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Title: Mine
Author: Lizzie
E-mail: [email protected]
Rating: I'd go with R this time. With severe warnings. Don't read this if anything mentioned in the bit below this is likely to offend/disturb you. Content: Where do I start. There's strong language, pretty graphic self-injury, sorta graphic attempted suicide, bucketloads of angst, and just for good measure we have mentions of m/m and incest. I think I've actually outdone myself in the general nastiness department.
Disclaimer: They're not mine, and unless I wake up one morning having mysteriously become Vince McMahon, I doubt they ever will be. Damn, that's a scary thought.
Distribution: Not that you're likely to want it, but if you do, just tell me where.
Summary: Sequel to �His�, which was in turn the sequel to �Yours�. This one�s from Matt�s POV.
Notes: I'm not being mean to Matt and Jeff Hardy on purpose. Well, actually, I am. But I only do this to them 'cause I love them so damn much, believe me! And while I love Matt and Jeff, there's just something about them that makes me want to see how far I can push� And Hunter � I adore him. I just write him as slightly insane.

***
Mine
***

Pro wrestling�s been my dream my whole life, for as long as I can remember. I�ve worked my ass off to get where I am today and now I�m here it�s just, well, it�s a dream come true. I know I worked hard but I don�t think I ever seriously believed I�d get any of this. I thought I�d spend my whole career in the independents, getting in the ring every night for less money than it actually cost for me to get there in the first place, getting my ass whipped on a nightly basis and sewing outfits to pay for it.

But it didn�t quite work out that way. I�m with the World Wrestling Federation, one half of one of their most popular tag teams. It�s fucking unbelievable. I get paid more than I could ever spend, I�ve got fans that pretty much fucking worship the ground I walk on for some reason I can�t quite figure, and I�m doing what I always wanted to do. I�ve always wanted this. This is my dream, and I�m living it.

But if that�s true, why do I feel so goddamn empty?

***

I�ve been watching my little brother hurt himself for the past seven years, give or take. He�s tried to kill himself like, uh, five times now. Or at least that�s what his record says. He says he�s only tried it three times, like that makes it any better. He�s tried to kill himself three times. Seriously tried to kill himself, I don�t mean any carefully-planned attention-grabbing shit. He actually meant it every time. My baby brother got so low that he didn�t want to live anymore.

He was seventeen the first time. I remember the night he did it. He sneaked into my room while he thought I was asleep and sat back against the wall, watching me. I pretended like I was asleep because I didn�t know what else I could do, and he sat there for like fifteen minutes, looking like he was going to cry, but he didn�t. And eventually he just got up and left. I wanted to go after him and ask him what was wrong, but I couldn�t. Well, not at first. I just lay there and stared up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what had just happened.

I can still remember the look on his face, like he was all torn up on the inside, hurting. It was that that made me leave my room and go looking for him, because I�d never seen him look so sad. I had this horrible sinking feeling that he was going to do something stupid, and I just knew I couldn�t let him do that if there was a chance that I could help it. And I could help it, I knew. He had to be around there somewhere, and I had to find him. I threw on a pair of jeans and left the room.

It was just after 2am and there was a full moon outside, which just made me feel worse. People do stupid things when there�s a full moon. I got more and more panicked as I walked through the house; I couldn�t find him. My heart was hammering and I could feel myself starting to shake. I don�t get that nervous, ever, except when I *know* there�s something wrong, like it�s some kind of fucking ESP or something. And it just got worse as I stepped toward the front door.

I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed hard before I opened the door and stepped outside. He was there. He was the first thing I saw. And at first I thought he�d just fallen asleep, but when I called him and he didn�t wake up I got scared. I got cold. He was lying there on the front porch, leaning up against the front of the house, almost completely motionless. For a second I thought he was dead. I fell to my knees, ignoring how much it hurt, and pressed my fingers to his throat, searching for his pulse. I wasn�t even sure where I was supposed to be pressing, and I was breathing so hard and my own pulse was racing so fast that I almost didn�t feel it. But I did. He was alive. But just barely.

