His strong, thick hands lace up into my hair and clench tightly in response to the kiss i feed him. Melting deep into the heat that bathes my skin, i wonder when my hesitant brother had become so domineering.

I find myself being forced backwards into a wall and my breath quickens; i can still remember a time - some of the first times - where he had been bashful and hardly able to look at me without blushing. He'd grin and turn a deep crimson when our fingers brushed, he would tremble when we kissed. I remember how he depended on me to carry us because he was terrified of expressing what I knew he felt for me.

He's having no trouble now.

My mouth is being ravaged. His hands fall from my hair and drag themselves over, across, and down my body with lightening speed. He's gotten so hungry lately; I'm hardly able to stand alone in his presence for more then twenty seconds before he literally lunges for me and takes me to the floor. It was amazing at first, as I was in complete shock of this transformation. It turned me on to be quite frank with you.

But as I feel those busy fingers already tugging at my belt, as I feel his teeth biting into my bottom lip and his breath fierce across my cheeks, I miss the old matt.

I miss how nervous he used to get, how I had to show him everything and how completely awed he was with everything we did. His eyes used to be so wide and bright, enraptured by every move I made and blinking slowly as though he were afraid to miss a heartbeat. I remember feeling so needed and so loved; he made me feel like the most important person in the world when those shining eyes would turn to me, begging and silent for a taste of what we both needed so badly to share.

Today, tonight, every night, he's an animal. He's learned everything he thinks he needs from me and he's grown a frightful amount of confidence. So much in fact that he's become demanding. His softness and his beauty used to take my breath away, but all of the sudden he discovered that he has a size advantage over me. That he doesn't have to be afraid. That he doesn't need me to make the moves all the time.

And now he doesn't need me. I don't know why this is still happening ... I keep waiting to feel a spark of the magic he used to give me before this animalistic transformation took place. I keep waiting, as the purple marks form across my chest and the angry scratches take hold over my back, for a moment where time will stop and I'll be able to look at this boy to see the innocent, trusting love that I had once so relished in. I get afraid that I might end up waiting on that forever.

So again and again he'll wrap me round the waist and drag me into the nearest room to do whatever his heart desires and I'll just stare at him, drifting off and waiting for some miracle of God to bring back the child I used to adore so much. The child that used to adore me.

And I'll get that blank look in my eyes and he'll pause for a moment to bring his gaze back up to meet mine and he'll ask, "jeff? What's wrong?" and I'll snap back to give him a shrug and a reassuring smile. He'll say something about how pretty my eyes are and then he'll dive back into the dismemberment of my idolization of him.

Bit by bit, he's ripping away the love I have for him and he doesn't see that he's crushing me. One day I'm going to give up and we're both just going to cry. He'll cry because he'll lose what he thinks was love, but I'll cry because I'll be losing what I know was love.

I hate looking back.

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