Estimated reading time — 3 minutes
“No one will come for you”
That’s what he said every night as I lay entombed in the fears I had long ago resigned myself to my brother loves to torment me. He always has. He’s always taken great pleasure in my fear and misery. His idea of fun.
When I was 3 years old I vividly remember ever night: At around 9 o’clock, my mother would tell me it was time for bed. She would tuck me into the bottom bunk of an old steel, self-assemble bunk bed. She would kiss my forehead before saying goodnight, turning the light off and leaving the room closing the door tight. As I lay staring at the dim light of the room, taking in the various silhouettes of the furniture, I would hear the springs of the top bunk creek and give. I would close my eyes and silently cry knowing my brother’s cruel game was about to begin.
Every night was the same, my brother would growl at me in his malevolent croak about all the pain and misery awaiting me.
“No one will come for you.”
He would begin.
“No one will save you when I take you down to the other place.”
I would lie there. My body cocooned in the catatonic terror only able to silently weep and listen as my brother would describe the various tortures he had thought up for me. Like breaking all my bones one by one so slowly that, by the slow deliberate snap of my last rib, my fingers would have already somewhat healed allowing him to start again and again, forever.
He would tell me that one day he would deliver on his threats but for now, it was more fun to just tell me what he had in store.
My brother loves to torment me.
So yeah, this was my childhood up until I turned 7. My father decided that it was time to get rid of the bunk beds. He had bought them when my mother was pregnant.
We live in a small flat in London, not a lot of room at all. So when my mother told my father she was expecting twins (my brother and I). My mother says he was so insane with joy, like a hyperactive child on Christmas Eve. He went out to the bed store that day and bought that damned steel bunk bed saying it was the perfect solution for our lack of room. Even though he knew the bunk bed wouldn’t be used until we were at least 2 ½ years old, he had our bedroom fully decorated and furnished, complete with bunk bed two months before we were born.
I say we, sadly my brother died whilst my mother was giving birth, so I should say before I was born. I don’t know much about what happened exactly. I’m very hesitant to ask my parents as the mention of the subject sends the two into tears and well….it’s just not spoken about in our home.
I can’t believe how well I still remember those days. I’m 27 now. I’ve got my own little flat, an ok job and a beautiful collection of sleeping pills.
I’m taking a whole bottle tonight. I’m going to finally sleep tonight. He’s not going to keep me awake tonight. Oh God I miss that bunk bed. At least when he had the top bunk, I couldn’t see him.
My brother loves to torment me.
Credit To: cockney pasta
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