That was so fucking scary. I mean, I�ve done some fucking scary things in my life, but that was *fucking* scary. God, that doesn�t even begin to describe how it felt. How the hell are you supposed to feel when you find your brother half dead on your front porch? Christ, scary doesn�t even start to cover it. More like fucking terrifying.

I just went cold all over. It was warm out and I just went cold, like all the blood was draining back from my skin. I remember shivering and looking down at him as he lay there, so goddamn pale under the moonlight that he looked like a fucking ghost, and he didn�t look like my brother, but he did. It was eerie. I�ve never seen someone I�m so close to look like that, like a life-size cardboard cut-out of themselves, like a damn waxwork or something, like they�ve been replaced with something dull with everything that makes them them inside just completely missing. It�s almost painful to see. He looked just like he always had, his shiny purple hair hanging loose around his pale face, his lips just slightly parted� but there was something missing. It was like he�d taken hold whatever it is inside him that makes him him and just yanked it right out. I almost couldn�t bring myself to look at him, it hurt so much. I almost convinced myself that this just wasn�t my brother. I didn�t want to believe this could happen to him.

I was so scared that he wasn�t going to make it. I was so scared that I�d got there too late. And I can�t believe I didn�t panic. Although I�ve never panicked � I always seem to pull it together just before I get that far. I just couldn�t believe what had happened, that I was really seeing him lie there on the porch, all the energy he always has just sucked right out of him. It was almost like it wasn�t him at all. I really thought I was too late.

My eyes were stinging as I scooped him up and I hauled him into my car, and I couldn�t believe I wasn�t just sobbing my heart out. I don�t think I even shed a tear as I got behind the wheel. And thank God it was 2am because finding him there like that I know I wasn�t in any state to drive, and I know I did about forty over the limit all the way there. I didn�t care what speed I was doing. I didn�t care what I had to go through to get to that hospital. I just knew I had to get him there because if I didn�t he was going to die and that would be my fault for not being there sooner.

It was hell trying to drive while he was slouched there in the passenger side, his head against the window, hitting it every time we hit a bump. I kept thinking that he�d have a bruise if I didn�t stop his head from bouncing off of the window frame, until I realised that he might not live to get a bruise, and that was the worst feeling. He might die. But I couldn�t let him go. He was my responsibility. He was my brother.

But I got there in time. I got him to the hospital. Somehow I managed to choke out that I thought he�d taken Valium or something, and the doctors got to work. A nurse shuffled me off into a visitors� room and I sat there, running it all back in my head. All I could think was I should have gone after him right away, the moment he�d left the room. I�d seen something was wrong. If I�d just followed him he wouldn�t have been in that mess. I might�ve been able to talk him out of it. Hell, I would have been able to talk him out of it. I would�ve made damn sure of that. If I�d thought for a second that he was going to do this then I would�ve gone after him, and I wouldn�t have left him until I knew that he wasn�t just going to do it anyway the second my back was turned. It killed me to think that he could�ve died and I could�ve been left there without him.

And somewhere along the lines it really dawned on me that he�d done it to himself. I couldn�t believe I hadn�t realised before � I mean, it was pretty fucking obvious from the fact he�d sat there and washed down a bottle of Valium with half a bottle of Jack Daniels, but I guess I�d been too numb or overwhelmed or whatever the hell that feeling was to really think about it before. He�d done it to himself. He�d tried to kill himself. My baby brother wanted to die.

He was sleeping when they let me see him. He looked so perfect and serene, like nothing had happened at all, like he was just asleep and he hadn�t just had his stomach pumped or whatever the hell they did to him to make it better. He was back. He was Jeff again. I smoothed back the hair from his forehead with a small smile and I took the chair at his bedside. I had to be there with him when he woke up. I needed to look into his eyes and have him know that it was going to be okay, that I was there for him. I needed to know he was really alive.

