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Warnings: This story contains Slash (boy on boy), Soft incest and the death of a lot of defenceless apples. If you are offended by any of these then leave now, or maybe you should stay and learn to enjoy. Spelling errors may also be frequent, and bad punctuation. (sorry)
Points: When the little boy (Robert) is there it is a flashback, unless I tell you otherwise, so he's younger than he is in real life.
Mascara
It was uninteresting now. Life was repetitive and she wasn’t even sure if going out would excite her. She didn’t get the same rush in the sound of her make-up bag opening, the zip clicking against itself like it was singing. Sometimes so violently that she barely heard the noise in her speed. Other times so slowly that it was a boring, drawn-out act that lost it’s brilliance by the end of the run. Her skin didn’t tingle when one of her many dresses slipped over and around her. Cocooning her from the world they now felt heavy and annoying upon her.
Boring was what it had become. The relentless order of her life had caught up with her and was weighing down on her, like a depressive cloud of grey, making her blonde hair appear dull and unimpressive; unlike how it used to look. Now when she looked in the mirror she was disgusted at herself.
She was starting to neglect her personal appearance; starting to want to hold her son more and more; becoming an old woman.
The situation frightened her. She was not old, barely even 25. Life was not over, yet it appeared to be coming to its end through her eyes. This was unfair as she saw it one night, her make-up bag gazing up at her from the counter. It was balanced upon the ledge of the sink and one careless movement of her hand might send it tumbling over the edge, spilling its contents over the porcelain bowl, some would unavoidably fall down the open drain and be lost forever.
Her son sat on the bath edge again; the constant thumping of his feet against the wooden bath side was a loud annoying buzz in her ears as he swung his legs. Tearing her eyes away from her distasteful reflection she glared at him. He was at least tasteful enough to look away quickly when their eyes connected. However, his feet kept thumping.
She moved so he could see her full front and she bent forward, her face close to his as he tried to look away. The thumping continued even at this proximity and she grew annoyed. Landing a successful smack to her son’s right thigh he cried out in shock and his hands went automatically to grasp the pained area.
She smirked wildly at his reaction and ran her tongue over her front teeth. Perfectly clean. She returned to her full height and placed a hand on his head, rubbing the fine strands between the flesh of her fingertips. She would hate the time when he grew taller. She would refuse to look up at him. She had given him life, when she could have killed him, and she rightfully deserved to always look down upon him.
Frowning as he started to mewl in sobs she reached out and grasped his chin in her hand, pulling his face to her and she stuck her tongue out. He sniffed loudly and wiped at his eyes as much as he could with her face so close to his. He started at her tongue for perhaps the longest of times before sticking his own out. The pain in his leg was forgotten easily as he stared at her.
She knew he was curious as to what she was doing. She was not a person to make silly faces at children. She believed children were what brought the world down to the pits of despair. If only human beings could be born as adults. Or that, like fish, they needed no parental care and she could swim away from her son, not taking a particular interest in whether he survived to the next day or not.
She leant forward a bit more and her taste buds took in the toxic taste of her son’s skin. It was like tasting sandpaper and enjoying it. Retrieving her dried out tongue she let it dance in her saliva before going back to her previous action to leave a wet trail up the side of her sons face.
He winced, his foolish pink eyes being hidden from the world as they should always be in her own eyes. His skin must have felt uncomfortable under her saliva and she was glad to see he had learnt some manners in her presence. He tried to hold himself back from wiping his face, holding back from reaching to get rid of the liquid as if it were some sort of burning acid.
She placed her hands on her hips and leant to the side, pressing her cheek towards his mouth. His tongue slipped back into his mouth and she saw his tiny Adam’s apple move, but only barely, as he swallowed. She didn’t want to think of a day when he would have a masculine lump protruding out from his throat as if an invitation to women. His tongue felt warm and his breath made her close her eyes in pain. She barely felt the tongue as it ran up her face in return for her own action.
When he was done his breaths were sharp and when she stood and opened her eyes again his face was flushed red. She smiled and he raised his arms to wipe away at his face. Rubbing and scratching at the skin she had sweetened with her own saliva he began to whine in irritation. She frowned and gently smacked his arms, telling him to stop in a sickening voice too sweet to have come from her voice box.
