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brinroberts-blog · 8 years ago

Text

i won't promise you

who brinley and braxton roberts when monday may 22nd what brinley lets her emotions get the best of her, time and time again warnings mentions of incest, pedophilia and abuse

BRINLEY.

No, crashing wasn’t the right word - burning was more like it, and she was the one with the match to light the flame. She could hear herself, how awful she sounded, how she pushed (shoved) everyone away. Because it was easier. Because then maybe she could run.

She knew she had hurt Braxton the worst. But she needed to, she justified, if she was ever going to make them right again. And yes, she had been pissed when she saw his messages with Claudia (who leaves their phone on the kitchen counter?) discussing how concerned they were. Like she was a child who needed tending to, as if they were her parents pushing the responsibility of watching over her to the other.

Well fuck them, she decided. Just because Charlie said Claudia should fuck Braxton didn’t mean she got to, and just because Claudia asked didn’t mean Brinley couldn’t lie.

(In her head, it made sense. The two of them. She could see it unfolding like a romantic comedy and it ached in her gut. If he had Claudia, he wouldn’t need Brinley. If he had Claudia, he wouldn’t be just hers anymore. It didn’t matter that what they had was bigger than everything else, not if he chose Claudia. Irrational, terrible jealousy.

She was an awful sister.)

So she’d run. It was different than Stella (gone but always so present) because she wasn’t taking off with Dave or anyone else. No, she left him passed out cold, her hands on her hips as she made the decision.

Go home. Pack a bag. Disappear.

She didn’t bother with the window, instead coming straight through the front door - let her father be there, a bottle of beer in his hands, judgement and lust coloring his gaze. Let him try a single move, she thought, prepared to fight, prepared to escape. But it was silent, the door to his room closed, her own just past it.

And she packed. A backpack (was she really committed enough to bringing something more?) full of jeans, underwear, a few shirts. A hair tie on her wrist, one in her hair, digging around for her Converse.

But her jacket - her favorite, with the distressed leather she’d worn for years - it was on Braxton’s floor. So she slipped in, his window wide open (waiting for her, she knew, hoping she’d come home) and his phone unplugged next to him as he tossed. Restless. Worried.

And here she was, about to make it worse.

She brushed her fingers through his hair, kissed his cheek, and ran like hell.

St. Louis was only about four hours away, and she sped the whole time. Chicago was too close, too tainted from road trips and hockey games and Stella, somehow still there in her mind. It was three in the morning, the highways empty and silent, and she didn’t even bother with the radio.

For once, silence suited her.

Despite doing 80 the whole time, she didn’t get a single ticket (was she hoping for one? An excuse to head back?) and arrived near the border as dawn was breaking, morning traffic starting to build as people started their week.

But she couldn’t cross. Leaving Illinois felt permanent, unchangeable. Like if she did it, she really couldn’t come back. So she checked into a Motel 6, flopped down on the too stiff bed, and for the first time in weeks, she cried.

It started gentle, silent tears streaming, but before she could gain control once more they built, her body curling against itself as it all came out. Pouring, drenching sobs, enough to dehydrate, enough to wear her out.

At some point, her phone vibrating across the room with messages, surely from Braxton, from Charlie, from Claudia and maybe even Oliver if they’d realized she’s gone, Brinley managed to subside the heaving sobs.

It was only then that she was able to fall into a completely restless sleep.

BRAXTON

There were very few times in his life when Braxton ever felt absolutely broken. The first was when he was 11 and he finally realized that the man who raised him - the man he called Dad still - would never actually love him. His dad looked at Brinkley and saw their mother, the love of his life. He looked at Braxton and saw the reason she was gone and a constant reminder of the fact that she hadn't loved him the way he loved her. Braxton was nothing more than a cosmic joke he was stuck with because how do you explain keeping one twin and getting rid of the other to the small town of Ashbourne?

Then there was the moment when he was 15 and he answered a phone call from a number he didn't know. The woman insisted she was his mother and wanted to meet with him, to see him and talk to him. And at the time, he didn't have a good reason not to go. So he borrowed Brin’s car without telling her why and drove three hours away, the halfway point his mother had picked for them. He waited for an hour at a coffee shop for her until she finally showed. And he knew instantly that she was his mom; she really did look exactly like Brinley. Except her ears; those were his ears.

