TRIGGER WARNING: MAY BE DISTURBING

The rolls royce sways as it drives onto the long gravel driveway in front of the manor which you could almost compare to a castle if you'd only compare size. I hum along to the melody of you don't own me by lesley gore. I put my phone down, I have taken a week off, I like my job and I like working perpetually, it keeps my mind of things that hurt. Like the fact that my brother never got to be twenty. I sigh, I sometimes forget my past, I sometimes forget the scar on my back isn't because I fell off the balcony when I was nine. I smile and wave away the worry I have. I look at the beautiful sandstone building and remember the faint smell of roses that used to dry my tears. I take a deep breath and look a the perfect haunted house and smile as I see the old rusty fountain in the middle. I bite my lip and step out of the luxurious car when the chaffeur opens the door. I step onto the gravel and look my father in his eyes, I have not talked to him in the nine years after his death. I feel a tear in my eye but I do not wipe it away, I do not show it. Instead I straighten my black suit jacket and walk up to him.

"My sincerest condolences." I say with a heavy load on my chest. I look at him when I notice a slight smile while he has tears in his eyes. He hugs me, my body tightens in shock, I do not remember if he has ever hugged me before. I feel tears in my eyes and slowly put my arms around him. "I will miss her." He says with a broken voice, I nod. "I know you will dad.... I know you will." It is the only truthful answer I can give because I cannot say I will miss her. I know I won't, he wouldn't either. "Shall we look at her grave Gaétan?" I nod when I suddenly realise he is speaking english with me. We weren't allowed to speak english when we were only with family...... I couldn't speak english fluently till I was seven, while living in england. I think it was a way of keeping us isolated.

We walk through the gardens, the only part of this estate I can view through rose coloured glasses. I see my father staring at me while we walk through the wide gardens. I take a breath and stare at my gleaming doc martens before looking up and smiling at him. I frown when I see the pride on his face....is he proud of me. I look at his black hair and the face I have inherited, I only have my mothers killer eyes.... the greyish-green eyes. I could not look my brother in the eye without reminding ourselves of the torture that was the reality of our life, awakening the pain that was the tragedy. He smiles faintly and grabs the side of my head, I flinch but instead of the sharp pain of my fathers soul I feel a tender hand of old age on my cheek. "I like your hair..... You look like your brother but....different." I smile, he is correct. I have cut my hair to resemble my brother more closely, but I ddyed the under layer white which beautifully ties in with my black hair and makes my white skin look sickly, which I think makes me look cold and uncaring. And cold and uncaring is safe, I will be safe.

We walk up to the grey gravestone in the private graveyard near our own chapel. I look at the grave and resist the urge to spit on the grave of that vile woman. Or was I the vile child? I look at the grave my face is numb to try to mimic the face of a mourner. My eyes stray from her grave to the grave next to it with it's pristine white stone I read the name, loïc, it feels as if I just said it and I have tasted his name again. The poetry of his words and his actions that have always made more sense than my own. He reminds me everyday that we have nothing under control even when we think we have. I notice my father crying, I hesitantly put my arm around him, I am surprised by the amount of affection he has shown in the last half hour, it has been more than at any point before in my life. I hush him and tell him everything will be alright he nods "So Gaétan, how is your life.... Planning on kids?" He asks softly, I chuckle and say "I still have plenty of time dad." "Do you not want little heirs?" he asks with a smirk. I chuckle and shake my head bitterly. I look him in the eye and my smile fades "History repeats itself....." I turn back to the grave and clench my jaw while I stare at the grey grave of hatred and disdain, of anger and of pain. I wonder if I would've felt less angry had I talked to her before she died. "What do you mean? Are you inviting me to dinner father?" He chuckles and nods. "You need to eat too right?" I look at him, wondering if he is serious and his face does not have a sprinkle of uncertainty on it, he really is serious. I nod, "I will be there in a minute...." He nods and walks away 