He stopped the noise but wouldn’t give up in scratching at his face like insects were crawling underneath his flesh, eating his insides. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes and his eyelashes fluttered hopelessly to blink away the water.
She looked down and pursed her lips, landing a hard and fierce kiss to her son’s forehead. The force made his small body shifted backwards and his hands swiftly moved to grasp at the bath side- holding him in place until she withdrew her lips.
“Such an interesting boy…” she told him after blowing his fringe away from his hideous pink eyes.
Her son seemed to take it as a compliment as suddenly the tears at his eyes were reabsorbed back into his face and his legs suddenly stopped thumping against the side of the bath. He looked up to her and gave an offhanded smile and blushed.
Her eyes widened at that kind of reaction and she crossed her arms, each hand grabbing at the opposite hip. She looked down on her son, gazed at how small he actually was. Such an outlandish comment, yet he took it as a glorious compliment. She wondered how he thought, how he figured things out in the world. Perhaps there was something neurologically wrong with him. She wouldn’t want a son who was abnormal physically.
She rested her hand upon his head and gripped his hair tightly, the white strands springing up through the gaps between her fingers. He gave out a sharp whimper and his hands rose quickly to grip at her hand, trying to pull it away from his scalp. She pulled his hair backwards so his neck was at a straining angle and pushed her face into his so he had a clear, straight view at her own eyes.
She took her other hand and ran the long nail of her index finger over his cheek. The tears were free-flowing down his cheeks now and they washed over her nail, making her finger uncomfortable. Of course, she blamed him for this.
She stood back sharply and let go of his hair, and because his hands were no longer holding onto the bath side he took a clattering fall backwards into the bath, slamming his head off of the handles attached to the inner edge of the beige bath. He gave a sharp, loud cry and then his sobs began.
She turned away from his wailing mess as his nose began to run unattractively and she looked towards her mirror. Her hair was awful, unruly and frissy. Suddenly she knew she cared about her appearance. Ignoring her son’s cries she left the bathroom and grabbed the digital clock on her bedside table, it blinked numbers at her and she threw it back down with a smash.
She carefully walked on her toes into the bathroom and turned to lock the door. Checking to make sure it wouldn’t open again (although there was no other person who could try to open it) she then turned to her son who still sat wailing. She pushed him aside and opened the glass wall attached to the bath side, reaching to switch on the shower head that was embedded into the tiled wall.
The water poured over her arm and spitted up at her son who sat with a crushed face. She smiled at him as she took her dress off, “There’s still time to go out. You’re going to take a shower with mommy Robert. Help her get ready.”
Slipping into the bath she tore the shower head down and directed it into her son’s face, matting his hair to his head and his clothes to his skin. Washing away his tears. She gave a wicked grin and with her free arm, she scooped up his small body and held it close to hers, forcing the shower head over him, making sure he was completely soaked.
A note pad lay in front of him, the page staring up at him was blank and he tapped the pen in his grasp against the spine along with the base line of the club anthem he had pumping against his eardrums.
His ears had been abused over the years of his life but he didn’t mind that much. He could still hear, even if sometimes at night he seemed to go completely deaf. But he had yet to wonder if it was himself that was going deaf, or if it was just the world being so still his ears had yet to find a sound to pick up on.
He hummed along with the tune and reached over across his bed to grab a bottle of water that had been abandoned a few minutes previous. Using his teeth to rip the top open he let the waterfall of the soothing liquid pour down his raw throat.
The band had been practising some of the more harsh songs the prior evening. All the ones that needed him to really belt out the words as if he hated them. Lucas took a large swallow and closed the lid back down onto the bottle, then throwing it back to where he’d retrieved it from.
He didn’t particularly like the harsh songs that Alexis had made back when she was going through her “rebellious thirteenth” year. They tore his eardrums to parts unlike the other songs that just let the pieces of his insides vibrate.
