Note:Nii-san = older brother in Japanese

My head hurts. God, my head hurts. It's pounding and tearing at my thoughts. Ugh, I hate it when I get headaches. So I guess I'll just curl up here, on my bed, and not think. I'll ignore Kiyoshi's blaring music. I'll escape within myself in hopes of evading the sharp needles of pain that stab at my brain. I hate headaches. I hear my brother turning his music down. I hear my door opening. I hear the gentle padding of feet muffled with socks. I hear breathing, but I'm too tired to open my eyes.

"Is your head hurting again, Kito?"

"Yeah, it is."

"Well that's what happens when you get hit in the head with a soccer ball every other day."

I bury my face in my pillow, smiling slightly. "Yeah."

I feel Kiyoshi sit down next to me. I feel him set his hand in the curve between my hip and ribcage. It doesn’t feel right. I shift away slightly, but he keeps his hand there, slowly moving it down my leg. Too slowly. I sit up, swaying slightly. My head hurts. I can barely open my eyes . . . the sun's too bright. Kiyoshi's smiling. I don't like it. His hand's still resting on my thigh, even though I pull my leg away. I don't like the way his fingers feel on my bare skin . . . there's something wrong.

"Mm, is something wrong, Kito?"

". . . what are you doing, Kiyoshi?"

I hear him give his delicate laugh. The one that sends chills down my spine. . . I always knew there was something off about my older brother.

"Showing you how I feel, Kito. I'm sure you wondered, didn't you? Wondered why I'd creep in your bed at night. Wondered why I'd watch you at school. Didn’t you wonder?"

I barely have the focus to yank my leg away from him. I felt his fingers trying to slip up my soccer shorts.

". . . Kiyoshi . . . that's not right. We're brothers. That's not . . . no."

But suddenly I'm up against the wall. My brain's moving too slow to even tell me how I got there. I'm up against the wall, and he's got his hand around my neck. He's squeezing. My head's swimming.

"It is right, Kito. It is right, because I say it's right."

He pushes his lips to mine for an instant, pulling back to look at me and smile. He tightens his grip. I scratch at his hands. I can't breathe. God, I can't breathe . . .

"Going to say something?"

"N-nii-san . . . I . . . I can't . . ."

"Can't what?!" He slams me roughly against the wall a few times, as if shaking me and hurting me would make me talk. I feel something running down the back of my neck. It's warm. I'm crying.

"I-I can't . . . breathe . . ."

My head hurts so much, especially now. I can feel the life seeping from me. My feet aren't even touching the ground. Mom . . . Dad . . . save me . . .

"Liar!"

I can't breathe.

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