Page 84 of Eyes Like Angel
“Mom placed you here.Youasked for this,” he went on, “and if you haven’t fucked up a single thing the other day, you would’ve have your freedom by now. I’m being dragged into your mess that you started. And if you haven’t caused a ruckus, you—.”
Rolled my shoulders back, my mouth formed a sharp grunt, hissing, “Bjorn, you’re starting to piss me off. Have you ever stop and think that you’ve got no sense of purpose other than being as Dad’s doormat—or personal butler? Being a Mama’s Boy? Because you’re desperate for his approval was blatantly obvious every time he asks you to come fetch me. No girls going to want you if you being like that. Not even…walking down and slammed the door on your bedroom door. They might you’re through a rough puberty in your late-twenties.”
His nostrils flared. “This is the second time you talked to the nun—the same nun who got hired by Mom to clean up the house and the bathrooms and her closet. Mom insists—”
“I don’t care who,” I lowly snapped, eyes sharpened. “Stay out of my fucking business, my personal life.”
I didn’t raise my tone. Otherwise, Bjorn would’ve suspected something.
I counted to three, assuming he’d go away like he always does. He’d turn back without a word like he does and does often.
One…two…three…
There he stayed, and did nothing.
Why the fuck is he still here?
I take matters into my own hands, desperately wanting him to fuck off, simple as it came across in my idea and assumptions. So I tried my hardest to express what I thought on him for years, which I never get a chance to address accordingly.
“Such a sad life you’ve lead yourself into,” I continued, tsking, lips curled to disgust on his mindless state. “Do you honestly think Dad and Mom will be there forever to back you up just because you did a good thing, the right thing by obeying each of their endless requests? News flash, Bjorn, you’re just nothing but a tool for them to unload the extreme expectations onto you so they could fuck around like children. You’re just a domestic pet with a fancy collar that can talk and walk and do the dirty work, nothing more. Honestly, it’s pathetic. Why don’t you just go and fuck off and slam more doors on your way out instead of berating me like this? Besides, I’m not in the mood to talk—”
Without warning, his hand latched to my neck, squeezing the Adam’s apple with his thumb, bashing my back on the wall in sharp motion.
Aside slamming his personal doors, he liked strangled me, familiar with his hand as if he has a talent with his reflex.
Five years ago, I asked for a Ferrari as my birthday present. In exchange, instead of getting the sports car on my birthday, I got acceptable scores on my final exams, I got the red Ferrari sports car, and Bjorn, couldn’t stand I got a grander gift, so he shoved me against the wall one night at adarkened hall, strangling with his fingernails clawed in, even as little kids, he strangled me at every chance I got if I decide to weigh my words down or had a better gift than Bjorn had ever gotten.
My ears shot a white noise as he dug his fingernails tougher, sharply piercing my voice box, his control was contained from ripping it out and let the bloody waterfall stained on the marbled floor.
Each time he strangled me, he commented on how I sounded and struggled like a weak girl, strangling for air. He commented I shouldn’t be acting like a whiny, spoiled brat asking for gifts, that I must learn on how to act like a man earning materials for myself instead of asking, because that’s what girls and grown women do. They whine and cry until they get the purchases they’ve requested on demand.
He punched a girl once by the voice box when she screeched at his ear in middle school and had her long blonde hair dragged and slammed her against the brick wall in the halls as she earned a black eye and blue bruises on her throat. He got suspended in weeks, while his classmate switches to another school after his ominous stunt.
All girls hated him and boys avoided him.
But it has nothing to do with me, who was only asking for a grander gift granted for a greater access to drive in a getaway car to distance myself, to gain independence and transforming to a social butterfly.
Somehow, he hated my guts.
And he despised my existence, wishing me dead, so that he could be the only son in the Rivers family to gain inheritance and privileges without a competition.
“I don’t give a fuck what you have to say about me,” Bjorn shot back, teeth clenched. “Dad’s reputation and money and Mom’s mercy were the reason why you’re still here. All you dois having crazy girls fawned over you and latched onto you, and then you go roaming in the halls, at a restricted area, doing God knows what. Are you that desperate to get in trouble? I shouldn’t be surprised at this point, you’re reckless and a heartless scumbag—a careless thug who often gives a fuck about himself. You don’t consider other people’s time and effort and given you a chance to straightened things out.”
“Still a lapdog, I’m shocked you haven’t got a special treat yet,” I pointed out on his contrived shtick, chortling.
The squeeze on his fingers went sharper, leaving me no air, but didn’t fazed at his harsh attitude, an attitude like a little boy who haven’t gotten a tiny sports car, or a lifetime achievement award, depending what Bjorn truly desires. The thing is, I don’t know him personally, despite living under the same roof. Throughout my youth, he’s known for slamming doors and locking locks whenever he sees me.
“Quit fucking around, and do your job,” Bjorn warned, fingers clenching harder, bone in my throat tensed and crushed, unable to receive air. “Or else I have other ways to make you cooperate. Fuck around again, and you won’t get away that easily—my first and final warning. Stop hanging out with those girls. Out of all people, you disgust me the most.”
My eyes hardened at his honey-colored ones, seemed more like light shit-colored mud on a rain puddle.
“Then maybe you should get a girlfriend next time, so you won’t bother me as much,” I argued back. “And less slamming on those poor doors; I started to feel bad for them, more and more every time I see you.”
“And if you were a girl, I would strangle the life out of you until your lungs had no oxygen,” he snarled, his teeth gritted. “But you’re a man who looked so feminine, all because of your stupid fucking hair.”
Jesus, he sounded like Dad already.
His hand loosened, shoving me, despite the closeness I’ve got on the wall. Bjorn, with his heated anger, he flounced, his one-thousand dollar Oxford shoes stomped, heels clacking on a smooth and pristine marbled surface.