He knew that Kimi didn’t like the harsh songs either. It was probably because of her love of all things Jpop. Lucas didn’t see what Kimi got from listening to foreign people spit things out that didn’t make a word of sense or ever spark recognition in their English-speaking brains. Give Lucas anything that had understandable words and could be sang along with and he was happy.
Another thing that might put Kimi off some of the harsher songs was the fact that she had to do so much in them. As base Kimi’s fingers liked rhythmical pieces better than all over the place, ‘I wanna kill your mother’ songs that needed quick fingers and a lot of strength in the finger muscles to pull off. Kimi could do all that of course…but she didn’t necessarily like doing it.
Lucas slipped the -unused of yet- pen in his mouth and bit down upon it, cracking the plastic but not breaking the pen itself. He twirled the pen around inside his mouth and continued the destruction of the outer casing all the way around it to create a crappy pattern that looked displeasing.
He retrieved the pen from his mouth and wiped the salvia it had obtained off on his bed covers. He swung his head with the music pumping into his ears and looked skywards in thought for a moment before forcing his attention down to the notepad that still remained blank.
He scribbled something down quickly but shuddered at himself as he reread it. It made him want to puke. Did he really have such a crappy ability to write song lyrics? It didn’t seem so hard, he knew people just put down what they felt and somehow magically they could rearrange some things so it rhymed or at least had a beat…but how come all he was getting was pure, unedited CRAP!
His parents were to blame, he decided randomly. They had fucked up their children. Why give one an ability to sing, but no ability to write and the other ability to write but no ability to sing? (Lucas shuddered once again at thinking of Alexis’ singing voice- it broke glass.) It just meant that if one wanted to sing, they had to rely on other one so they could continue to sing stuff that wasn’t karaoke. And Lucas had had enough of that crap. Though it was still peaceful to just lie back and enjoy some else doing all the hard work to bring music into the world.
He stared down at what he’d written like it was filth and hastily tore it out of the notebook, crumpling it up and throwing it over his shoulder. He didn’t care if it was the complete opposite direction from where his bin was in the tiny room, he’d pick it up sooner or later…or someone else would to save him the trouble.
The pen went back to its original place within the cavern of his mouth and the track switched in the CD player. Lucas winced at the sudden change, but was satisfied that the music had gotten that reaction from him. It meant that he could suffer a little longer before getting a stereo. It meant his CD player was causing slight irritation. Which was good.
Lucas choked as his pen burst and the ink poured into his mouth, staining his taste buds a bitter black and making him retch. His fingers got stained and he threw down the broken pen to let it leak over his bed covers. He ripped off his earphones and let them vibrate on the bed next to the broken pen and jumped off of his bed, clutching his hands around his mouth to catch the falling ink as he tried to spit it out.
He left dirty, saliva fingerprints on the door handles as he rushed from his room to the bathroom across the hallway and as he switched on the tap the cold water jumped up to splatter him in the face violently. He shoved his head underneath it and closed his lips around the freezing silver tap, letting the water pound into his mouth swiftly.
He swirled the water around in his mouth and spat it out, hacking at the disgusting black colour that was pouring out of his mouth. He reached for the mouthwash hidden in the back of the cabinet above his head and got pissed at the childproof cap in his haste.
The green liquid soon obtained access to his throat and he gargled his disgust away and spat it down the drain, choking.
“That’s disgusting. Get out. I need a piss.” From behind Lucas as he retched came the prestigious voice of Alexis.
Over her depressed stage she was now in the, ‘It’s okay because I’m so much better than Matt deserves anyway’ part of the break-up ritual. Still unable to write though. Plus, Lucas also had to admit she looked like she was in it ‘I must look like a freak’ part of it as well.
Her hair was straight on this meeting, and she was wearing an awful combination of a pair of salmon-pink sallopettes with the braces down by her sides and a yellow shirt that was far too small for her. She looked malformed.
Lucas raised his head to look into the mirror at her. Her lips were pursed and her arms were crossed. He stuck his tongue out at her and it dripped something that appeared to be black sick.
Alexis turned her nose up at him. “Manky,” she spat in a thick accent.
Lucas raised an eyebrow and hacked once more into the sink before letting the water wash it away. His mouth didn’t taste like poison anymore but when he looked into the mirror he saw his lips were stained a tender grey. He licked them and set about washing the ink off his hands.