She hugged him and he felt a rush of parental affection for the first time in his life. He even dared to think maybe this had all been a mistake, her leaving. But then she sat him down and explained the reason she wanted to see him: she wanted Braxton to come live with her. She'd married his father, they were a family. They had a daughter and a dog and they wanted to make things right with him. But not Brinley. She didn't want her. How could anyone not want her? How could she even think he'd leave Brinley behind for a women who waited 15 years to come to him?

Then there was now. Where his best friend, his beloved sister, the person who made him feel like he belonged in this world, Brinley didn't want him anymore. Yeah maybe she was trying to play it off like he was the one pulling away from her, saying that he had everyone else and didn't need her anymore but he knew her. She was really telling him that she didn't need him.

It left him hollow inside; he'd long ago accepted the fact that he was severely codependent on her but it didn't matter to him. She was literally half of him. His mistake was assuming she thought the same way.

“Where's my daughter?”

His dad’s gruff voice forced Brax to stop staring at his deteriorating cereal. Not like he'd been eating it anyway. But it was the way he said it, always “my daughter” and never “your sister” or “our family” that wore him down more than usual. Because his dad didn't want him and neither did Brin; he wasn't anything to either of them anymore.

“I don't know. Probably at work,” Brax said automatically to cover her even though he knew she wasn't working until the afternoon.

“She hasn't been home in a week,” their dad grumbled. “Probably off fucking that North kid.”

“I wouldn't know,” Brax sighed. There was no way Brax would ever tell their dad about anything Brinley did. It wasn't his business and they both lived in fear of the day that he decided it was. Because Brax was sure it would come. It was why he let Brinley sleep with him. It was why he covered for her, why he caused minute distractions when he could to divert their dad’s attention.

But this morning, still drunk, their dad clearly didn't have the patience for the game. With a sharp slap to the back of Braxton’s head that cracked his neck, Braxton felt his dad’s hand hard against his skull, holding his head down against the table. His glasses fell off.

“You ungrateful little bitch,” he snarled in Braxton’s ear, his breath smelling like beer and piss. “You only exist because I say so. You live here because I say so. You have clothes and food and fucking glasses because I say so. And in return I ask for one thing. You keep up with my daughter. If you can't even do that-”

“You're hurting me,” Brax spat, trying to scuffle out from under his dad's grip.

“This doesn't hurt,” he insisted, adding more weight to his hand. “Listen boy, here's what's going to happen. If you're not going to hold up your end of the bargain, then you're out.”

“What?”

“Get out,” he hissed, “of my house and don't come back without my fucking daughter.”

“But-”

“GET OUT!”

He released Braxton and stumbled away; Brax scrambled up the stairs, instinctively running to Brinley’s room before he remembered she wasn't there.

And none of her stuff was either. Not the stuff she loved anyway. Her favorite shirts that were always on her bed. Her shorts and jeans and sunglasses. Anything with a charger, gone. The picture of all of them, even Stella, gone.

Brax panicked, like couldn't breathe panicked. She was really gone. Like… gone.

He ran downstairs. He grabbed the keys to his dad's car off the hook and hopped in. He spent all day driving every street, looking in every corner he could think. By 5 he felt like his lungs were stuffed with cotton. He threw up on the side of the Welcome to Ashbourne sign.

He had to find her.

At some point he remembered the Find My Phone app. He plugged it in, following the trace to a Motel 6 next to the border. And once he figured out her room, he stopped. He wasn't sure what to do next. She didn't want him around. She'd run this far from him. But he needed her. He was scared. He was… lost.

He knocked. She didn't answer. He knocked again, his voice watery. “Brinley please. I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do. You don't have to talk to me just let me in. Please? I don't have anywhere to go.”

BRINLEY The sun was settling low in the sky when she woke up, tears dried on her face and snot crusted against her skin. Disgusting, but it wasn’t like she didn’t feel it deep inside her bones to match her outward appearance.

