularly loudly when the dim light above them flickers. They're doing this job because Tommy snuck into the attic a couple of nights ago, for some strange fucking reason, too drunk and noisy, shouting and cursing everyone in the house for the mess up there, for not finding some shit that Noel couldn't hear properly because the noise above was too loud, and Liam's breathing in his arms was too loud too, because she was crying and asking so many things Noel could answer, right in his ear as he tried to calm her down.
Mum asked them to clean up and put things away up there because she's too hurt to climb those wobbly stairs and move heavy things around. She doesn't have the strength to do anything these days, and the hatred inside Noel grows more and more each day, each night. Paul isn't home often because he already has a girlfriend and a job, he has a destination to escape to whenever things get turbulent at home, a more normal family than theirs, with a loving girlfriend who gives him everything. And the bastard can't bring himself to take Liam for a little sleepover with Karen whenever things get ugly in the house, even though his girlfriend has offered it a thousand times. He hates how selfish he is sometimes, but he can't say anything because he doesn't know what he himself might do in Paul's place.
It's an unspoken secret that Dad hasn't beaten him or Mom to death yet only because Liam is always, somehow, in the way. Watching, crying, always nearby. Daddy's lil' princess, he calls her when he's a bit more sober and tries to pick her up, but she always runs after Noel, on the verge of tears. Maybe that's why Paul doesn't want to take her away. Or maybe it's just because he's a right cunt too.
Noel has told Mom he's going to kill him, Da', not Paul. Several times, he has, more often these past few times. Between bloody babble, furious screams, or humiliatingly long cries. She just shakes her head, hugs him tightly against his chest, apologizing for things that are not her fault, that couldn't be, never, giving him words of love.
Anyway, that's why they're in the attic right now, moving boxes, picking up broken objects, sweeping a little here and there, dusting with the old-fashioned feather duster that sends particles flying right into Noel's face, to his already red nose.
Paul is further back, unstacking boxes and looking inside them for something they might need downstairs, maybe the doll Liam lost a couple of weeks ago and, oddly enough, last seen in Tommy's hands. Fucker, Noel thinks.
"Oh, fuckin' hell," Paul scoffs after opening a particularly secluded box. He whispers in Noel's direction, and the younger lad just hums in response. "Oi, dickhead, come 'ere." Paul calls in a tone Noel can't distinguish between disbelief and amusement.
Noel turns his head and sets aside the broom, carefully walking to his older brother's side to see the contents of the box that has Paul so impressed. He wishes it were money, lots of money, or cigars maybe, a little whiskey? Anything goes, but his mouth drops open in surprise when he sees it's absolutely nothing of the sort.
The box is medium-sized but deep, and inside are more porn magazines than Noel could ever imagine, some suggestive, erotic, and others completely explicit. All stacked and arranged perfectly, dust-free, without a single wrinkle or moisture. Oh, maybe this is what this bastard, the one they call da', was looking for up here.
Paul whistles in amazement, pulling out a few of the magazines to look through as he finds a nearby seat, not analyzing them too much because he wouldn't do that in front of his younger brother, and Noel actually thinks the only thing stopping him is that Noel is also a boy. Maybe it's a complex, because he knows he it's the bigger one, just because they peed too close together once, and sometimes some things are unavoidable, and the memory of Paul's hateful expression on his face that day still makes him laugh from time to time. His older brother may be taller, but Noel is definitely more gifted. Ha, take that, Noel thought that day.
It's not the point, but it snaps him out of his reverie for a moment, and soon he's leaning over to the box to pull out a couple of magazines as well, the ones furthest away in the box, still in the plastic even though they've clearly already been opened.
Of course, he's had sex already, a year ago for the first time, and before that, he masturbated until his penis was red more than once, and he has kissed so many people he's lost count, but he's never been able to buy a magazine like this in his life, much less ones this explicit and suggestive, which makes his cheeks flush and his stomach tingle. They're too expensive, and it's impossible to keep this kind of stuff stored in a house with a little girl as hyperactive and curious as his little Liam. Oh, he's suddenly very grateful that the girl is so afraid of the dark and the dusty attic.