Alexis tapped the floor impatiently with her bare foot. Lucas glances at her painted toe nails (each a different colour) and then back at his fingers as they lathered each other in soap bubbles.
“Just go, I’m not exactly going to peak as you pee,” he snorted.
Alexis stiffened and stuck her tongue out at him childish. As she walked past him she slapped the back of his head so his forehead slammed into the mirror. He yelled out and swiped his hands in her direction, spraying her back with water.
She paid him no heed and simply zipped down her trousers, stepping out of them and turning around so she faced away from the toilet. Lucas stared at his wet hands as he heard the toilet seat come up. The water pouring from the tap numbed them and also provided cover for the noise Alexis would have made whilst peeing.
When Lucas looked at her again (indicated by the sound of the flushing water) she was pulling her pants up over her slim hips and securing them in place before bending down for her sallopettes. Lucas raised an eyebrow at her complete self as she wandered back over. She glared at him and pushed him out of the way with her hip so she could wash her own hands.
He glared at her attitude and took a hold of the hand towel, drying his hands quickly before abandoning her for his own bedroom. Though, she followed him through.
Her foot crunched on the paper ball he’d thrown and she bent down to pick it up. Lucas took up his bedcovers and ripped them off, slowly pulling the quilt from inside and placing it on his mattress, he’d have to sleep bare covered, but he didn’t mind all that much.
Alexis bent down and picked up the ball, “Mum and Dad won’t be happy if they come home to a pigsty,” she told him with a sort of whimsical expression.
He looked at her as he dumped the dirty sheets out in hallway and on the way walking back past her he noticed she had unfolded the paper and was reading his crappy attempts at lyrics. Her eyes widened a little and then her face contorted into laughter. Her mouth opened, letting her awful laugh out and her eyes clenched shut in mirth.
Lucas didn’t like the look of his sister’s face at that moment. He reached out and grasped at her hair, pulling her with him painfully onto his bed, the mattress groaning at their combined weight.
She screamed out at him and the lyrics drifted off into another part of the room as she lost her grip on the paper, hidden under some forgotten item Lucas had probably received when he was nine. He had a lot of useless items lying around his room and stuffed into drawers. Alexis said he was far too sentimental, as if he drew of a piece of paper he normally stored it. He liked to look back on previous actions if only to remember they would never happen again. A sad way to look at things.
Lucas’s fingers just managed to fit into the tight shirt and tickle at Alexis’s side as she lay sprawled across him, a cheeky grin on her face. He knew exactly what she was grinning at.
“That’s a new idea. I never knew invincible rhymed with principle,” she told him, laughing at his attempt.
He wanted to say, ‘Like you could do better’ but obviously that statement would only turn out to be true so it would backfire at him. He grasped at her hips and the skin and muscle there, “Are you getting fat?” he questioned and Alexis gave an outraged squeal and jumped off of him. She landed a slap to his stomach but was unrewarded when she hit rock muscles as he tightened them as much as he could.
She reached for his belt loop and gave a tug to pull down his trousers but he intercepted and wriggled away from her.
Her breathing was shallow and suddenly she got a hold of herself and she straightened out her hair and outfit. “That reminds me,” she told him with an air of self importance as he crouched on his bed, “What do you want from the Take-Away? Tonight’s dinner is free for all.”
Lucas’s frame wilted on his bed and his knees touched the bare mattress, his face faulted and he looked down at his CD player as its noise drew his attention, “So, they’re not coming home?” He raised his eyes to Alexis’s and she looked away. His face was surprisingly heartbroken.
“It’s no big deal,” she told him with a strong voice. “You know that. They’re hardly ever home. It’s not that different than usual.” Alexis gave her younger brother a look. He was acting unusual for such news. It wasn’t like it was Christmas or anything.
Lucas’s hand reached for his CD player and he listened into the headphones for a second before he sighed lowly. He tore the headphones from the player and flung it strongly at his sister, who screamed and ducked, letting the machinery shatter to pieces against the bathroom door which it managed to reach.