Her phone, containing at least half a dozen voicemails and texts, said it was shortly after 6. She’d slept for almost twelve hours, and her back cracked and ached from the uncomfortable position she’d been in the entire time, too exhausted to bother moving even in sleep.

The next move evaded her. There were two options, really: go home, face the music, accept who she was and what she wanted, or run. Her skin seemed to crawl as she scrubbed at it harshly with the scratchy washcloth, the motel’s shower steaming around her and turning her body a dark red. She needed these feelings out, she needed her head clear. But the options kept circling, round and round and round again, a merry go round Brinley couldn’t find herself off of.

If she decided to go back, she knew, no one would have even noticed her absence. She’d disappeared for longer, usually with Charlie, but after having pissed off all of her friends, she doubted anyone was even looking for her. Her boss was already pissed at her, she knew, for ditching without even calling on the first day the pool opened. But they couldn’t yell at her, not this year. The only thing Stella had given them in her absence: a get out of jail free card.

It was almost two hours later, her hair still damp against her plain white teeshirt as she stared at the uneaten pizza in front of her. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate, but the thought of processing food was...daunting. And after years of the Pazza, eating a chain just seemed nauseating. Instead, she nibbled at the crust, her arms wrapped around her knees, trying to decide.

Home, or run.

The knock at the door startled her up off her bed, panic welling up inside of her. There were only two people who could have traced her, but as she heard Braxton’s pleas, her breath steadied, her heart still racing slightly as she slid the lock open.

“How did you find me?” she whispered, eyes wide but he didn’t answer her, just pulled her in for a hug, crushing and overwhelming and she pressed her face against the curve of his neck, breathing him in. She could feel his sadness on him, how he wore his heart on his sleeve, and she knew, immediately, why she hadn’t crossed the state line.

There was never any leaving Braxton behind.

The tears came abruptly, though she didn’t understand how she’d had any left; her sobbing in the early morning hours seemed to have only been an appetizer, a tease of what she was capable of as she collapsed, right out of his grasp, her body curling up on itself on the floor as he closed the door behind him, immediately sitting down next to her and stroking her hair and back.

“I’m sorry,” she choked, the words heavy in her mouth. She was apologizing for so much, and he didn’t even know. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” she tried to get out, her breath catching in her throat as she cried.

She knew he was crying too, trying to console her, and it only made her feel worse. She’d done this to them, she’d broken them and who was to say if they could ever fix themselves completely once more?

”I’m so fucked, Brax,” she managed, “how do you not see it? That I’m just like him? That I’m just like her? That you’re better off without me?”

BRAXTON

The weight of the world was nothing compared to the weight of his sister collapsing in his arms; Brinley was barely 110 pounds really but he’d never seen her distraught like this and the weight of that crashed into him more than anything else had. It made her heavy, made him feel weak and useless, and all he wanted to do was make everything right for her again. To hold her together.

”You’re not like anyone,” he whispered, his voice small as he tried to reassure her even as he was flooded with a queasy mix of relief and fear. “You’re Brinley. You’re just like you. You’re perfect.”

”I’m not,” she continued to cry. “I’m so fucked. I’m fucked.”

”You’re perfect,” he repeated, as many times as necessary until she calmed down. Or maybe ran out of tears, he wasn’t sure. But she didn’t let go of him and it was only then that he realized he was still crying. His shoulders shaking. His eyes blurry and heavy. His head hurt, the kind of tension that only came from holding everything in for too long.

”Brin-” he tried to say but god, he couldn’t put anything else on her. He had no idea what she faced that caused this kind of total devastation in her. And whether she liked it or not, he’d always been her protector. He’d always stood up for her and carried the load for her when he could. And he did everything he could to make sure she didn’t have to worry about him, or carry his load. But he couldn’t do it alone. He needed her there to have any kind of strength.

”I’m sorry,” he said, wiping at his own tears and trying to force them back. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry. I don’t even know- I didn’t mean to do it.”

”It’s not you,” she said quickly and he coughed a short laugh. It was him, he knew it was him. She couldn’t hide that from him. He didn’t know what it was at all, but it was him. Somehow, always-

He was always the mistake.

