Author's Comments

My first original work. Well, not really. It's more of: my first decent original work. (laughs)

It's entirely up to the reader to believe the happenings in a story or not. (grins wryly)

Summary

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me." I'm not so naive to believe in that because I know how much pain words can really cause. Wounds need not bleed blood, brother. But maybe, I'm just not worthy enough to even call you that, to be your sister. I'm never worthy enough. Someday, however, you'll see I won't need to be worthy. You'll see I won't need your acceptance anymore. Someday, you'll see.

Disclaimer

It feels strange to write this when the whole story and its characters are mine...

The lyrics (at the bottom of the whole story) to the song Overcome by Within Temptation does not belong to me.

Incapable of Hating Him

“Cut my heart with a knife; it would not hurt as much as it would if you cut my heart with your eyes.” A knife would hurt so much lesser than when he looked at me with such condemn, such hatred.

The first time he looked at me such was so many years ago, but the memory of the look in his eyes was fresh as if it had only happened yesterday. I am turning fifteen soon, and of course, I know better now. I have long accepted the fact that my brother Damian would never look at me as his little sister, because he never truly wanted one. Still, deep within me, where I had buried the hurt of having been turned away, I still cry out to him in desperation for acceptance, calling him my brother even as I openly curse the fact that we share the same blood.

The first time he looked at me such was nine years ago, when I had been six and he, ten.

The first time, it was pure agony.

The first time, it left me broken.

x

It was very obvious, now that I think back about it, how I had looked up to Damian as my everything. I followed him, copied him, and learnt about things through him. I was awed by his strengths, and his charisma to make friends easily and admired those qualities of him greatly. I was always behind him, watching him, hoping he would play with me and share the fun he had with his friends. At my toddler stage, there were no one else in my eyes beside my parents and Damian, despite having two elder sisters.

At first, Damian was the older brother I had thought was perfect. I was four years old then. I thought of him as the one who could do no wrong, no matter how others felt about his actions. He allowed me to tag along wherever he went and constantly showed me his capabilities and tricks, such as leaping over a large drain and landing safely on the grassy slope on the other side, or climbing a tree to pluck the mangoes even though we were not allowed to do so.

Sometimes he would encourage me to try and follow his movements and I would do it without a second thought. Or a first thought, really. I was more than often left with bruises and scratches. He would help wash the small cuts and place plasters over them and it was as though the throbbing pain at the wounds did not exist any longer. Damian was there, teaching me things he knew and showing me how to do them better and in the end, that was all that had mattered.

Then... then things changed.

I do not know the exact day, time or how it even happened. It was abrupt; sudden; and definitely unexpected. There is a gap in my memory now, faded over time’s passage, but what I can remember is that in one moment, I was sitting on my brother’s lap, sharing the front seat of the car at night and the next, we were fighting each other physically in the day, punching and kicking with our all.

Until now, I wonder what had happened between us. Was I a bad younger sister? Had I done something wrong? How did things even turn out the way they did?

It might have been the day he found three friends in the condominium we lived in. The three of them were all boys, of course. The eldest was older than Damian by two years, the second eldest was younger than Damian by two years and the third was three years younger than Damian. At one point, I was playing with Damian, pretending to be characters of a TV show and play fighting with plastic swords Damian had gotten Mother to buy. The next, I found myself deserted for the three boys and Damian had shut me away without so much of a word of ‘goodbye’.

I was young and innocent then. Obviously, I did not understand what had happened, and simply tried to go with the flow. I tried to follow Damian to play with him and perhaps his friends but instead, I found myself being pushed away, figuratively and literally.

Ryan, the eldest of the group, thought it was not nice of Damian and often helped me to convince him to at least allow me to be around when they played, even if he did not want me to play with them. Ryan was the only one to have ever acknowledged me as Damian’s sister and as a person in whole. The other two, Ian and Edric, would side with Damian instead, though they never spoke much of a word to me at all.