Of course, he was. He looked up at me, opened his mouth like he was going to speak, then just threw up whatever was left in his stomach all over the bedspread. I wiped his mouth and looked into his eyes, and all the relief I�d been starting to feel just dropped away. Suddenly I knew. This was far from over. This was only the beginning.

***

The last time he tried it, he was twenty-two. I was the one who found him then, too � I�m always the one who finds him. He once told me he wished it could be anyone but me, and I believe him. I mean, I�m the one he�s trying to get away from, so how much has it got to hurt for me to walk in and �save� him? But I can�t not, if that makes any sense. I�d hate for it to be anyone else. No one deserves to have to walk in and find him like that. No one except me. Because it�s me that does this to him.

I wish he wouldn�t do it. Obviously. But I can�t make him stop. The first time I made him promise he was never going to do it again, but I think I knew he would. He hates himself. He must do or he wouldn�t try to take his life, and he wouldn�t cut himself. Maybe that�s an overly simplistic view, but I can�t see what other reason he has to do those things. Why else would he have taken all that Valium, why else would he have slit his wrists and why else would he have taken a cocaine overdose? He has to hate himself. No one who�s happy with themselves takes an overdose on purpose.

That�s how he did it the last time. I have no idea where he got that much cocaine from, but I guess it�s not exactly hard for people in this business. And he sat down in our hotel room while he knew I wouldn�t be back for hours, and he took it all. And he lay out on his bed and waited to die. Only I got there first.

I really thought he�d done it that time. I thought he was dead. And it was maybe the worst time in some ways because I just went numb. I couldn�t think and I couldn�t feel and I didn�t want to because feeling would mean I�d have to acknowledge that my baby brother just wasn�t there anymore. I just stood there in the doorway staring at him as he lay there, and I couldn�t move. I wasn�t even thinking, I was just staring at him. I wasn�t even sad or desperate or panicked or whatever like the other times, like I should�ve been. I thought he was dead. He was lying so still and it didn�t look like he was breathing, and it didn�t look like he was sleeping, either. He just looked dead. Pale and still and almost peaceful. It doesn�t seem right that someone who�s so tormented could look so peaceful, dead. But he did, I swear.

Until he moved. Just slightly, his fingers curling up into his palm. Then his head rolled to one side and his eyes opened. He looked up at me as if I were a million miles away and he was seeing me through mist or something, like maybe I wasn�t really there. And he choked out my name.

Then suddenly I wasn�t numb anymore. Everything came rushing back and my heart was hammering and I was there by him and then I was hauling him out of the room and the next thing I knew I was sitting in a room at the hospital listening to some nurse telling me Jeff wanted to see me. I can still remember how guilty I felt then. But I�ve never been able to decide whether it was because I hadn�t been there sooner or because I�d been there at all.

***

I didn�t ask him why he did it, that time or any of the others. Just like I don�t ask him why he cuts himself. I know he does it � I�ve seen the scars and I�ve seen the bandages and I�ve caught him doing it. It rips me apart every time I see it. I never want to see him slicing into his arms again as long as I live, even if I know he�s going to keep doing it. I want him to stop. I want that so much that I�d do just about anything. The only problem is that I know there�s nothing I can do.

He sees a psychiatrist once every two weeks. It�s impossible for him to go every week, I know, with our insane schedule, and it�s kinda awkward for him to keep going every two weeks too, but I insist he does. I make him go. When he�s with me and not in Greenwich I drive him there myself and I wait for him in the car until he comes out. It�s not really to make sure he really goes, even if I do check up on him. He�s used to that now. I need him to know that I care, and maybe sending him there lets him know that, in a way. Like I want him to get better and stop hurting himself.

It�s just that I know seeing his shrink�s not doing him any good at all. It can�t do. He pretends like it does just to keep me happy, and I don�t tell him I know it�s pointless because admitting that would be as good as admitting I know what�s wrong.

