My little brother

It was the third time I had called my little brother, and he wasn't answering. Growing concern began to grip me. I knew my brother was prone to epileptic seizures, and sometimes he would end up alone at home. Usually, one of his roommates was almost always around. I might have stopped worrying about him; after all, he was 22 years old, but he was still my little brother. I had always looked out for him, as our parents were not very present, too absorbed in their careers. They often returned home very late, and I was tasked with keeping an eye on my little brother. There were times when it was burdensome. As a teenager, there were many evenings when I would have preferred to go out with my friends rather than having to watch over the little rascal. However, I tried never to let my displeasure show towards my little brother. It wasn't his fault but rather that of our parents.

My little brother still wasn't answering his phone. I was seriously considering going to his place immediately. I had a spare key, precisely for situations like this. I sat for a few minutes on the couch, fist against my chin, foot tapping nervously. I was contemplating. Should I go or not? Recently, I had a discussion with him where he explained that he sometimes put his phone on "do not disturb" mode when he really wanted to disconnect, live in the moment, and, as the name suggests, not be disturbed under any circumstances.

Some time ago, following a similar situation where he wasn't answering his phone, I had rushed to his home. I had arrived at his place in a panic, only to find him... meditating. It had upset him a lot. After that episode, he had asked me to be less anxious about his epilepsy condition. He even suggested that I also practice meditation. According to him, it could be useful not only for managing my anxieties but also highly beneficial for improving my stage performances. Indeed, among my fellow dramatic theater actors, some practiced breathing exercises to enhance their performances. I pondered upon it.

However, I couldn't handle the growing anxiety at the thought that something might have happened to my little brother. I finally decided to go to his place. He had told me that he was planning a longer and more intense meditation session on Wednesday. However, it was Thursday. It was highly likely that he would take a day off after an extended and more intense meditation. I was right in making this decision.

So, his little brother was probably not meditating. He had to go check. Sebastian, with a pounding heart, took a few moments to put on a jacket and his shoes, making sure to slip the spare keys into his pocket. His steps were fast but determined as he faced the cold autumn breeze hitting him in the face. Despite this, he couldn't help but light a cigarette to try to relax. The piercing cold penetrated every pore of his fingers; he took his pack out of his pocket and grabbed one. His frozen fingers struggled to activate the lighter's wheel, but he finally managed to light his cigarette. He kept his hand in the sleeve of his coat, letting only the two fingers holding the cigarette emerge.

He crossed the familiar streets, his fast steps echoing on the pavement. The neighborhood was quiet, bathed in a dim glow from the streetlights faintly illuminating the path. The fallen leaves crackled under his soles, bearing witness to the passage of the seasons.

Finally, Sebastian reached the red door of his brother's apartment. He slid the key into the lock, the familiar reassuring click. The door opened to a disturbing silence, broken only by faint music emanating from inside the apartment.

He advanced stealthily in the central corridor, a slight apprehension gripping his stomach. On the walls, one could see drawings and paintings by local independent artists. The door frames boasted decorative cord embellishments made by one of his brother's roommates, an enthusiast of DIY who indulged in creating items sometimes useful, sometimes purely decorative, for the apartment. The dancing shadows on the walls created by the discreet lighting of old lamps seemed to accompany Sebastian's progress through the apartment, creating a mysterious and unsettling atmosphere. Every step was calculated, his breath held, as he approached his brother's room.

The door was ajar, allowing a faint light to filter through, blending with the ambient darkness. Sebastian hurriedly opened it, hoping to find his brother safe and sound. His gaze then fell on the scene unfolding before him.

He found his brother, wrists tied to the bed, a gag in his mouth, legs raised, a latex-clad lady with a strap-on thrusting into him.

He froze. Disturbed. Apologized. Left.

He erased from his memory those few seconds of that sight.