”I’m just fucked up,” she repeated and he shook his head violently, grabbing her by the shoulders and holding her to his chest again. It was all he could do. All he could think to do. She just had to be there and nothing else had to matter. Nothing ever had to matter again, just her.

Hours passed, the minutes slowly ticking by on the clock by the television. She lay with her head in his lap, letting him stroke her hair. And every time she tried to say something about herself, he contradicted her. Because he loved her, more than she loved herself apparently, and as long as he kept telling her she was wrong, there was a chance she would believe him. She had to believe him. He didn’t know what he’d do if she decided she didn’t. If she didn’t come home.

Or maybe she had the right idea… maybe they didn’t have to go back. Stella had disappeared - taken, kidnapped, run away, who knows? - how hard could it be for two more Ashbourne kids to up and leave?

”Brax?” she whispered, so quiet he almost missed it. “What are we going to do?”

He hesitated longer than he should have, long enough for her to lift her head from his lap and sit on her knees, facing him. He deflated, leaning heavily against the edge of the mattress. She was looking at him, fear in her eyes and concern in her lips and all he could do was try to run through the options in his head a thousand miles a minute.

”What if we didn’t go home?” he asked, his voice as small as her and he could tell by the little gasp that she hadn’t expected that from him. “What if… Brin…”

”Brax?”

He suddenly felt like he was choking. The sensation had been there all day, overridden by the blind panic that had consumed him over Brinley. But he could suddenly feel the way their dad had held him down, the pressure on the back of his head again. The stink of his breath, the threat he made him. The complete and utter disgust he had for Brax. And it was crushing Braxton’s chest, his ability to think and breathe and function.

”I don’t want to go back,” he gasped, his fingers digging into his palms as they clenched. “I don’t want to go back to that house without you, Brin. I can’t. He won’t let me. He… Brin, he kicked me out.”

BRINLEY

“He what?” she screeched, her anger shooting through her body as she jolted upwards, to her feet, her eyes immediately searching for her phone, ready to tear him apart. “He can’t fucking do that, I won’t let him do that, you belong where I am and if I have to go back,” and she knew, inevitably, she did have to return, “then I’m not going back without you.”

She paused long enough to let out a near scream of frustration, her voice angry and harsh when she yelled “WHERE IS MY PHONE?”

Instead of giving it to her, Braxton pulled her to the bed, their knees still touching (always touching, as if the past 72 hours had made them even more codependent than they already were, and just maybe they had) as he told her. How his head had been held down, beer breath and strength used against him and Brin made him turn around, examining to see if there was a wound.

There wasn’t, but she kissed the nape of his neck anyways, a small shudder running through him that seemed to cause one of her own, her eyes closing momentarily as she soaked it in.

”See?” Braxton whispered, fingers wrapped tight around her own. “You’re nothing like him.”

Her eyes watered again, but she managed to stave the inevitable off. Tears would do no good. “You don’t see it?” She asked, and honestly, it might have hurt worse. At least if he saw her as she saw their father, Brin would know. Because this love she felt, it consumed her. And if even Braxton didn’t feel it -

”I am,” she murmured, a finger pressed against his lips as she shook her head. “Because I love you.”

”I love you too,” he replied, but she shook her head, her finger brushing over the curve of his jaw as she looked at his lips, wondering if she was really...could she? Was she brave enough?

”No,” her voice, barely louder than a breath as she leaned in close, eyes glued to his until she could feel hik hold his breath, “I love you.”

And she did it. The only thing she could never take back from their relationship, the only thing that could damage them beyond repair.

She kissed him.

BRAXTON

The world stopped. She kissed him and he literally froze. He couldn't hear anything but dead silence. Didn't feel anything but her hesitant lips in his. Couldn't see anything except the top of her head that smelled like her swimmer’s shampoo. She kissed him. She was kissing him.

He wasn't sure what to do. Kiss her back? Pull away? Why was she- what did she- was this some kind of-

No. No, it made sense. All her insisting that she was like him, like their father. Because they both knew about the way he looked at his daughter, the irrational mix of lust and transference and that the only reason he'd never done anything to her was because he was ultimately a spineless coward. But Brinley saw herself in him because she kissed Braxton.