Because I do know. He doesn�t know I do, but I do. I can see it. I guess I�ve always known. He loves me.

My baby brother loves me. And I don�t just mean brotherly love � hell, that wouldn�t be a problem. He�s in love with me. Big time. I�d have to be blind not to see it.

He�s been looking at me that way since he was about sixteen. At first I thought it was my imagination � I mean, he�s my fucking brother for Christ�s sake, why would he be looking at me like that? But then I started to realise that I wasn�t seeing things. It was true. He was in love with me. He still is. He has been for years.

That was an odd feeling, realising it was true. But it was an even odder feeling to realise that I�m the reason he does what he does. God, I can�t say it�s odd, that�s so big of an understatement that it�s not even funny. It�s not odd, it�s fucking heartbreaking.

That�s why I�ve never asked him why he does it. I already know the answer. I know that he�s tried to kill himself because of me. I know that he cuts himself because of me. I don�t want to add to that by making him admit it to me, too, because I know he would. I don�t think he could ever keep that from me if I asked him. If I asked him why he did it he�d tell me straight. He�d sit there and tell me �I do it because I�m in love with you, Matt�. And I don�t want him to have to admit that to me. It�d just break him. Saying the words would be like admitting it�s true once and for all. I�d know. And he wouldn�t be able to pretend anymore. So I can�t make him admit it. Never.

Because the moment he does, I know I won�t be able to keep myself from telling him I love him too.

***

Yeah, realising he loved me was an odd feeling. I couldn�t believe it. In the beginning I didn�t want to believe it, either. I mean, loving him and knowing he loved me was fucking scary. But the more I watched him and the way he was looking at me, the more I realised that this wasn�t my imagination. He really loved me. And the moment I finally realised, I just felt warm all over. Tingly, y�know? The sort of feeling I used to get when we won a match, when we won a championship, only multiplied my like infinity. It was amazing. Jeff loved me. I didn�t care if that was scary or not. And I realised it wasn�t anymore. Because I�d wanted that for so long. I�d longed for him to feel the same way I do. And then he did, and I knew it. That one instant was the happiest of my entire life.

But there was a problem. About fifteen minutes later I�d been going to tell him. I was going to walk into his room and tell him that I felt the same way about him as he did about me and that everything was going to be okay. It was going to be the happiest moment either of us had ever had and it was going to last *forever*. I was going to smile and hold him and tell him I was going to love him for the rest of my life, that even if it took me the rest of my life, I was going to make him as happy as he�d made me. Because he did, and he does. He makes me happier than anyone ever has or ever could. And I wanted to tell him that. I wanted to make him feel it too.

But I didn�t get that far. I walked in and I called his name, and as I did, I saw him. He stared at me blankly for a second, then the razorblade slipped from his hand. It was covered in his blood.

So yes, it was an odd feeling to realise that the one person I�ve ever loved feels the same way about me. But in that moment when I saw what he�d done to himself, I knew that I couldn�t tell him I knew. And I knew I couldn�t tell him how I felt, either. That was when I realised that it was loving me that did this to him.

***

I�ve been in love with Jeff for as long as I can remember. I don�t remember a time when I didn�t feel this way. And while I know it�s just plain wrong in the eyes of the law and of practically every fucking person in the whole goddamn world, I couldn�t care less because to me it feels right. I don�t have any explanation for that, it just feels right. I know it shouldn�t, because he�s my brother and there should be no way on Earth I could ever feel this way about him, but I do. I figure that if I feel like this then there can�t be anything wrong with it. I�m not a bad person. I�d never intentionally hurt anybody. So this couldn�t be wrong. At least not for me.