Sometimes, Ryan would be unable to convince Damian. He would then threaten to leave the small group and I would once more be grudgingly allowed to stay. I realised slowly, however, that as Ryan continued to help me, the dislike Damian felt for me grew stronger and stronger. Even so, I never stopped Ryan and never blamed him when things grew worse between Damian and I.

Over the next two years, Damian insulted me every moment I was around him. He was still young as well, and did not know any vulgarity of course, but that just meant that his insults hurt more. “Trash”, “Idiot” and “Useless” were things he often called me. Upset, I gradually began to retaliate verbally, and those shouting matches would turn into physically fights. I never won once, always falling at the end of each fight and crying at the pain I felt inside and out.

He called me a “Crybaby” often because of that, and I grew to learn that calling Mother or Father would help me in my favour when settling the disputes between us. Because of that, he also learnt to call me a “Fake”, even though each tear I shed and each pain-filled wail I released was as real as the hurt I felt. Why, why, why? I would always think. Why are you doing this?

Damian never let the insulting go even when Ryan, Ian and Edric were around. Ryan would frown disapprovingly and try to stop him, but Ian and Edric learnt to pick up those words and began to toss them at me as well, even though I had never done anything towards them.

The year I turned six, however, Ryan moved away, and the insults grew harsher and with more vivid dislike. Without Damian supporting me anymore, I had grown to cry over the smallest of things, such as when I accidentally close the car door on my fingers, because there was no big brother to comfort me or share his strength through his presence with me.

Even Mother and Father had grown tired of my crying. Mother had gone as far as to screaming at me to stop crying and Father would tell me stoically to simply bear the pain. I took the advice to heart, having watched Damian received numerous corporal punishment and always leaving without so much of a tear, sometimes with a smug grin that said ‘I win’.

Through that, I learnt to inflict small injuries that caused bruises or scratches simply to practise until I could handle things the same way Damian did. I never went beyond minor wounds that were often overlooked, though they grew in numbers. No one noticed or if they did, they never said a thing. Truth be told, it actually worked, though far more effectively than I had imagined. At least, I had learnt to stop crying over wounds.

And then, it happened. Damian finally gave me the last shove and of all the things it had happened over, it was a game console.

Six. As aforementioned, I was six when it happened. Damian was at school and a week before, Father had gotten him a Gameboy for a birthday present. I was curious about the game, and could not help but play it when I knew Damian was not around.

About an hour later, however, Damian found me with his game console, and the biggest fight among us broke out. He almost threw his bag at me, as well as other things. As we were on the upper storey of the shop-house Father used as his clinic, it attracted Father’s attention from downstairs where he worked.

In blinding rage, he came up with a cane and forcefully separated us. I watched from the ground where Damian had shoved me onto as Father swiped the cane down at Damian’s legs repeatedly, all the while snarling out words and questions, “Why are you always misbehaving? Why can’t you be disciplined for once?”

When he stopped, Damian’s face was red and angry tears leaked at the corner of his eyes. I stared at Father, hiccuping occasionally because of my crying, when he suddenly turned to me and hit me with the cane as well. “And you! Don’t you think you’re getting away without punishment either!” he yelled, and I began wailing all over again when he whacked at me. All the practice I had done did not prepare me for such harsh pain.

Finally, he stopped again, and I was a sobbing wreck. I tried to murmur an apology, a word, anything, but could only whimper at the pain on my legs. Father picked up the console without a word and toss it into the trash bin that was linked from the third floor to the first, so that neither Damian nor I could retrieve it.

Damian froze and Father simply tossed the cane aside, returning to his work. I sniffed softly, and that snapped Damian out of his daze. He turned to me, and it became my turn to freeze. With each second, my breaking heart cracked a little more, until it shattered into pieces when Damian muttered, “I hate you” with as much despise as he could convey through his words.

