AN: yeah, that wait was unnescessarily long, I know, but I'm just winging this.

Thanks for reviews.

It wasn't like I'd spent all my time scrutinizing his life in the manner I am now. I suppose it was the fact that I hadn't that drove me to such opinionated conclusions about him. Maybe if I did, I wouldn't feel so guilty and I'd know him more. And even if I wanted to spark something between us I highly doubted he would willingly fraternize with me. He was the most self respecting of bastards it's ever been my displeasure to live with.

But it could have been worse…could have been so much worse. It wasn't until…well, until then and many days after when the silence caught up with me that I realized that living with him, growing up with him, just being his brother wasn't all that bad….not bad at all.

Mom and dad never blamed me, not for anything. But I couldn't help but feet responsible. They didn't know what I knew, they never feared what their conscious minds would never understand. She had two faces, and I could see it in the mirrors of his eyes. She mesmerized him, hypnotized him, and when I finally had the nerve to be but a bit concerned he was dead to us already.

I blamed myself for not seeing through her intentions, blamed myself for not being closer to him…because if I were, maybe he'd be more like me. He was my younger brother, hell, will always be my little brother.

I tried to do some snooping afterwards, when the queerness he left behind died down, but the guy wasn't exactly an open book. Not even his room, the amalgamated canvas of information it was, offered much help to learn about him.

Mother, Father, the whole family…were strangely quiet about the whole thing. Their sadness evident but subtle, like there was something I didn't know…and a part wished I'd never find out.

It was rare that I found mother crying, and if father ever shed a tear, I never knew of it.

The enigma he came to be drove me insane! All of what I didn't know was renting my security. Did I know anything at all? Was I that naïve? Could it be that that was the idiosyncrasy that separated he and I? Was he more…real?

I couldn't know this without knowing what real was…could never think of understanding if he didn't leave something behind, anything that would let me concede to the inner workings of his mind. But I never got a clue…not the slightest hint.

Yes I was sad, solemn even…the feeling was hollow and left me in a state of numbness every time I thought of him; the supposed psychopath. His absence and yet his presence, though compliments of each other, will remain here to haunt me forever.