But to him, it�s wrong. I can see it in the way he looks at me � it�s this horrible, conflicted look, like he�s torn between loving me and hating me. I can see he doesn�t want to feel this way, that he knows it�s wrong and that he shouldn�t feel like this about his brother. I went through that, too, until I came to the conclusion that loving someone can�t be wrong. To feel that strongly about someone, to love someone so much that you�d do absolutely anything to make them happy, that can�t be wrong. I don�t see how it could be. Not that I can tell Jeff that.

Loving me is screwing him up, and it has been for years. I know that, I can see that. He hates that he�s in love with me. It�s just wrong to him, and I can understand why he thinks that, but he�s just wrong. But I can�t tell him that. Like I can�t tell him I know his shrink doesn�t help � I know he doesn�t because he�s never going to stop hurting himself until he doesn�t love me anymore. I only make him go so that he knows I care. I want him to be better, I want him to stop hurting himself, even if that means he doesn�t love me. I can�t live with myself knowing that it�s me that�s doing this to him. I love him and because he loves me too and because he can�t live with that he�s tried to kill himself.

He�s disgusted with himself. I don�t think he can believe he�s sick enough to be in love with his own brother. I think he cuts himself because he thinks he deserves to hurt, because what he feels is so wrong. I actually cut myself once, to see how it feels. I wanted to know how he felt when he does it, how much it must hurt him, and it does hurt. A lot. Slicing open your arm with a razorblade fucking hurts. So there can�t be any other explanation for it than he thinks he deserves it. Unless he gets off on the blood or something, but I�ve seen him do it and it doesn�t seem to be that way at all. All I can say for sure is he feels better for a while after he�s done it. He�s almost normal then, happy to be alive and happy to be with me, like nothing matters. But it doesn�t last. Soon enough he�s back to feeling the same way as he did before.

I think he wonders why I don�t ask him why he does it. I�ve just accepted the fact that he does now � I�ve quit nagging him to stop and I�ve quit sitting with him to make sure he doesn�t try to kill himself. It�s hard not to make him promise he�ll stop, because every time I see a new cut on his arm all I can think about is the time I came home and found him bleeding in the bathtub. I think that was probably the worst day of my whole life, coming home and shaking outside the door as I heard him moan inside, breaking it down and finding him there in a tub full of water all misted with his blood. I think that was when I realised he loved me. It was the way he said my name with what could have been his last breath, how he tried to hold me but didn�t have the strength. I was so terrified that I was going to lose him then. He was all covered in blood and his wrists wouldn�t stop bleeding and I was sobbing so hard I wasn�t even sure I could pick him up.

I sat by his bed in the hospital all night and when he woke up in the morning I was so close to asking him why he�d done it. But I didn�t. I couldn�t. I looked down at his bandaged wrists then up into his eyes and I just knew that I could never ask him. Because then he�d have to tell me. And once he�d told me I�d have to tell him I feel the same way. And once I�ve told him that, he�d be lost. It�s bad enough for him to feel the way he does, but to know I feel the same way about him? That�d just kill him. I can�t explain it, but I just know it would. You see, if he knew that I loved him then he�d be in even more of a mess than he is now. Knowing the guy he loves loves him back, but that that love is just so wrong, I don�t know what he�d do.

He�d have two choices. The first one, he could be with me. We could be together. We could make each other happy, and maybe for a while that would work out. But if it�s fucked him up just knowing he loves me, then what would being with me do to him? What would he do if we kissed? What would he do if we made love? He�d never believe it was right for us to do that, and it�d just eat away at him. I know it�s what we both want and God knows I want him, but it�s not right for him. If he cuts himself and he�s tried to kill himself just for thinking about it, then there�s no way I want to find out what actually doing it would do to him.

And the other option? He could just walk away. I�m not sure if he could, but it�s an option. Because if he can�t bring himself love me like I know he wants to, and if he knows that I love him and that I don�t think it�s wrong for us to be together like he does, then he could leave me. I don�t think he�d ever come back. And I know exactly where he�d go.

He�d leave me forever, and he�d go to Hunter.

