exbloodjunkie
I almost called him today. I had just finished my morning classes and was heading out to lunch, I almost called him to ask if he wanted me to pick up anything for him. I looked down at the phone, my fingers hovering over the 'Send' button for a good ten seconds before I could sapped it shut. I miss my brother. I miss him so much.
I am my brothers audiences. I know this. I accept this. I will watch and smile as he cons some bar flies out of a couple hundreds. I will make the appropriate noses of affirmation during one of his rants. I will even go as far as to congratulate him when he shows me the freshly decapitated head of a vampire. But for the love of god if I hear one more story about how he "Total banged this one really hot chick" I will kill my self.
Classical music playing softly. The steady hum of the impala's engine as it glides over the asphalt. Dean's hushed voices when he is singing along to the most out dated of music when he thinks I am sleeping. It is often scary to thing I almost gave this up for normality, for stability. I wouldn't have it any other way. I know that now more than ever.
When I was little and I would get scared I remember that the only thing that would calm me down were Deans arms clamping tightly around me and engulfing me in safety. I remember how nothing would clam me down like the sight of my brothers face, like the sound of his voice. For when I was little, Dean was my superhero. He could make all the pain go away and slay all the monsters. He was my everything. Still is. I suppose he always will be.
I want to taste it. Lick it. I wish to feel the burn as it slips down my throat. I want to feel my pulse run ramped and my body lose control. I need to feel the power, the strength that it gives me. I urn for it. Every day, every second, of my existence I itch for it. My body craves it more than life itself. However, I will never taste it agin. I can never taste it agin. I can never feel the power that it once gave me, the glory, the god like abilities. But I want to. Only if they knew just how much I want to, then maybe, just maybe, they will understand why I started in the first place. Then maybe they might forgive me. Just maybe.
I continue to be dumbfounded at the fact that every single time I approach the grounds of a normal life, I am ripped back into the twisted life of hunting. I, who have tried and tried, cannot seem to accomplish this feat, whilst Dean, who wants nothing of the sort, got one on his first try.
The way we grew up after Mom died—following Dad’s every instruction and policy in his obsession to hunt down the demon that killed her, following every order….
Dean ate a whole pizza today. All by him self. It was pepperoni and covered in grease. He inhaled it down, one huge mouthful after another, while still trying to uphold a conversation with me. It was disgusting.
writing since 2011 · 8 entries · 8 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Sam showed up.
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the words Sam reaches for
deantasteselffollowingbodypoweragingodrememberbrothersmusicmissatewholepizzapepperoni