"I have read talking to somebody's grave sometimes helps. I wonder if that only helps if that person was actually a....good person. If the person needs to serve a pupose in the life of the one who talks." I chuckle and look at my signet ring, the snake attacking the raven looks fierce and scary I shake my head in disbelief and light my cigarette "We need to be honest with ourselves shouldn't we be? You did have a lot of influence on me, sometimes I have the hope you were simply preparing us for the real world. I have these theories you were a good mother, you were a good person but you somehow were damaged. I wonder who you were before you were Mother.... Aurelie, who were you. I wonder if I hated you if you weren't my mum. I wonder if that means you won, well you have won... you died thinking you were right. You have never seen yourself for what you are, and I do not know if I have ever done it either. But I am still learning mum. I have become succesful, I have become disciplined, I know what it is like to have nothing deliberately so maybe you have taught me honesty and modest. Oh yeah... you didn't deserve dad's love either. You were a bad person, or that is what you have shown me. Mum, when we were born....did you love us?" I sigh and put down the orange lily, meaning hatred and disdain....and boy couldn't they be more accurate. I crouch there for a few second and I extinguis my cigarette in the loose ground of the grave with a smile. I walk up to the other grave and put the white lily in front of it, it perfectly matches the white stone. I sigh and kiss the cold stone on the side. "I know I should've been here more often...." I whisper. "I am sorry."

I walk up the giant stairs in front of the manor as my hands shakes and my whole body tells me not to enter that prison. I see a dark spot in the middle of the staicases and bite my lip, trying to deny that was once my blood.... Once I am inside I do not know what will happens, I have stopped breathing and my heart is beating through my body almost throwing it on the ground, bursting my veins and dying of simple fear. simple...it is not simple, it never is. My life has never prepared me to be safe, to return and risk the things I have ran away from again....

"Gaétan." The tears running down my face disappear and I can move again. "I thought I would never see you again!"  Colette says with a bright laugh as she embraces me. I smile, she was one of the things that i would call a good memory of my childhood, her chubby face would bring me food when we needed it most. She was the most caring of all the staff. "How are you? You look fabulous! Look at your hair, oh darling you should eat more you look like a skeleton." She rambles on with a smile. "My condolences, it must be hard for you, I have heard you were friends when you were younger." I say, she chuckles "What you can call friends." She leads me inside, I walk into the manor as if it is not the place I grew up in. I look around as if it the first time I see it. Nothing has changed, the old paintings are still on the same walls, those same walls are covered with the same green and black wallpaper. I sigh and admit it is one of the most beautiful rooms in the world. I look at the da vinci's and rembrandts on the wall and I am reminded how filthy rich my family has been since the beginning of time. I walk up the stairs "Oh darling should I bring a plate to your room?" Colette asks, I smile and shake my head. "No it is quite alright thank you. I am not hungry" She smiles and puts her hand on his shoulder, "She is no longer here...." "I know....but it doesnt feel like that." I respond.

I try to open the door to my room, it is locked I frown. I hear someone walking towards me, "I heard you weren't hungry." My father's voice boom. I immediately look down "I am sorry I did not mean to offend you in any way father!" I say with utter panick in my voice while I cringe in anticipation of pain. He grabs a heavy key from his jacket. "this is yours I believe" he says giving me two keys with the initials L and G. I smile and slowly relax as I grab the keys "sleep well." I nod "You too sir." I look at my father, his black hair is slowly getting more and more gray, I wonder if I would have liked to see him getting older.... I have missed a whole nine years, not hearing their voices, not seeing their handwriting and not thinking about those two. Or at least not willingly. I open the door of the room aand I am greeted by my teenage room, I feel a sudden bust of happiness. I run towards the end of the room and rip open the green velvet curtains. The familiar room is bathed in light, I smile, I remember everything about it, the way it smells, the books, the bookcases, the incredibly large closet. The incredible (not to mention antique) canopy bed looks the same as when I left. It's perfectly ready to welcome any guest the only difference is that there is a lot of dust everywhere. I smile as I sit on the little nook where some of the windows are. I look at the beautiful green wallpaper and smile as I kid myself and believe my brother is sleeping in the room next to me. I walk to the bookcases and try to avoid stepping on the books and the sketches that are scattered in front of it. I am almost there when I see a sketch that catches my eyes, I kneel and pick it up. I smile, I drew what I thought Loïc would look like when he grew up, I feel a tear stream down my face as I recognise myself. I stand up and grab the keys, I open the door for the short corridor connecting the two rooms I walk through the corridor with its sage green wallpaper. I sit down on the little bench in front of the painting that is hanging in the middle of the corridor. It's a real version of gustav klimt's tree, we loved gustav klimt, this was the only painting we had ever been allowed to choose, we chose wisely and we loved it all our life. We drew the patters used by klimt on each others clothing and skin, we would paint them on our ceilings. I stare at the painting and try to forget what a doomed creature I am, I am always injured, I cannot wipe away all the memories, I cannot heal this hole in my heart and I couldn't help you, I killed you, I feel like I killed you. I could've saved you. I sigh as I stand up and slowly walk up to the door and knock, waiting for the everlasting silence to be finally broken by my hope. My mind echoes his voice, "come in." My own voice echoes as I turn the key.

