My Full Confession

Lost Possession Of Your Own Heart

Life without my mother was an entirely different experience for me, and tragically so. The Sherriff had deemed it an accidental death, and so my father was not charged. In fact, he was rewarded the whole of my mother's will, for she had not arranged for one before she died, and was granted enough money to drink away. He turned, if possible, into an even crueler man as the years went by. I had to suspect that he was lonely, or perhaps he was regretting his own anger. Either way there was a misery that hung over the house, one that was stifled only when anger overtook it, and the drink morphed his grief into hatred. Whenever he drank he came after us, yelling obscenities and cursing the day we were born, claiming that we were the reason for our mother's death, that we deserved to die with her. Many a night was spent in the barn, cowering in the hay and hiding from our father as he prowled about the house, breaking things at will and at random. There was money coming in, with the tenants in the old Watson house and the farm, and yet it felt as though we had never been more desperate. This time we did not crave food, nor clothing, but instead we craved safety. We craved at least the feeling that we were safe in our own home, safe from the wrath of our own father. He was a demon, he really was, and as the years went on nothing seemed to change. He got older, he got more miserable. His beard turned gray and his hair fell out, his muscles turned to fat and his stomach widened to the size of a basketball with all of the beer that was stored in his gut. He drank his money away, slowly but surely, and kept to work on the farm as nothing more than a man shouting at laborers. He didn't work any longer, not now that he had the money to pay others for the labor, and soon my brother fell into his trap, with the promise of wages. Mycroft had grown out of the delusion of college education; he soon forgot his books and retreated to the farming life. He had tried multiple jobs, and yet all fell apart in the end. He was a reliable worker of course, yet he was having issues with such medial tasks. He wanted to be out in the world, using his brain and excelling. And yet he was stamping mail, or hauling grain, or piling records into bins downtown. In the end my brother always came back to the farm, to the point where a decent wage without transportation was enough to make him stay. Soon he began to plant, and reap, and harvest. He adopted the mind of a farmer, or at least the build of one. His thin figure became bulky, his pale skin became tanned, and he acquired a rather rough look to him. Callouses lined his hands, and a frown of agitation was beginning to grow in his face. It took another six years until our luck turned, or rather the family's luck. Not mine, entirely. In fact, a new curse had fallen upon me alone. A woman had walked into my life. Or rather a woman's pocket book had caught the attention of my father. I was seventeen, and dare I say I was radiantly beautiful. I was nothing short of godly, which was so surprising when you looked upon my degrading, aging family members. I was tall, lanky, and deathly pale. My curls had retreated to my head to make a rather unkempt but attractive do, and my eyes were sharp and intelligent like diamonds. I refused the fields, and instead had gotten work downtown in the bookshop. I had graduated high school top of my class, and while college had not been an option before, the promise of money from another source was enough to give me hope. That source was, of course, the horrible Irene Adler. She was something of a beauty herself; or rather she would be considered so in the eyes of anyone who did not know her personally. All of her looks were counter balanced by her rotten personality, and that horrible laugh she had when she was amused. I had caught her attention in the bookshop, for no one really could resist me those days. She had black raven hair, and a pale face similar to my own. She was beautiful in a ghostly sort of way, she looked more like a skeleton than a girl, and yet she dressed the part of money, and acted as though she were some sort of princess. Her father owned the grain company in the big city, and so she certainly came from money. She used this as an excuse to treat anyone however she wanted, and she flaunted around her purse so as to ensure that she got what she wanted and when. Unfortunately for me, I was her next target. I was working in the bookstore when she walked in, up on one of the ladders restocking the heavy encyclopedias. It was a rather stupid job, however I had the option to read whatever I liked in the quiet hours, and I was surrounded by knowledge that would undoubtedly come in handy in the long run. I worked with costumers well, and I fit in well to the atmosphere of knowledge. It was a good job for me, and yet of course I had bigger aspirations. I didn't want to read what other people had written; I wanted to discover for myself the world around me. I wanted to leave this town, one way or another, and make a name for myself. Before I caught the attention of Irene Adler, such an aspiration was nothing more than a dream. She had taken an immediate interest in me, and our first conversation had been very much her own inquiries as to who I was, where I lived, and if I was available or not. I recognized her name at once, for my father bought her father's grain for the cows, and as hesitant as I was to take on a girlfriend of any sort, I knew of course that the money involved in this girl might be enough to put me through college, or at least start me on the pathway. Victor Trevor had already graduated, and had taken over for his retired father as sheriff. He had top honors at Harvard, something I knew that I could beat if I ever got the chance. And to think, perhaps I could be educated such as he had, and return here to rule over it with knowledge, and with reason? Of course I was reluctant, for I still had yet to know who I loved and how to love. For years I watched my brother suffer with the love he felt for Victor, something that grew ever more apparent in front of my eyes. For years, the idea of homosexuality haunted me like some distant dream, something that was painfully impossible for me at this point. Every time I closed my eyes and thought to men, I was instead presented with the image of Mr. Watson, hanging by his neck with his legs flailing in the air. And yet, every time I thought to women, I grew terribly bored. Not one girl (and trust me, there