“What the fuck Lucas!” Alexis screamed at him. She turned to look at the shattered possession and turned back to him with wide eyes.
Lucas looked at her and stood up, “Please leave. I’m not hungry,” he told her calmly.
Alexis raised her hands in defeat, “Fine!” She told him loudly, “Act spoilt, go hungry. Break your own CD player. I don’t give a fuck right now. You’re just overreacting for nothing. I mean, It’s not MY fault Mum and Dad are neglectful.”
She wandered off muttering to herself and when Lucas reached the door he saw her head disappear down the stairs. He sighed to himself and as he was shutting the door he caught sight of his mangled CD player.
At least now he had an excuse to get a stereo.
She did not particularly want to go into that subject. She would rather say her son had stolen it than given it back. And that it had been her own self awareness that had allowed her to regain life. She was young again it felt, and prettier than before. She wanted to go out more than it was possible. She questioned why there were only 7 days in the week and also had to go through the trouble of getting different sitters for her son. Because if she used the same one, then they would notice how often she would go out. Perhaps they might even take her son away from her.
Though that may brighten her life, her son was her responsibility and she had kept him purely to show that she was capable of keeping life going. So many people had told her when she was younger to get rid of her child because of the hassle it would place on her. But she wanted to prove that everyone was in the wrong on that subject.
So there was her son- her reason to prove everyone else incorrect. As long as she could keep him alive and breathing and by her side then she could prove to everyone that she herself wasn’t as worthless as they all thought she was.
Her passion for the nightlife she could get in the city wasn’t wasted on looking after such a being though. Nearly every night now she would sit with him in the bathroom and he would watch as she dressed herself up. It had turned into a family ritual. Like when she herself had watched her older sister get glamour done to her by her older sister. She had hoped back then that ritual would go on and soon she would be getting done up. But now as it seemed she was left to do herself up and only be watched as it was completed.
She wondered if she would have preferred to have had a daughter. But really, in her head, the sex of the child had no importance to her. Neither did anything else really about them. Though they may think she did.
White haired Robert stood on the toilet lid behind her and even then he did not reach her full height. He could peer over her shoulder and look into her eyes through the mirror though. This meant she didn’t have to turn to talk to him. Though eye contact wasn’t that important to have verbal speech she thought.
He was being slightly annoying this evening. He kept placing his hands on her shoulders and kept trying to jump onto her back. He didn’t speak or really own a face that made her think he knew she was getting irritated by what he was doing. It just made her more annoyed when he kept doing it, even with her glares in his direction. She could use physical force to convey her message, but she had a feeling she’d been using that too often on him and that he had learnt to grow a little immune to her strikes. He didn’t seem to cry much lately. And she didn’t want to loose control of her son, as that would be deemed as much as a failure as letting him die or get taken away. This was a sort of goal in life. But one she only paid soft attention to.
His bare feet touched her waist as he balanced himself so he was leaning off of her back… When he did it was at an imperfect time as she had been rolling mascara over her eyelashes. When his weight had been added to her she moved with him and it led to a thick line of mascara rolling across her foundation cheek.
Looking at herself in the mirror her eyes narrowed and she moved her body so her son was at her side. Her arm moved backwards so as to help him stay in place and then she moved so as to settled him on the ledge of the sink, letting go of him so he teetered on the edge, taking his chin into her fingers and making his eyes stare at hers.
“Look what you’ve done to mummy’s face Robert. That wasn’t very clever.” She glared at him and he stared up at her with wide eyes before he begun to suck on his thumb. She looked bedazzled for a few seconds. He was far too old to suck his thumb… or perhaps this was just an assumption on her behalf.
Reaching forward she pulled his thumb from his mouth and held it in between her two hands. She sighed and moved his hands so that his fingers could touch the cheek where the mascara had scarred her. So he could touch the black coal line that made her face uneven; like a horrible scab.
She wanted him to learn what was bad, and what was good. Wanted to teach him, wanted him to never bother her again. How she longed for a child that would sit still, like a statue that she would only have to dust, or a frail plant that she would only have to water on occasion.
But of course, he was not…now was he?