I look at the familiar chaotic room full of medical books, with perfect drawings of skeletons and other things. The beige and brown colours that he had always loves, unless it was clothes. I walk towards his bed and look at his notebooks that are hidden under it. I sigh and leave the room, I cannot stay here too long. It rips my soul apart, it removes my voice and fills the oceans in my eyes. I wonder if I was crazy, if it would've been better if we ran. I chuckle, of course it would've been better, my mum killed him, I just know he has not comitted suicide, he wouldn't do it without telling me about it.

I sigh. "I think about you every day Loïc, I wonder if you do the same. I hope you...enjoy the other side, if there is one. I hope you can hear me. I love you.....I should've listened to you that night." I stand up and quickly walk out of the room locking, running from reality. Denying my truth while at the same time wondering how I could ever do that.

I change into my pyjamas and open the closet. I smile as I see the tight fitting leather jacket I used to wear when I was young, when I left I began wearing loose fitting ones. (I had my reasons.) I take the jacket and put it on, funnily it still fits, I chuckle and look in the mirror but realise I look more like him. I groan and throw it back in the closet before grabbing the old pillow and blanket and put them on the old hard floor, christmas, our birthday and easter,  Those were the times we were allowed to sleep in the beautiful beds we desired to lay on every night. To soothe our bruises and cuts, to diminish the pain we were feeling. But the ground was our date. I sometimes still sleep on the floor, for old times sake. Good thing is that I can pretty much sleep anywhere, so that is good after a long surgery.

I close my eyes, let sleep take me, and maybe I will be surprised by death. 

I open my eyes in a panick as I feel the thin hands reach through the floorboard and surrounding my throat as the pressure slowly becomes more and more apparents I try to scream when I feel my mum's hand obscuring my mourh. I feel the burning of a thousand poisons in my throat as I arch my back in utter agony. I want to scream but I can physically not, I feel the warm blood flowing from my neck in a worryingly quick manner as I see her face, I scream but no voice supports my body. "Do not scream darling, there is no one who cares enough to hear them here." I feel the fear in my very soul as my chest begins to burn.

I wake up with a scream. I feel releived and I hear my own voice screaming, I take a deep breath as the sun caresses my face and cares about my screams. I listen to my own breath and wonder if I ever need to leave this very room. I put my head back on the floor and sigh with a smile while I disdain the fact I even have the nerve to smile.

I put on the ruffly blouse and wonder whether I should put on a suit jacket... I decide to save that for dinner and put a broche on the ascot part of the blouse, a black gemstone set in a silver lining that has the form of a birdcage. I look at the outfit and put on the black locket I was gifted at birth, my brother had a green one. The two colours of our weapon, apart from gold. I have always preferred wearing silver though, which is why my signet ring is silver with a black stone. His one was gold with a blue stone. I look in the mirror and look through some of the books I used to read, I look at one of my books: an old version of Mary shelley's Frankenstein. I look at the book and remember the last time I read it. It was the worst night of my life, I try to stop my tears in order not to fuck up the eyeliner I have painstakinly perfected. I remember that I took nothing with me but the packed bag of my brother, I really hadn't planned on leaving, I didn't know where to go, what to do, who I would be or who I would become. I just knew I needed to escape before I was dead too. I did not want to end up as a corpse being found in the bathroom by someone who loved me. I shudder, I still remember the blood, painting a portrait of tragedy and sadness, or was a portrait of rage and resistance? I will never know I suppose. 

I trace my hands along the spines of my beloved books as I come across the bell jar and open it on my favourite chapter, the one about where she tries to commit suicide. I open at the 13th chapter and a little note falls down. I pick it up. "If you read this I am dead," I gasp.....did he commit suicide. I open the note, "I have something you should have if I am dead, so here is my riddle to you: Our escape from the world, where we sworn to be together. Where you wished to die, the only place of joy we had. You know where it is, look where the hobbits hide." I frown and put it in my pocket, what did he mean? What kind of stupid game is this? I am not used to him playing games. You hated games Loïc.... but maybe this is the way you haunt me.

