Another tender undertaking by *AethraZip*, AKA the evil-psycho-Terry- torturing-bitch.

EXTREMELY IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE \ WARNING: Yaoi. Physical abuse. Psychosis. You suuuuuure you wanna risk it? . . Okie dokie then! Enjoy yourself!!


[These days, they just come and come and don't stop.]

[The tears, I mean.]

[You know? Las lágrimas.]

[I don't know why.]

[It's not because of that.]

[That room.]

[I'm over that. It was years ago, and I don't have to think about it anymore. Because that room, the room my brother had for me, is gone. It burned down. That was how this ended.]

[By burning.]

[Scorch the earth and cleanse it of its sins . . . then wash it clean with tears.]


Head down, hunched over. Trying to hide inside his coat. Not show the bruises, the scars, the burns. Caleb Hasinski pulled the edges of his coat closer to his body, not wanting anyone to see in, to see his poor battered and emaciated body. His sweatshirt and jeans were so loose it was a wonder he hadn't lost them yet. He'd always been skinny, but now he was wasted, gone, and what was left of him was bruised black and blue.

He was supposed to be going home, but that thought filled his heart with dread. Going home . . . to face his brother? To face Gavin, the one that held the reins? Or, more literally, the whip?

The whip. Long, black, smooth. Leather. The object of Caleb's greatest terror.

But then, Gavin abused him other ways, too. The whip was just his brother's personal favorite.

Cigarettes stamped out on his back. Small blades whistling down to cut him expertly, letting blood spill. Fists. Words.

Gavin and Caleb Hasinski's parents had divorced three years ago, and since then Caleb's life had been hell. Their mother had gotten custody in a very civilized, bloodless court battle and fallen ill with cancer only a year later. She was currently in the hospital, but instead of being sent to a foster home, Caleb had been ordered to stay with his then-twenty-two brother. He himself had been fourteen.

Now he was seventeen, and their mother was clinging to her life, barely holding on. The doctors predicted another eighteen months at most, and more probably twelve or less. When their mother died, Caleb knew, he would too. The only reason Gavin had not killed him now was that he enjoyed torturing the younger boy, and because their mother expected them both to visit her. But once she was gone, there was no reason to keep him alive.


Caleb entered the house quietly, the feeling of doom settling in around him. Going into this house was like submitting to the abuse he knew was coming. But somehow he couldn't help it- it was just the way things were.

Perhaps if he was quiet, Gavin wouldn't notice him. Maybe he'd be able to get up to his room and—

"You're home. Good."

Too late. Caleb whirled, his coat flying off with the sudden movement, and faced his brother.

Gavin Hasinski was blonde and blue-eyed like Caleb, but there the resemblence ended. Where Caleb was skinny and short, Gavin was tall and well-formed, perhaps even overly muscular. His eyes did not have the wary, frightened look Caleb's did, and his clothes actually fit him.

Thank any gods there were, the hated whip was not in his hand. However, Gavin was also no longer in the kitchen doorway. He was directly in front of Caleb, and his heavy right hand was slamming against the side of Caleb's face.

"Little shit. Where were you?"

"At s-sc-school," Caleb said, his words catching. "And then I w-walked home. I'm n-n-n-not late-" He didn't get to finish; Gavin grabbed his upper arm and dragged him out of the hall into the kitchen. Once there, he threw Caleb onto the floor, hissing when his brother landed on the small rug and not the tiles.

"Damn . . . I missed," Gavin growled.

Missed? If he'd thrown him any harder, Caleb's head would have cracked open on the tiles. Of course, that was probably what Gavin had intended.

Caleb tried to get to his feet, and ended up tripping over them. Gavin punched him once while he laid on his stomach on the floor, and he shrieked. Ignoring his brother's cry, or perhaps even feeding on it, Gavin stepped over him and reached for a barbecue fork which, for some strange reason, just happened to be lying on the counter.

"No, Gavin, please, please don't hurt me!!"

"Shut up, you little worm." Gavin knelt beside Caleb, who was now crying incoherently. He yanked up his brother's shirt and ran the tines of the fork over Caleb's back, grinning as he did so. "A worm, yes . . . but such a beautiful worm . . . so beautiful that I'll make sure I destroy that beauty before I kill you."

Caleb winced. He knew Gavin wanted to kill him; he'd always known that. But being called beautiful didn't ring his bell. In fact, since the speaker was Gavin, the words were practically a curse. He shivered as the tines of the fork passed over his back, and was horrified to find this was actually arousing him. A few seconds later, the fork was lifted, and Gavin's teeth grazed Caleb's back. After a few moments, he bit him, and Caleb screeched.

"That's only the start of what I'm gonna do to you, oh brother dear," Gavin hissed, shoving Caleb onto his back. "You might as well just keep quiet."

Yes. Perhaps he should. After all, no matter what he did, Gavin was going to hurt him. The less he screamed, the better. Because the less he screamed, the less kicks Gavin would get, and the sooner it would be over.

Gavin moved so that he straddled Caleb, and placed the barbecue fork in the crook of his brother's arm. "Now, I can plunge this into the tender area where your arm bends, and you won't be able to use this arm. I can do the same to your knee, and cause trouble walking. And here—" The fork moved to his lower stomach. "This will cause immense pain when you sit or stand. What would you like . . . first?"

Caleb did scream then— never before had he been punished thrice at once. What could he have done to deserve this?

Or maybe Gavin was just in a fouler mood than usual.

Gavin bent and put his face close to Caleb's. "Of course, you know how you can get off easy . . ." he whispered, and licked Caleb's chin.

Caleb turned away and braced himself. "Giving you head isn't getting off easy."

"Fine," Gavin replied, his voice cold, though Caleb knew he was furious. "Stomach first, then." He shoved down hard and the tines of the fork bit deep into Caleb's stomach. Caleb bit his tongue on the scream, but he couldn't hold it back when Gavin speared the fork into the crook of his elbow, and where his knee bent. The cuts weren't deep enough to produce much blood, but the pain was exquisite.

Caleb wept now, unable to restrain his tears. Gavin smiled, bending over him. "I could have done much worse," he whispered. He spoke the words so that they seemed an endearment, but Caleb only cried more.

"It's Friday," Gavin purred, standing. "By Monday you'll be able to walk again. Now get out of here before I decide to do worse."

Caleb scrambled to his feet, tried to run, and barely managed to walk. Blood still streamed down his leg, from his stomach, and elbow. It was almost impossible to walk, and Caleb limped the entire way down the hall to his bedroom.

He left a trail of blood behind.


A\N: Edited 4/18.. I found a HUGE, GLARING ERROR in this chapter that, oddly, no one else caught o0;; Lazy-ass readers. *shrug* Ah, well.


A\N: Edited 6/10.. ANOTHER HUGE GLARING ERROR!! *attacks Terry with Gavin's fork* Honestly, bitch, what do I pay you for?! You're supposed to catch the plot holes!

Terry: You don't pay me, Enna.

A\N: ......That's right. In conclusion, I want my Phantom CD.