The Aftermath

Rated: M, for Mature. The movie itself is not for kids, and neither is this story.

Disclaimer: Mysterious Skin and its characters belong to Scott Heim and Gregg Araki (or whichever movie company owns those rights).

Warning: This story deals with ideas of suicide, self-mutilation, child abuse, and more. If you do not like, do not read.

Author's Comments:

So, I had to take a break from children's cartoons and go somewhere deep… Mysterious Skin is quite possibly the deepest I could go… I got into the film simply because it had Joseph Gordon-Levitt's naked butt in it (and how could I possibly say no to that?) and then walked out of my friend's room completely mind-broken.

It's an amazing movie, for those on my alert list who may be asking why I'm not updating other stories. But it's heavily rated R and deals with child sexual molestation….

I wanted to know what happened after that final scene… what happened when Eric came back to pick up Brian and Neil? How does Brian go on after his world has been torn apart completely?

So… that's what I'm writing.

A bit about the format: someone posted the transcript of Mysterious Skin, and I REALLY liked how he typed everything out – it was like a poem. So I decided to utilize that, at least for Brian's parts… don't know if it's going to be the whole story…

Enjoy the angst…

Chapter 1: Five Hours

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Christmas Eve, 1991

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That night, after Neil told me everything
Another five hours disappeared from my life
Gone… lost without a trace.
I don't mind, though.
Not this time…

Last thing I remember was being held in Neil's arms.
…the sound of carolers

What happened after that
a pitch black void.

"Brian…?"

I came to
once again
to the sound of Deborah's voice…

"Brian!"

To her scream.
And the touch of her hands on my fallen shoulders.

I was in the cellar…
on the floor.
Bleeding.
My nose… and my wrists.
Wrists and hands just drenched in my blood.
There was even blood under my fingernails.

She begged for our mother to come.
Begged to know what happened
Why I would do this…
on Christmas Eve of all nights.
Why?

I simply shook my head, face emotionless.
And those images of that night, ten years ago
Would not leave me alone.
Flashing like a projector on the screen of my mind
Someone hitting the 'next' button far too fast.

More cries.
Desperate voices. Panicked voices.
I closed my eyes, breathing deep the smell of blood.
So familiar…
soothing almost…

"Brian! Brian!"

Their calls… were giving me a headache.

"…just five more hours…"

"Brian?"

"…or an eternity…

"…please…"

…I must have passed out at that point.
Everything from then on was just a smattering of voices…
…flashes of imagery.
…Darkness.

I was only vaguely aware when the paramedics arrived.
Felt their cold hands lifting my body to the gurney
with a rush of nausea and pain.
Smelled their sterile, pungent van.
Heard Mom's and Debora's voices…
begging me to hold on.

…and then nothing once more…

…nothing but nightmares…
…plagued by a beautiful young face.
…a knowing, wicked smile…

…Neil.

----

When I woke again, I was lying in a room alone.
A hospital room, I decided, as I took in that stark, bitter smell of sterilized equipment.
It took my eyes awhile to open, to look around.
Everything felt numb. Completely.

It was wonderful.

I tried to move, but my body was still weak.
Felt the strange tug of something on one arm.
Blinking through blurriness, I could see the red IV tube.
Following it down, seeing the bandages around my arms.
Wrapped from the crook of the wrist up almost to the elbow.
And I could not help but feel… dissatisfied.
Incomplete.

The sound of door hinges brought me from my thoughts.
My head lolled lazily to the side, tired eyes looking towards the noise.
Expecting Mom or Deborah, I instead saw a man in white.
standing at the door of my empty little white cell.

"Hello, Brian," he said carefully
fidgeting with a little clipboard as he walked towards me.
His voice had a strange pitch to it, a kind of whiny, airy resonance.
"I'm Doctor White. I'm a psychologist here at PRMC."
He grabbed a wheeled chair from beside the door and rolled it towards my side,
sitting upon it with a rough sigh and flipping through pages of his clipboard.

I couldn't look at him…
I turned my face from him, but could still see his bald head from the corner of my eye.

"You're in our behavioral health ward. We're going to keep you here under close observation
until we can be assured you are no longer a danger to yourself…"

Just stop talking and go away, I wanted to tell him.

He was going to ask me about everything…

…I… didn't want to talk about it.
Or even think about it.

Ever.

Not again.

He was still talking, but I wasn't really paying attention anymore to what he was saying,
everything just coming in as a jarbled message,
like an alien language.

Aliens…

…why couldn't it have been aliens…?

And then,
Something snapped.
In my brain
Or my heart…
…or somewhere…

And I screamed.
Just screamed until I couldn't anymore.

They had to hold me down.
But I just kept screaming.

"Why couldn't it have been aliens?!"

That was just one of things that they could discern
through my hysterical cries.

Why…
did it have to be this way…?

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