He turns his back on Paul in search of a seat too. The corner he chooses is further away and a little darker, but there's an old sofa he has just dusted that looks comfortable enough to rest his arss on for a while.
The first time someone spoke to him about sex was when he was eleven, nothing explicit, just the way women get pregnant. The reason for breasts and balls to be what they are, the meaning of the womb, and the explanation for the warm, white liquid that feels so strange. Anyway, the experience came hand in hand with curiosity, and suddenly there were so many things to explore about the human body that Noel lost count.
The first magazine he holds is thick and contains hundreds of pages, men and women having sex in positions that seem uncomfortable and funny, tits of all sizes, and thousands of types of cunts that force him to shift in his seat because the sensation in his pants is already too tight. Girls dressed in thousands of costumes, expressions of pain and pleasure, shoes in millions of colors, loads of cum herr and there and lingerie that's too thin.
At some point, Paul mumbles something and takes a few more magazines downstairs in a black bag. Noel doesn't fully register it because he's too engrossed in looking too closely at the photos, and his breathing feels more labored than usual, page after page.
The magical magazines are held in one hand, the other palming his growing and embarrassing erection, rubbing and suppressing sighs. Who's going to blame a poor fifteen-year-old for getting so hard from these images? Too explicit, as if he's reliving his first experiences all over again.
At least until one particular magazine shines among the others, glossy paper with sharp prints, of a quality he's never seen before. The cover is simply suggestive, a photo of a young girl with messy hair hiding a pair of small but perky tits, pink nipples visible between the strands of hair. The photo is captured from her lips down, with the magazine title between her collarbones and a couple of sentences surrounding it. The biggest sentence of all reads "Have I been a good girl?" and below that, the caption reads smaller, another sentence that makes him blink a couple of times, "Sometimes I need a lesson from my big brother."
A thick chill runs down his spine, and he swallows, internally debating if he should continue with this meticulous investigation. But he does it anyway, hands moving faster than his brain, than the guilt and the sin, opening the magazine much more methodically, slowly. The first pages are the same as all the others, but there's another title in the middle of one of them, "Incest isn't always bad, sometimes dancing with the devil is sweet."
Okay, Noel has to suppress the sudden urge to thorw up, swallowing a couple of times again as he turns the page and is greeted by the same girl from the cover. All in the fram now,Big blue eyes, bushy eyebrows raised in a grimace, a funny face, full lips opened in an expression of pure pleasure, her chest pushed forward, and small, chubby hands squeezing the hair of a dark-haired boy, too deep in her cunt. His stomach churns because this girl, this shameless actress with her legs spread and cheeky expression, this one herself, is too similar to Liam. To his Liam, his little sister, the one running in the front yard, the same one he can hear even this far inside the house. And he feels sick to the stomach when he realizes this is the first thought popping out of his head.
She's clearly not exactly the same, obviously, perhaps a too-faded version of what Liam might become as a teenager, because Noel is sure this girl is no older than eighteen.
He has to swallow thickly again, forcing himself to breathe through his nose while his hands move between the pages on their own, and to his horrifying surprise, he's harder than before, much harder, too much so. It hurts and throbs inside his old jeans, and he has to press his palm down as he flips to another page, and another, and almost all of them, perhaps too fast. Why the hell does this fucking magazine suddenly have so many pages? Why do all these titles in the middle of the photos or on the small sides have the words 'siblings,' 'brother,' 'sister,' and 'lovers' in each of the paragraphs of this these sick photos?
His breathing is too labored, and the next page is turned too quickly, causing the fold-out page on the back to open faster than Noel expects. The same girl, completely frontal, legs spread on a wide desk, wearing nothing but a neutral expression and facing away from the camera, to a point in space, wearing simple white cotton underwear. It's not lingerie, it's not see-through, just plain cotton with a red bow onto the edge of the cloth, legs spread and a wet spot right in the middlelf it, her wet cunt facing the camera, erect nipples decorating her small tits. The back page shows her kissing the same boy; he's turning his back to the camera, and she's scratching him. And Noel is just about to fucking cum in his own hand, the same one that has no idea how it got inside his pants.