I feel myself hyperventilate when I begin to realise this might mean he did kill himself. I blamed my parents for nothing, it wasn't their fault.....but if it is suicide it might even be more my fault than I ever thought it was. I was aware I should have done things any other way but I thought at least some part wasn't my fault. I feel a tear fall down on the ground as I sit down on the bed. I was at fault....I am sorry loic.

I remember that night better than anything else, it is as if I am living it every day of my life. The agony is a melody that I can now perfectly harmonise to, I am so aware of everything what happened. I know every word said, every minute passed, every hope given up. I remember the walk of doom through the isolated corridor only connecting our room, the only corridor I felt like I was. I opened the door when I was surprised to see his small suitcase on his bed. I remember frowning and leaning on the doorpost with my black eye, "Where are you going?" My hoarse voice from all the arguing earlier today, the busted lip hurt as I was talking and my right hand was completely blue and I couldn't straighten my middlefinger. He sighed and shrugged "I do not know yet. But I will find out." He said while putting books and his favourite sweaters in there. "And you are just leaving me here?" I said with a bitter chuckle, we never had any fights but I was looking for one. I was jealous, he had the dream of working in a noble pursuit and I, I wanted to become a little broke artist. Nothing about that is noble or respectable,  so she beat it out of me. I had promised to be the absolute perfect son from now on, which was the exact reason I was wearing a black three piece suit and a black shirt under it. The only thing that wasn't black was the jewlery and the broche. My hair was neatly tied in a bun and I was everything they wished I was, or at least, for that one day. Maybe I could not  be that perfection forever but I could pretend to be it for just a day. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?" he asks, he smiles and puts his snake earrings in, which I wear almost everyday nowadays. "I am telling you now right?" He said with a smile but I could only scoff, which to be honest was better than saying what I thought. I bit my lip and tried to hide the fact that it was trembling. "Are you coming back?" He sighs and looks at me, combing his fingers through his short hair. "I am afraid not.....do you want to come with me Gaétan?" I chuckle and shake my head in disbelief "Oh fuck you Loïc, walk to hell and further. Mum is right, you are selfish." I walk away all that anger directed at him while that was the last time I could;ve said I loved him.

I really didn't think he would commit suicide, I didn't think the scream that night was a last cry for mercy, I didn't ignore it because I didn't care about him, I simply thought he was having a nightmare again, I didn't think I would be the one who would find him in the bathtub, drowned in a mix of his own blood and water. I thought we would be okay, I thought he would be okay.

My parents faces were stoic as soon as the police was gone and so I asked the question. "Did you know he was planning on leaving?" Their faces didn't change, so I instantly concluded they did. "YOU BASTARDS! DID YOU KILL HIM?" they didn't answer. they didn't even react, it was like they didn't even hear me. I stormed up the stairs and grabbed the suitcase and quickly ran towards the stairs when she pushed me down them. I tumble down but I don't fear the pain anymore. "YOU ARE NOT GOING ANYWHERE" My mothers booming voice screamed. I laughed and walked out of the door but than I feel an iron bar hitting my face. I feel her hitting my face over and over again when I realise I have had enough and finally use the bootknife I have carried with me for years, I grab it out of my boot and dig it into the thigh of my mother. There is a difference between me and my mother, a very clear difference, I am used to pain, my mother clearly isn't used to it. Which is why when she throws me down the stairs in front of the manor I hardy notice the pain and my mother screams about how much the stabwound hurt. I feel strangely euphoric as I stand up and the blood streams down my head in a pace too rapid to be healthy. "Bitch." I spat out and started to run away over the gravel driveway, ignoring the fact that she will probably try to catch me. 

Strangely she didn't try. I ran and ran, i first ran to the green lake as I wanted to cry about the reality that my brother was dead. I gathered some wild strawberries and eat them to prevent myself from passing out. I sigh and start walking towards the village I remember wondering why everyone was staring at me while I was slumping through the street, only half-consious, my head bleeding my long black hair was absolutely soaked in blood. I did not understand the staring, I also was only speaking french.
of course I ended up at the police station. I refused to tell them anything and insisted it was a bad fall but still. It must have been suspicious, I take a deep breath I never thought I would be one of the best and youngest neurosurgeons of the world nine years later, sure I was already studying medecine but still....

