Brother Dearest {KIAH}

My finger play with the layer of dust which had formed on the table which was in the kitchen but to my family it wasn't really a kitchen table. A kitchen table is meant to feel homey, isn't it? It is mean to have memories engraved in the surface, memories that you could tell your children, then your children's children. This was nothing but a slab of wood tossed into the room, something that could hold plates and food, but in no way was there memories which would be passed on. There were harsh memories, memories of my voice echoing out through the room, memories of my fist pounding the flesh of Logan’s face and the memories of my family eating their meals which made me cringe in ways that I would never get used to.

I pull my fingers away from the surface my eyes studying the small flecks of dirt which coated the surface of my pale skin. My head tilts to the side as I give my hand a small swift flick, watching as the particles let go of their grasp on my skin and rain to the ground. I let go of a thin breath of air, disturbing their slow decent back to the wooden table. They swirl and dance in the air, the force of my breath causing them to race away from my body, landing far away rom where they had been living only moments earlier.

Sighing, I place my chin in my hand, my elbow leaning against the wood table holding up my face. My eyes are as cold as ice as they gaze lazily out into the space in front of me. Usually I would be locked away in my basement, my attention focused on the victim which would be strapped to my table, their cries feeble and useless. But tonight I sit at this table, my thoughts wandering around aimlessly as I try to remember one good memory, one memory of her, one that would melt the ice in my heart and allow my lips to spilt into a genuine smile instead of one that was constructed of steel.

But there was none, or if their were one, I just couldn't find it. A town forms on my fore head before I cross my arms n the table and allow my head to fall into them. I was angry, I was frustrated but i was also sad… sad because i wanted to remember her, remember the only person who had ever managed to find a home in my heart… but it had been so long now. I could barely remember anything about the woman, I couldn't remember her smile, her voice or her words, everything was fuzzy and broken and not touchable… but what pissed me off the most was that I could remember him. The name who left because he was too weak, to weak to face the things that his wife, that my mother, had created.

“Brother… You look dreadfully bored.” The sound of her voice, Morana’s voice, bring me out of my thoughts. I lift my cold gaze to meet her own, no words escaping my lips because why would I have to answer to a girl who spent her time rotting her mind and doing god knows what in her room. I watch as she wanders over to a cupboard, pulling a bottle of whiskey forms its depths. Instantly my eyes narrow and I sit up straight, my face transferring into a scowl.

"No toy on the table tonight?” She asks, placing a glass front of me before filling it with some of the liquid which was eating away at her insides. She looks up at me, through those lashes which were ever so long. It was as though she knew I was going to reject the drink and this was her way of mocking me. I frown my fingers closing around the cool glass taking her up on the challenge. I take a small sip, the liquid fire burning my tongue, but I swallow it all the same.

“The nights still young, you never know, I might decide that it is time for one of the people living under this roof to be on the table.” I tilt my head to the side, my eyes like razors as they cut across her face before coming to a halt on the glass which I hold lazily in my hand, one elbow resting on the table, holding up my glass, my other arm resting on the table in front of me. “Maybe one that really gets on my nerves,” I raise an eyebrow at that, my smile colder than ice.