I already knew from the look in his eyes, but saying it aloud confirmed everything. The fact that he did not scream it meant that he was not lying or saying it in a fit of rage. I began to whimper, and his glare seemed to strengthen at the sound. “I wish I had a younger brother instead. I never wanted a younger sister. I never wanted you for a younger sister.” That said, he retreated into one of the rooms, while I sat there in a frozen daze.

He finally broke me.

x

I do not recall how long I sat there. What I do recall was remembering every single word he said to me, every single insult he threw at me. Is it so much of a surprise that those words and the fact that he had always meant them finally sank into me, and that I began to believe that I was everything he said I was, deserved all of it and more?

Damian had been my everything. He was the only person I saw in my eyes, with the small exception of Ryan. When Damian pushed me away, I was hurt. The more he shoved, the more I was exposed to the rest of the world. I could no longer rely on Damian and Ryan was long gone. The pain Damian had inflicted on me was indescribable. I never wanted it. I could deal with the bruises; they fade away eventually. But this; I had no idea how to handle it. All I wanted was the pain to go away.

I think that was how and when I started freezing what little bit of heart I had left. Painstakingly, I picked up the pieces alone and froze them together. However, that did not mean I had put my heart together rightly. Not at all. Broken it was, broken it stayed. I was no longer innocent, no longer naïve, no longer just a little girl who wanted to play with her brother.

Subconsciously, I was still seeking to please Damian. I made a one hundred and eighty degree turn on my whole life. My interests were the only things that had not been affected much. Growing up with only Damian influencing me most had given me almost the same likes and dislikes as him. Drawing – Art – was the only interest I had that was solely my own and suffered no influence or change.

Damian’s hurtful words were forever imprinted in my mind. I changed the way I dressed; the way I acted; and the way I spoke. Just to please Damian and hoping he would accept me if I changed, I tried to become the little brother he wanted. I turned more and more boyish to the point that passersby and my father’s less regular patients mistook me for an actual boy. When I entered Primary school, if it were not for the fact that I was in a skirt and my name was in no way a boy’s, my teachers and classmates would have probably thought I was a boy as well.

Most of the time, I ignored the fact that everyone thought of me that way. It was fairly amusing when I took to eating during recess. I always visited the same snack stall, and no matter the number of times I go there, the store vendor, a nice lady who was in her mid-forties, would say, “Little boy, what would you like?”

I would always reply with a sigh, “I’m a girl, Madame. I am wearing a skirt.”

It took her weeks to remember that.

School became my little sanctuary. It was there that I could forget the things that had happened in the house I no longer had the heart to call home. It was there that I could strengthen the ice encasing my broken heart without any disruption of any sort. I spoke to no one, save the teachers who were the only ones who made any actual conversation that had nothing to do with cartoons, toys, games or whatever a normal seven-year-old would talk about and a quiet boy called Edward Marche, who became a companion of mine. I did not have it in me to call anyone my friend yet, but he was the closest as he could get to that.

Although I knew Damian hated me, I would seek him out at school sometimes, hoping to catch a glimpse of him before going to class. He noticed occasionally, and would glare at me, in which I would look away and briskly walk off without a word.

Even though he hurt me, I still looked to him for assurance. I wonder what was wrong with me then. I guess beneath it all, the changes and the hurt, I was still just a little girl seeking for her older brother’s acceptance. Beneath everything, I still continued to want the brother Damian once was.

x

Two years later, I had my first thought of suicide.

Things did not improve at home. The relationship between my parents and I grew more taut and strained with each passing day. I did not understand why, but I believe Damian was still affecting them somewhat.

Damian had been quite the rebel during his last year in Primary school, always getting into trouble whenever possible. He never committed anything as serious as underage smoking, but he often pranked and backtalk his elders, going as far as using vulgarities and disregarded schoolwork entirely. The school called Father often, who took it in stride to punish Damian. However, with all the punishments, Damian had only grown more and more tolerant of the pain, to the point that he did not care anymore.

He calmed from the rebellious stage when he graduated into Secondary school, however, as his best friend slash accomplice, had gone to a different school from him. It improved nothing between us. In fact, things became worse.