I look a the breakfast standing in front of me and I look up at my father, I am not used to being allowed to ear in here. "Mum said that we would surely go to hell, do you think we will dad?" He looks up from his plate he smiles and shakes his head. "Hey I have been following your recent research recently." He grabs a scrapbook. I stand up and notice that he has collected articles from the moment I ran away. I feel a smile dawning on my face he is proud od me, I am so proud that my father is proud of me. I hug him and look at the articles, proud of my noble pursuit. It feels like he has healed a little part of me. "Dad, I l...." I cannot say the word, because I have never loved anyone but my brother. Other humans I have simply tolerated, which is fine....but loving is something I am not capable of. But maybe I am simply lonely.....
"Gaétan, don't you think it is a great idea if you'd look through your mum's things. I have already chosen the things I want to keep, you can look at the things that are still in her room." I nod, I don't want anything from that witch.

I open the door to the room, I have never been here before. I was never allowed, of course I wasn't that makes quite a lot of sense. I did not have rights here in this house, why would I be allowed even stepping a foot in there. I find some beautiful jewellery I don't hate, I am quite alright with that, when I am done with all the boxes I try to open the old fashioned dressing table but it is locked. I wonder what must be in there and my curiosity has always been stronger than my need of self-preservation. I grab the lockpicks I always carry with me because it makes me feel safe, I have learned to lockpick to get into cupboards with food, so we wouldn't starve, it is one of the handy skills I have learned from having a soullles mother. The lock clicks open and I open it, expecting gold, precious jewels or money. Maybe diaries but instead they are simply pictures, pictures? Why would you need to lock a drawer full of pictures? I grab some out of the drawer when suddenly I see a picture of a chemical burn and I recognise it, it is the burn that she made when I got a bad grade for my latin. (we were homeschooled by a good scholar) I look at more of the pictures and get more and more horrified as I recognise all the injuries my brother and I ever had, it must be a kind of voyeurism from my mother. I feel myself begin to hyperventilate as the pictures get younger and younger, I cannot have been older than four when I had that rectangular burn. Eventually I see a picture of a baby's hand/ I stare at it and the text next to it. "One with the scar is Gaétan. One without is Loïc" I feel my hand burning as I open it and look horrified at the cigarette scar on the palm of my hand. I feel my heart wuickening and it feels like the history of my life is sitting on my chest. Pushing down my anger and somehow making me physically ill, I feel myself beginning to tremble and I try to stand up but as soon as I try my heart starts to race and I fall again I try to keep myself standing by holding onto a small cabinet but instead of helping it falls over and I feel myself hitting the ground, my heart feels like it is vibrating instead of beating and I swear I am dying at this moment. I scream and I hear collete telling father about the fact I am freaking out, I do not see anything clearly and I feel like I I am being tossed around by the sea, who is laughing about the fact I am so utterly powerless, I have never had the luck of being in control, and life will never let me have the pleasure of being in control of it. I need to realise that. I grab the old knife that is laying in on of the boxes before putting it in my tigh, I feel the euphoria rushing through my veins as I remind myself I do have control over my own pain, I hit myself against my head as my father rushes into the room and grabs me. "NO GAÉTAN" He screams as I dig my fingers in the wound from my tigh. I do not know whether I am weeping or laughing hysterically but it is one of the two. My father picks me up with ease if you consider his age and carries me away. I am still paralysed by confusion and panic as we arrive in the attic of the house, he puts me tenderly on the floor.

"I will be back when you are more calm." He says looking at me with pity. "No," I beg "Do not leave me alone, she is here." I cry in agony as I feel the bleach being spilled in our throats and onto my skin. He walks away and closes the hatch, I crawl towards it, the open wound on my leg hurts as it's dragged across the jagged floor. "Please do not leave me alone here." I howl as I try to open the hatch, I knock on it till my knuckles are bloody and red. I feel so misunderstood, it's incredibly cold here, I wonder if this will be my death. I whisper "Please let me out...... I promise to be better." But I do not hear any reaction. I close my eyes as I tremble and the sun shines on my face.