At least he is before quick footsteps are heard downstairs, followed by a thump and a painfully loud crying. Noel curses between his breaths, his eyebrows knitting together in concern as he tries to arrange the magazines on the couch as quickly as possible before running downstairs.
And there's his little girl, Liam, still lying on the floor, crying her little heart out with loud sobs, braids decorating each side of her head and the pink dress lifted up to her waist thanks to the nasty impact, revealing the underwear underneath, gis worst nightmare from now on, plain, white, simple cotton.
He feels his body suddenly go cold, the urge to throw up scraping his tongue as he tries to keep his breathing from quickening with guilt and fear, because he recognizes where his thoughts have gone up there. Perhaps Liam really is right, perhaps the attic is haunted and there's a monster growling at him, maybe that monster is the reason Noel has been thinking those sinful thoughts. Maybe he's now infected too, or perhaps he's momentarily become that monster.
A particularly loud sob pulls him out of his guilty thoughts, and he runs to her to pick her up when he can barely make out that's she crying his name amid her painful sobs. He holds her thighs with one arm and his other hand cradles her head against his shoulder so she can cry without making a fuss the neighbors will complain about later. The dress adjusts itself and is the least of his worries. She continues crying even when Noel takes her to the bathroom and sits her on the closed toilet lid, washing his hands for far too long.
"What were you doin', kid? Why did you run in like that? Mom told you not to run in the house." Noel questions her and complains, though it's not a direct accusation.
She continues crying, more from the scare she got than from the actual wound on her knees and the scrapes on her palms. She has hit her head, and that was the worst noise, her little skull hitting the old wooden floor.
"I was... I was looking for-..for you...! Paul...- Paul left! I-..I-..I wan-..I wanted to show you that my plant has grown!" Liam whines loudly, stuttering as she sniffles. Noel kneels in front of her, disinfecting and patching her nasty wounds the same way she does to him when Da' hurts him badly enough to leave a physical scar. He hopes he can be as good as she is.
She's an amazing nurse, always kissing his wounds and magically making the cuts scarless, the bruises fade in fewer days. She's his own placebo effect, because that never happens when someone else takes care of his wounds, only when little Nurse Gallagher sings her healing song she learned in kindergarten and kisses the bandages or gauze.
He takes out the Hello Kitty-themed bandages they use only on special occasions because they're absurdly expensive, placing two with different designs, one on each wound, on each little knee.
"You could have walked, you'd have arrived in the same time," he mumbled softly, about to stand up to throw away the bandage wrappers.
"You have to kiss them!" Liam growls at him, his eyes glossy and cheeks still wet, but she has stopped crying so loudly, ignoring Noel's voice and words.
Noel raises an eyebrow at her demanding little voice, frowning almost immediately.
"Wha'?"
"The wound. You 'ave to kiss it! To make it heal faster!" She demands again, pointing accusingly, almost threatening to make herself cry again just with that unique expression on her face, the one thats says million things and nothing at the same time, but only something.
Noel sighs, leaning down to kiss the bandages on each knee, and Liam giggles contentedly before sniffing, carelessly wiping her cheeks with the back of her hands, brushing some stray hairs away from her face before looking up at Noel with big blue eyes, reaching up and making grabby hands for him to pick her up again.
And Noel sighs once more, doing as she unspokenly asks, taking her in his arms and being her guide to the garden and the rest of the house for the rest of this odd day.
That night, Dad doesn't come home. And Noel can see the bud of one of the light blue flowers Liam planted, whose name she's already forgotten, but she tells him it's for him because that's his favorite color, because it's the color they both share in their eyes, and it's the color of the Manchester sky on a sunny day, always the good ones.
This kind of normal night, Dad doesn't come home, the magazine is forgotten in the back of his mind, and all Noel wants is to never see anything even remotely like it again. He wants the magazine to disappear, for the memory to fade into the deep sea of his mind, for the question of why his father would buy a magazine with a girl so similar to Liam to be erased from his brain. But anyway, with that image still slightly blurred in his dreams, Noel sleeps peacefully for the first time in months, and the sweat he wakes up in isn't due to the usual night horrors that haunt his dreams this time. And maybe all this isn't too bad after all.