The Boy Movie Brahms Heelshire x reader FanFic

Part 6 - The Turn of the Screw

This chapter is dedicated to @Dadushi

The bar of hot sunshine streaming into your eyes wakes you.   Somewhere behind your eyeballs a demon with a pair of red hot tweezers is doing some damage.

You glance at your watch.  It's nearly midday.  With a groan you close your eyes and try to shift your head out of the sunbeam.   You're in your own bed the covers pulled high.  Then you remember last night and cringe.   There's not a face palm big enough so you stretch sinuously beneath the covers trying to get your muscles moving...then freeze in horror.   Tentatively you run your hands over the satin slip you're wearing. 

"Oh, dear God!"

He's put you to bed.   Brahms has put you, drunk as a skunk, to bed... and undressed you.

Involuntarily, you grip the edge of the coverlet and peer around the room, expecting to see him lurking there.   Your clothes are neatly folded on the chair opposite the bed.  Even your underwear.

There's a panicky moment where you have a little feel down below.   But everything seems to be in order and untouched nor interfered with.   You still feel violated.   

I bet he had a good look too, you think with dismay.   Then that other demon inside, the one that persecuted you when you first found out Brahms was living behind the walls of the house, makes you cringe some more.   He's seen it all before...all the times you walked naked round this very room singing off key songs...he was watching and getting--

You hold your aching head, wishing you could take a garden hose to wash out the humiliation clogging your mind.   Slowly, you walk to the bathroom and lock the door.

~

The house is empty.  Brahms nowhere to be seen.  You feel too sickly to call him.  Don't want to see him, if the truth be known.   You remember that kiss you gave him, and resolve never to drink again.   In the kitchen, you find a peanut butter jelly sandwich on a plate covered with a damp napkin.  There's fresh brewed coffee in the machine and a jug of cream next to it.  After shuffling to the medicine cabinet and downing two painkillers, you wolf down the sandwich.  By the third coffee, your headache is easing and you're starting to feel something like normal again.  

Normal?  you ask yourself. Nothing in this Goddamned house is normal!

Then you notice the letter the Heelshire's sent you, post dated, the crinkled paper smoothed out lying on the kitchen table near the seat Brahms usually occupied.  He's read it!

You close your eyes and try to think.   He's the rightful heir to this place, only nobody knows he's even alive.    What do you do when this lawyer turns up?   Spill the beans?  Come clean?  Make sure Brahms gets what is rightfully his?   And what then?   Brahms wouldn't deal with strangers wanting to speak to him.   You can imagine exactly how he'd react.  Badly.   Violently?  

"He's not ready," you whisper to yourself.    His parents knew this.   But they'd created a dynamic with their son that was too ingrained to be changed...at least by them.   They'd inhibited Brahms's emotional development by smothering  him with a love twisted by their own needs and desires.    He'd obviously been a late child,  an only child, and doted on.   Brahms's parents undoubtedly overprotected him, and this in turn took away his ability to cope with challenges and confrontations.  You wonder  if Brahms is on the autism scale.   Asperger's?  It's possible but if so, he's clearly never been diagnosed or treated.  But you're no expert and feel woefully inadequate in just how to help him.

"Oh, Brahms," you sigh, feeling suddenly drained.   

"Y/N?"

You whip round.   Brahms is standing in the kitchen doorway.   He's wearing the clothes you originally found him in only this time they're clean and smell faintly of fabric conditioner.  He's so tall his head almost touches the top of the doorway architrave.