Whenever Damian was frustrated or angry over something, he would take it out on me when I happened to be around. I would talk back, of course, but it only served to make things worse. Sometimes, we would lapse into another physical fight, though that did not happen as often anymore. It did not mean things were getting better, it meant that each blow was far more painful.

I could handle the pain better by then. I learnt to shove the pain aside and concentrate on dealing the blows instead of receiving them. Eventually, I would fall, as always, and Damian would spit out a last insult before walking away.

While my heart was not opened and frozen from feeling anything, I apparently still made the exception for Damian. His words, I realised, could still hurt me.

After one of our more brutal fights – we learnt not to fight with our parents around – I walked about the neighbourhood near school. Occasionally, I would raise my eyes from the ground and look up towards the skies and at the high-rise buildings. My eyes were lifeless at those moments, I am sure. Damian’s words, as always, would repeat over and over in my head, as though my mind had taken to torturing itself. “Youshould haveneverbeen born!” That was the worst Damian had ever said.

Will jumping off the roof hurt a lot? I found myself idly wondering as I stopped and stared at the building once more.

Am I better off dead? I closed my eyes and fought against the burning sensation behind my eyelids

If Damian would be happy... it’s worth it, isn’t it? A tear slipped out and slid down the side of my head, disappearing into my hair.

I just want him happy. I just want things back the way it used to be. What happened to my brother? What made me not worthy to be your sister any longer, Damian?

At that moment, I caught my thoughts, and the worst laughter I had ever heard came out from my mouth. Cold, harsh and dead, I held my face in my hands as I continued laughing horribly. Happy? Sure he’d be! He wouldn’t even give a shit! The thoughts ran through my head like on an express train. In fact, that whole family would prance about in joy when they hear of my death!

The laughter stopped abruptly and I snarled aloud, almost animal-like. I bared my teeth at nothing, eyes seeing nothing but red, red, red. Ironic, as my name was Scarlett.

It was also then that I first felt what was blood lust. I wanted them tobleed, especially Damian. I wanted them to hurt, to feel the same pain I felt. I wanted to justify the pain I had to feel. I wanted to inflict the very same feelings and more on the people who made me and share the same blood as I. I wanted them – him – to know what it felt like to be tossed aside simply for existing. I wanted to bleed the world just so they could also lose their innocence the same way I had lost mine.

If my death would bring them joy, then I’d rather live and let them know they would feel nothing worse while I’m alive. Damian, you owe me a life.

x

When Damian broke me, I thought I had lost the capability to love, to feel happy, to feel anything but hatred, anger and sadness.

I look back now, and I still wonder what had happened to the older brother I looked up to, who was once my everything. I look back now, and I realise that despite all he put me through, all I felt, thought and suffered, I still love Damian Dust.

Despite it all, I still look up to him, still admire him, still love him as my older brother. While he became the brother I never wanted, he had also become the teacher I needed in this damned world. He taught me that there was no one I could depend on but myself. He taught me that there was no one I could trust less with myself other than myself.

Despite being pushed away and hated, I still love Damian.

I guess I never lost the ability to love after all.

But I wonder, am I foolish?

Perhaps. Perhaps I am for loving a brother who will never accept me.

I smile wryly, knowing there is no one around to see me. I guess he also taught me that humans are the most intelligent and most foolish beings in the world.

Someday, I’ll find someone else to devote my loyalty to.

Someday, I’ll find someone who will look at me, both sides of me, and still accept me for who I am.

Someday, I won’t chase you any longer.

Someday, I’ll learn to give up.

Someday, I’ll learn to accept that loving you is enough and that there is no need for you to love me in return.

Someday, I’ll learn.

Watch me, Damian.

Someday.

xxx

Falling and crawling
A fight to stand up
Memory still haunts me
In the dead of night
Over and over
I felt so small
But one day I'll be stronger
And you better watch out