***

He doesn�t know I know about Hunter. I don�t think he�d really care if I did know, because that would just distance him from me a little and despite the fact I know he wants to be close to me, on some level I know he wants to be as far away from this mess as he can get. That�s the reason he�s with him in the first place, I�m pretty sure. And it�s not like he�s trying hard to keep it a secret � when he tells me he�s going away for a couple of days and I see him getting into a car with Hunter, or when he comes back wearing Hunter�s coat or his shirt or something it�s just damned obvious. He doesn�t care who knows.

He�d go to Hunter. And that�s one reason I know I can�t tell him. Because I couldn�t live with myself if he did that. It�s bad enough knowing that he�s with him now, that they�re in Greenwich in his house and they�re probably fucking. Either that or Hunter�s beating the shit out of him. Oh yeah, that�s another thing. Hunter hits him. There�s just no way he gets all those bruises from what he does in the ring. And he�s never denied it. He doesn�t answer me when I ask him how he got them, he just kinda shrugs and mumbles something under his breath that I don�t stand a chance of hearing and I guess that�s the point. Not that I ask him about them often � I can�t. It�s kinda like asking him about why he cuts himself, because I know that if I ask him enough he�ll just end up telling me, and this is something I don�t need to hear. I don�t want to know for sure if Hunter hits him. I don�t think I could take it.

I mean, how am I supposed to react to finding out that my brother�s lover hits him? How am I supposed to react to knowing that not only is the guy I love with someone else, but that someone else beats the hell out of him? And it�s not just that. Since they got together I know he�s got more cuts. He�s never cut himself so much in all the time he�s been cutting. So either I figure he�s doing it to himself because of how he feels about me and how he feels about Hunter combined, or Hunter has something to do with it. And I don�t even want to think about that. The idea that Jeff could be with someone who hurts him like that just makes me sick. Not only that � it�s the idea that Jeff could be with him and actually like it.

And I think he does. I really think he does. I�m not saying he�s in love with him, because it�s damned obvious that he�s not, and I think he knows that being with Hunter and what he does to him is just plain wrong, but I really do think he likes to be with him. At least if he�s with him then he doesn�t have to think about me. He doesn�t have to remember that nagging little fact that he�s in love with me. When he�s with him he�s not with me, and he�s not alone with his thoughts, so I can see how it could be a good thing to him. And I guess being with Hunter isn�t going against nature quite as much as being with me would be.

But that doesn�t make me feel any better about it. At all. It makes me sick, like I said. He fucked his way through half of the federation without making me feel this ill. He slept with our best friends and he didn�t care who knew. But that was all still better than him being with Hunter. Because at least they didn�t hurt him the way he does. They used him, but he was using them right back. I think he needed to feel loved, even if it was just for fifteen minutes backstage in an arena. And I know that was wrong and it was hurting him in a way, but it was better for him than Hunter. God knows he doesn�t need encouragement to cut himself. And he damn sure doesn�t need someone to do it for him.

***

I love my brother more than I know how to deal with. Every time I see him with someone else I just want to grab him and take him away with me, or beat whoever he�s with into a bloody pulp. I�ve seriously considered it a few times, before I realised just what that would do to Jeff. There�s no way I could explain away beating up his date. Just like there�s no real way that I could ever beat up Hunter Hearst Helmsley. He�s got his claws into my brother and I�d say by the look in his eyes, he never intends to give him up. Not without one hell of a fight.

But I can�t fight Hunter. Not because I�d lose, �cause I know that if I�m fighting for Jeff than I�d have to win or die trying, but because I know Jeff wouldn�t want me to. I couldn�t do that to him. He doesn�t need to know how I feel about him. I know he couldn�t cope with it, and I don�t want to see him hurt himself any more because of me. I�ve caused him enough pain. It feels like someone�s tearing out my heart and shoving it down my throat every time I see them together, but there�s nothing I can do. I hate feeling so helpless. But I hate hurting him more.