Him. Her brother. Her half brother really. But him, her twin. Braxton. Him.

And just as carefully, he kept letting her. Her lips against his, almost innocent if it didn't carry so much weight for her. Or him. Because he couldn't tear himself away but he couldn't seem to close his eyes and lose himself to it. Because as much as he believed now she'd been fighting this, a part him - a dark part that questioned everything possibly good in his life - wondered if this was just some kind of… claim to him.

(Because he knew his sister and she was insanely possessive. Her things were hers and if she shared it was only because she knew she owned them. And she knew, she had to know that she owned Braxton. He'd take a bullet for her. He'd lie for her. He'd do anything for her.)

(Including this.)

(It wasn't like he hadn't… not seriously, not explicitly… but he'd always known they felt and acted like more than siblings should. And she seemed to need this and he just needed her, no matter what. He wouldn't lose her by staying, but he would by pulling away. He knew that much.)

He waited until she stopped, rolling over and away from him as she curled in on herself. And he moved with her, his arms circling around her waist as he pressed his cheek against her shoulder. Holding her until she seemed to relax into him, just barely.

“You're not him,” he whispered. There's never be any kind of doubt in his mind about that. “What he does is… he wants to punish you for being here because she's not. But you look like her. So all he sees is her. He wants you because he can't have her.”

“It’s still-”

“Not the same,” he finished for her. “We… you and I, no matter what… you know we belong together. You can't come into this world with someone and not belong together.”

She didn't respond. He didn't know if his answer was enough for her.

“I love you, Brinley,” he whispered into her back. “I love you.”

BRINLEY

Kissing Braxton wasn’t like kissing Dave or even Charlie; it was like coming home. A rush, a relief, the edges of her brain fuzzy with more than just want. And he kissed back, softly, as if he was afraid.

And why shouldn’t he be? This wasn’t something they did. Sharing a bed was already judged by even their closest friends, the ones who knew why she was scared to sleep alone. She and Brax, they shared everything in the world but -

Maybe not this.

The tears threatened again and she turned away from him, burying her face in the comforter. He could say he loved her, he could say she wasn’t their father, but she could feel it. The disconnect between her heart and his. He loved her, but maybe -

He didn’t love her enough. Not the way she loved him. He’d give himself to her if she asked, but it wouldn’t be what either of them wanted. Brax was probably thinking of his cute sophomore, or maybe even Claudia or Phoenix or anyone else. It hurt her more than anything else ever could have.

”We have to go back,” she muttered after awhile, her arms wrapped tight around her torso. She wouldn’t beat herself up over this, but maybe - maybe now she could move on.

Move forward.

”No we don’t,” he replied, but she ignored it. They did, even if their father was an asshole (one she could almost understand, now, in a way) and even if Stella’s absence was tearing them all apart. Because even if she was angry at Claudia, she couldn’t really abandon her. And even if she had told Charlie, he’d take her back. And even if Dean was being an asshole, and Oliver was quieter than normal, and Phoenix was lost at sea, the seven of them needed each other.

”Let’s go,” she demanded, unfurling herself enough to pack and Braxton tried to stop her, to get her to talk, but she was already moving past, rushing forward. She was tired of crying, sick of it, and she wouldn’t stop to think and do it again.

”Brin,” he tried once more, hand on her wrist as they stood by their cars, Brin’s backpack already thrown in the messy backseat. “Are you sure?”

It wasn’t the answer he wanted. And she wasn’t sure, at all. But she’d made her decision and now, now she’d have to live with it.

She stood on her toes to kiss his cheek, her palm resting against it in a familiar motion they did when they were little. It’s yours now, they’d whisper, hidden beneath sheets in their couch fort, keep it.

He had her heart. He probably always would. And he’d never understand the depth of her emotions, but she’d be okay with it. She’d learn to be okay.

”All good all the time,” she promised before slipping into her car, leaving him to follow as they made their way back to Ashbourne.

#skowbraxton #para #para: br #br #i won't promise you

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