What exactly was he? Not a human by standards, but by looks and appearances yes. She could not categorise him as she could do with her self. He was…eccentric in a calming way. A challenge to understand.
His fingers travelled over the horrible black ridge on her cheek and then he curved his fingers under her hard grasp to look at the black smudges that had rubbed off onto his skin. She looked down herself to revel in what was so interesting about it. The black was like sick against his tanned skin and was a blemish she would have been better off not looking at. Around the rim of the black mark was an irritated red.
She released his hand when he started to struggle against the hold and she watched as he rubbed the dirty hand against his clothes, tainting them as if to annoy her. She would have to clean them. But she didn’t stop him, she watched his hand struggle to wipe the black mark off, itching the blackened fingers against the fabric of his top like it were a steal-thread brush; able to rip away the skin and let him bleed soothingly.
However, the fabric was cotton and would neither make him bleed or take away the irritation in his fingers.
After the realisation came to him he started to whimper, shaking his hand as if it was on fire and he was trying to douse it. She watched with an amused expression and then hooked her arms under his armpits, lifting him off of the sinks ledge. He took it as a comfort hold and raised his arms to wrap around her thin neck but she corrected him by squeezing her hands as she held him, causing him to quickly withdraw his hands in a jerk and whimper silently as she placed him down, his backside firmly on the closed toiler lid.
She pressed her thumb under his eyes, wiping away his tears while watching her long nail about his foolish pink eyes. She would not mind to rip the colour from them, to leave them as colourless irises but she knew she must not, and she knew what to obey.
He sniffed loudly and the horrible noise made her wince, disgusted. He was still waving the irritated hand around, like the devil himself had possessed it, but she could look it over at the moment.
She reached for the sink ledge, where she had left the tube of mascara before letting her son touch the blemish he’d created. It laughed up at her with an evil, malicious intent and she found herself expressing the same feelings- though of course, Robert would not know of these feelings. He was dumb.
She dipped the bristles into the thick tar and drew it again; it was sticky and shiny, like black spit.
She waved the wand in his face and his eyes followed it as if they were allured and as if he had no idea that it was what had caused him the pain in the first place. She puckered her lips and kissed the air in front of him.
“We’re going to make you just like Mummy.” She was going to have fun.
His eyes were watered but he looked amazed and excited; now ignoring the pain in his fingers, though he wouldn’t be for long.
She pressed the thickly covered bristles to his cheek and dragged it along the skin; she felt her son shiver under the touch and smiled. She drew the line exactly where her own mark was scarred, making them one in the same. But then she branched out, drawing images, lines and marks all over her son’s face; going so far as to smear the tar on his bottom lip, giving him contrasting lips- one that was rosy-pink and another that was black with decay.
He began to turn red at the skin rimming the black marks she had drawn and he began to fidget on the spot. Whimpering at first until he full out started to bawl, the tears falling down over the mascara but not washing it away from his allergic skin.
She took his unmarked hand and painted his fingers, and she revelled in the fact that when she was done playing she would blame him for the waste of her precious mascara. She found it hilarious.
His tears rolled over the nasty scabs and his black lip was parted from the pink as his voice grew louder in its wailing in pain because of the itching. He cried out non-intelligent words that his mother deemed perfect for him and he tried to fight with her as she continued to paint his fingers, trying to raise his hands to his eyes to wipe away his tears; or perhaps to catch them to sooth the scars on his fingers.
When she ran out of tar to paint him with she let go of his hands, watching as he raised them instantly to catch his falling tears, rubbing at his eyes lids, only spreading the black tar over his most sensitive areas. Causing him more harm than good.
She watched, posed for attack, as he went about trying to get himself free of the annoying irritant, but only covering himself in it more, and then she gathered him up in her arms, smudging her clothes black. She was only thankful she had not pulled the dress over her body as of yet; only getting her ordinary clothes filthy.
He pressed himself up against her sobbing, as if he knew she could help him. She kissed the top of his head through his platinum hair and shushed him through a series of high and low whistles.
“See, it’s not fun to be Mummy. Is it?”
He shook his head against her breasts as he sobbed. And she felt he had learnt his lesson.
End Mascara 1