And I do hurt him. I know I do. Just being around me is enough to hurt him. Every second that he�s with me I know he has to be reminded of what he feels, just the way I am. It feels like I�m suffocating, like I�m never going to be able to catch my breath, and I�ll always feel desperate because of it, knowing that I love him so much that it makes my head hurt and feels just like I�m going insane. I love him so much that it�s hard to be within a hundred-metre radius of him and not feel compelled to pull him into my arms. I love him so much that I can�t watch him walk away with someone else and not feel like someone just punched me in the gut. I love him so much that I know if he ever killed himself, I�d be right along after him.

I used to think suicide was never a way out. I never understood how anyone could get so low that they�d actually want to end their life. I guess I was pretty lucky to love my life so much I couldn�t understand suicide, and so much I�d never thought about it. Well, not seriously. I�m pretty sure everyone must�ve thought about it at some time in their life � I know I did, but I wasn�t serious about it. I never had any intention of going through with it. And I never have had any intention of killing myself.

But now I can understand it. Because now I know how it feels to be that low. I know how it feels to want to do it, even if I know I can�t. The problem is that I know if I wasn�t here then Jeff wouldn�t have this problem. He could get on with his life and forget that he was ever in love with me. He hurts himself because of me, so technically he should stop if I wasn�t here. He can�t move on until he doesn�t love me anymore, and maybe this would do it. And he�d get over my death � he�s a strong person. I�m not saying it wouldn�t bother him, but he�d get over it. Then he might be able to forget and stop cutting and maybe find someone to love who wouldn�t make him hate himself. If I sincerely believed that that�s what he�d do, I might just go through with it and kill myself. Like I think I�ve already said, I�d do anything for him. And that includes taking my own life to make him happy.

There�s just one problem with that, and that is that I�m pretty damn sure it wouldn�t help. For a start I damn sure know I couldn�t live if he ever killed himself, so why should I think he could if I did? I don�t want to sound like I�m immodest or anything, but if he feels even half as strongly about me as I do about him, I don�t know if he�d want to live without me. And I�m not sure I�d want him to.

It�s a great idea in theory, but you see I have this horrible feeling like if I did it he�d just get deeper into this � I want to call it a relationship but it�s just not � with Hunter. I don�t want that. It�s hard enough knowing he�s with him now, when he has me to protect him if things get bad, but without me� I don�t even want to think about the things he�d let Hunter do to him. That�s why I can�t do it. If he gets any more involved with Hunter, one of them is going to wind up dead.

So I have to live knowing that just the fact I�m here is hurting him. And I have to resign myself to the fact that I can�t ever tell him how I feel. I�ll just have to bottle it up like I have done for the past God only knows how long, and hope everything works out in spite of it all.

Because if I ever told him, that would probably be the end. I can�t be with him 24/7 and even if I could, he�d find some way to do it. I couldn�t expect him to live knowing that I love him. He hates the idea so much that he�s already tried to kill himself three times, and I don�t want to drive him to it again. I couldn�t do that because I couldn�t live without him. There just wouldn�t be anything in my life worth staying alive for. And living without him wouldn�t really be living anyway, it�d be more like existing. Life without him would be nothing at all. And me without him � I�d be nothing either.

But I�m not with him now, either, am I. We�ll never be together the way we should be, the way we need to be. And one of these days I know Hunter�s gonna get carried away and then he�ll be gone anyway. So why don�t I just tell him and get this whole fucking mess over with?

Because I love him too much.

***

I�m a pro wrestler and I wanted this my whole life. But you know what? You know why this feels so goddamn empty? Because I don�t want it if I can�t share it with my brother. It�s hollow without him with me, the way I know he should be with me. Because no matter what anyone thinks, no matter what he thinks or what Hunter thinks, I know what we feel is right. Because when it comes down to it, he�s not Hunter�s. I know it, he knows it, Hunter knows it. He�s not Hunter�s. He�s mine.

***
End
***

On to 'For Me'.