had been many) had caught my attention. Each one to flaunt towards me offered another disappointment, until I had ultimately decided that I was unable to love. That, or I had already set my heart on the wrong person and set myself up for distress. Sometimes, in those confusing years, I wondered if I still had possession of my own heart at all. Or if it was off somewhere, with him...Irene Adler began to make daily trips to my bookstore, each time showering me with presents and offerings, so as to demonstrate her money and her influence. It wasn't long until my father caught word, and although I had never flattered her back, nor played along with her flirtatious games, he automatically desired it to be a match. Just as soon as my father caught sight of the girl, and of course heard of her last name, he set me up with a ring and forced me to propose marriage. He insisted that I catch her before she flies away, however that seemed o be the one thing she was not content on doing. It was a full month, and each and every day she would make the trip to bother me. Although she was beautiful she had lost my interest quickly, I never felt anything that might be classified as love towards her. The only thing I liked was her money, and that was the only reason I didn't flatly decline such a match. I decided of course that all of my opportunities for love had been exhausted in childhood, that I had either scared off all my willing acquaintances, or that no more would show their face in this town again. Gone were the days of John Watson, gone were the days that I would dare think my heart would be satisfied to any extent. Now were the days of Irene Adler, that horrible girl I was almost forced into making my fiancé. We were to be married in the springtime, which was of course much to close as it was in the heart of winter now. I wished that I could delay it even longer, perhaps get all the money that I needed in the form of presents and loans, and then abandon her by the time I saved up enough. Yet it would never work, not now that we shared rings. She seemed to think that we shared hearts, as well. It was never within my power to tell her otherwise. She was my first kiss, as ghastly as it sounds. Oh what a waste, what a waste those lips were upon mine! I should have liked them to be saved for the rightful man, yet at that stage in my life I had assumed that the rightful man wanted nothing to do with me any longer. At that stage I assumed John Watson had forgotten me, and moved on with his life in any direction the wind would take him. I decided that stagnation and acceptance was better than pain and hope, and so I tried to make myself comfortable. I tried to make myself happy. Irene Adler...well I suppose she would have to do. I knew that Mycroft didn't like her, well of course no one really did except my father, and yet Mycroft's hatred seemed to be very intense. It was curious how he dreaded her, for I was quite positive he would've been satisfied to hear that I had been locked down. I thought for sure that he would be relieved to know that I couldn't go and get myself hanged, by choosing the wrong gender for my partner. And yet Mycroft's spirits shifted drastically, and if possible he became even more miserable. Perhaps he had been secretly hoping that I'd find love, or at least just happiness. Perhaps he had hoped that I would have stuck up for myself more, and fought my father just a little bit harder. Perhaps he hoped that I would be happy for the both of us. And yet I fell into the trap, for money is the ruler of us all in the end. Money is what sways us this way and that; money is what puts rings on fingers. Mycroft's own heart had been crushed just a year before, although he had to have known it was coming. Victor had gotten married, which came as something of a surprise to us all. It was an abrupt marriage, to a girl named Janine. She was a very loud girl, not someone I would have pictured Victor with at all. In fact, now that I think about it, I don't think any of us pictured Victor with a woman at all. He was a loner at heart, due entirely to the fact that homosexuality was illegal. He himself was the law, and so he forced himself to abide by it. Or so I assumed at the time. I didn't understand why Mycroft mourned for Victor's loss; we both knew that their own relationship would never take off the way he wanted it to. We both knew that victor gradually became uninterested, and as Mycroft's love grew their friendship faded, until at last Victor was a sort of awkward acquaintance, one you waved to if you were forced to, and one you crossed the street to avoid if you knew he wouldn't notice. He was a curious man, having adopted even more of a swagger now that the star of sheriff was voted onto his chest, and he ruled the town as a just leader. There were no complaints from anyone who didn't know him; in fact the town was perfectly happy with his way of enforcement. Little did they know that the villain now had control of the law, and was able to bend it to his own will. It was he who was the first to congratulate me on my marriage, yet he who looked the most upset. He came to the farmhouse that day, and I was sitting on the porch with my brother, who had just come in from tending to the cows. Billy had gotten sick, and so Mycroft was out with the veterinarian all day trying to diagnose an issue. He smelled horribly like cows, and with every passing minute became even more miserable. Our father was passed out somewhere, presumably. Victor's car pulled up in the dust, a beautiful and sleek new one which he had bought right out of college. He was one of the only people in the town with such a vehicle, and often drove it for joy rides just to show it off. I had to admit, the thing was tempting, and I knew of course that if my own marriage went well I might end up with such a thing as well. I dared not hope, for there was always that voice in the back of my head that told me I wanted it all to fall apart. That voice, well it sounded like John. It sounded as I remember him from childhood, creating words that had never before passed his lips out of the distinct memories I had of our time together. How long ago that seemed! How much like a dream my memories became! Victor got out of his car and swaggered over to the porch, hooking his thumbs on his suspenders and looking up towards the porch where my brother and I were sitting. He looked good, clean, and healthy. He looked the picture of money, and of influence. I frowned at him, and my brother got up from his chair to go inside.
