Untitled

After the thirteenth the tears stopped but the blood continued. His face went numb, no longer gritting his teeth. The hand moved on it’s own accord as it raised the whip and slammed it backwards.

"Fourteen."

He could barely hear his voice anymore from the ringing in his ears. His entire body shivered in disgust as he felt the blood drip onto his legs. Sinner’s blood. The whip was flung into the air once more and landed on his back with a punishing force. A cry escaped his mouth before he could stop it.

"Fift…" Trembling lips trying desperately to form the word. "Fi… Filth… Flith…" The fingers suddenly wrapped themselves firmly around the handle as it was lifted and swung onto his back again. "FILTH!" 

"MURPH!"

Murphy’s body convulsed as he felt a pair of cold hands grip his shoulders and he lunged backwards, his shredded back connecting with the hard ground. The dust filled his wounds. Filth.

"Murphy, what the fuck?" the voice came from above him and he opened his eyes. "What the fuck?”

He recognized his brother’s face. Too bright. He shut his eyes and fell asleep.

—-

Click. Click. Click. Click.

"Fuck."

Click. Click.

“FUCK.”

He grabbed the gun from under his pillow and jumped up before his eyes were even open. The lighter fell from Connor’s hand as he stared at the barrel of the gun. 

"Easy, brother."

He looked frightened. Murphy lowered the gun and stared as his brother carefully approached him like he was a wild animal. He took the gun out of his hands and slowly sat next to him. As a cold hand touched his naked shoulder, he remembered. Filth. 

"Don’t touch me."

He tasted salt in his mouth. God, not now.

"Why?"

Because I’m filth.

"Why?"

Because I’m filth and you’re light.

"Murph, dammit, talk to me!"

"Because I’m filth and you’re light."

The words felt so natural. Like a prayer. Like divine truth. 

"Christ, Murph, what’s gotten into ye? Yer scarin’ me."

His brother’s face danced before his eyes, blurred by the tears. His hand still on his shoulder. The love still in his eyes. Filth…

"Stop fuckin’ sayin’ that!"

The hand left his shoulder and took his face in a painful grip. “Tell me what the fuck’s goin’ on with ye, Murph! Fuckin’ tell me!”

The tears fell down and his vision cleared. Connor was furious. He focused on the pain in his jaw as the hands gripped tighter and imagined it was hate he was seeing in his brother’s eyes. A smile spread across his lips and he whispered a prayer that Connor would crush him. That he would beat him until there was nothing left but a pile of dirt that could be scooped up and thrown out the window so that it would no longer stain his brother’s bright light.

But then the pain was gone and replaced with warm, gentle hands that held his face.

"Open yer eyes, Murph."

He obeyed.

"Why did ye do tha’ t’ yerself?"

He stared into his brother’s eyes. Pure and bright.

"Murph, why did ye hurt yerself like tha’?"

"To get it out."

"To get what out, Murph?"

"The filth."

Connor couldn’t see it. He could see everything in him but he couldn’t see that.

"There’s no filth in ye, Murph."

The love in Connor’s eyes. It was too dangerous. He couldn’t let him - it was a sin, to love such filth.

"I’ve sinned." He was sobering up now, only the pain in his back blessing him with a dazed state. "Connor, I’ve sinned." God, he couldn’t look at him. His stomach was threatening to empty itself, the thought of his filthy insides touching his brother making it worse.

You shall not lie with a man as with a woman; it is an abomination.