"Why don't you stay, Mycroft?" Victor suggested, just as soon as my brother's hand latched upon the screendoor. The man faltered, closing his eyes for a moment before turning and facing his childhood friend. I saw pain in his eyes.
"I smell horribly like cows. I won't make good company for the likes of you." He snapped.
"Never mind that, I've smelled cows before." Victor assured, walking up the steps to the porch and staring my brother rather boldly into the eyes. Mycroft hesitated, I watched as his breath got caught in his throat. He looked remarkably unkempt when compared to Victor, the farmer in front of the Sherriff. And yet he was smarter, he had more potential than Victor ever had. It was just who they were born to that made the difference; it was their fathers that bid Victor to walk with style and Mycroft to smell like a barn. Oh the curse of birth, and its horrible influence. It's horrible fate.
"Sit down, Mycroft." Victor insisted, waving his hand to the chair that my brother had been sitting on. Mycroft sighed heavily, his fists clenching as he did what he was told, and sank back into his rocking chair. He stared up at Victor hatefully, all the while the Sherriff took his place on the railing, leaning against it and unearthing a long, sleek pipe from his pocket.
"I've come to congratulate you, William." He said simply. "On quite the perfect match."
"How do you know that we are perfect?" I challenged, to which the man simply chuckled.
"If you were not, would you be marrying her?" he asked.
"Evidently I would be." I responded hotly. The man chuckled, lighting his pipe with some amusement before shaking out the match and tossing it back into the yard.
"Oh surely she will make you a good wife, and you will make a good husband." He insisted.
"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you Victor? Domestic life?" Mycroft presumed with a low, bored growl.
"Well I might not know about being a good husband. But yes, domestic life is something that I've been growing accustomed to." He agreed quietly. He puffed for a moment, releasing horrible clouds of stinking smoke. I recoiled, yet Mycroft stayed perched on his chair, staring hatefully at the boy he loved.
"Any children on the way?" he managed to ask.
"How very violating a question." Victor chuckled, yet he shook his head. "No Mycroft, no children."
"Why not?" I asked finally. Victor sighed heavily, turning his eyes towards me with something of a disappointed look.
"I am here to congratulate you, William, not to be interrogated like some criminal." Victor corrected.
"Thank you." I grumbled. "But if that's all, then..." I waved my hand back towards his fancy car, to which Victor shook his head quietly.
"Don't you have any questions? About married life, about...domesticity?" he presumed.
"I don't." I lied, for I really did have questions. I had no idea how women worked, I had no idea how to read them at all. Being latched onto one for the rest of my life, well the idea was daunting. And yet I wouldn't admit that to Victor, not him.
"Grown so handsome, William. I am proud of you." Victor murmured. I almost felt Mycroft wince, yet I decided not to address it. I knew that it hurt, for him to be treated like nothing but air. Victor was fixated upon me, that was for sure. It was as if Mycroft had faded instead into the furniture.
"Women are complex creatures, William. They are startlingly demanding, and sometimes don't know how to take no for an answer. They're draining, physically and financially, and they're horribly jealous of anything else you seem to like more than them." Victor groaned, clenching his pipe in his mouth now so agressivley that I thought it might snap in half.
"You sound as if you're not enjoying your young wife." Mycroft presumed.
"Well, Mycroft. You of all people might understand why loving such a thing is...complicated." Victor murmured. My brother rose to his feet, his face growing scarlet red as he stood to face his advisory. He took that as an insult, as most people would of course, yet just as soon as Victor raised his eyebrows in confrontation the man sulked away. Poor Mycroft, ashamed for who he was, and in love with those who would use such weaknesses to their advantage. Without another word my brother stormed inside, his footfalls heavy against the wood as the door slammed behind him, leaving Victor and I alone once again.