Needs a Name =] Introduction Part

Slowly I placed my clothes into the brown leather suitcase and looked around the dark, and presently deserted, room. My hands had been washed clean, though if I looked hard enough, I could still see a red tint in them. Smiling slightly I placed one more shirt in the suitcase and tried to make sure I didn’t miss anything. I always did miss something, and begged to go back. However, Eric had other plans and usually kept on driving. It annoyed me, but my aloof personality did not let me focus on one thing for too long. Especially not the mundane perks of packing up a room.
“Charlie!” Eric called from the other bedroom in our small apartment. “Charlie!” he tried again. I didn’t really feel like answering him, but I felt that if I didn’t, he would get worried that I had gotten myself into another mess. If he felt that I was in more trouble than I was, he would then rush over to my room to make sure I was alright. Seeing as I wasn’t in harm’s way, he would then avert his attention to helping me pack and double checking my room to make sure that this time I really would not forget anything. This, as always, would fail.
“Yes Eric?” I responded politely with obvious annoyance in my voice.
“Don’t forget your toothbrush in the bathroom!” he called. I secretly rolled my eyes at him and inwardly laughed at how motherly he sounded. After finding out about my mental illness, my mother abandoned me in her heart and lost any feelings of love that she once had for me. She decided it would be best to get rid of me as soon as she could and until then would make my life a living hell. I never harmed her, though my father did blame me for leaving a part of my poison collection unattended. I argue however, that it was her fault for not checking if the liquid was actually water or not. At that point, I was around eight or nine, and my father did not want to share the same fate as my mother. This is when the whole adoption circle started.
Due to the fact that I mostly kept my thoughts to myself and never really did anything, I was able to pass as sane in most doctors’ eyes. In the eyes of the caring couples that took me in, I was anything but. I experimented with food and brought in strange objects home. I invited what one of my many mothers called ‘a drunken hobo’ in for milk and cookies at age twelve, and after being unable to understand this action and repeating it later on, I was brought back to the adoption agency. It wasn’t my fault that the man looking hungry and tired on the street turned out to be a convict, there was no sign telling me he was vile and gross; yet my mother at the time blamed me for not learning. I argue that I was trying to apply the values of charity and kindness to a grateful stranger.
I do suppose I should thank that lady. She stuck with me the longest not counting my current caretaker, Eric. When given back to the agency at age thirteen and a half, I was too old to be wanted by any of the searching lovers. Though I don’t like to talk about this part of my past much, I suppose it is necessary in order to understand why Eric, in his young age, would put up with someone like me instead of living his own life. Though I am technically his adopted son, we are by blood, brothers. My real mother had three sons. The oldest being Eric, currently at age 23, with John in the middle, age 19, and lastly, me at age 17.
As I mentioned before, she did not love me. In fact if it didn’t hurt her existing pride as a mother, she would have said she hated me. She couldn’t understand why I couldn’t understand or follow her “simple” house rules. To give you a reason, I simply did not want to. Even as a child, I bounced the ball in the house, took books off their shelves and ruined the nice order of her house. Her favorite names for me would have to have been “Demon child”, “The Devil Himself”, or simply “Crazy”, for she used them when referring to me quite often. She never beat me physically, but only talked to me when necessary; these times would have been to feed me or to scold me. When I was old enough to go to school, she cared more about my grades as well as trying to fill in the social aspect (which she neglected to teach me) by inviting people who I could care less about over to play. She never once asked me how my day went with actual meaning.
When I was in second grade I began getting interested in things such as snake venom and other poisons. I began a collection of those that were legal for me to obtain and one day decided to experiment with it. I put one bottle of poison in the freezer to see what would happen and left the other on the kitchen table to observe the differences. My mother drank it accidently and died a rather (for lack of better words) unconventional, death. My father was willing to keep me on oath that I would throw away my collection (which I did) and things flowed quite well between us for the next two months. Rumors spread fast and far, and the bullying I experienced at school had increased significantly. During class one day, when the teasing was especially bad, I used scissors in a way that they really shouldn’t be used, which resulted in my dear “friend” Tommy being sent to the hospital.
Eric had often ignored me by my mother’s command, but while sitting in the principal’s office with me after the incident, we began a conversation. It took my father a while to get there and Eric and I got far in our little chat. I think he felt I was a little weird, but I felt that he could understand me or at least tolerate me better than anyone I had met. For the next couple of weeks Eric and I talked more and more. He was fourteen at the time and was surprised at my knowledge of the topics I cared about. I think we began to really develop what’s known as a “brotherly bond” when my dad announced to all three of us that I was being adopted. He wasn’t satisfied with the doctor’s answers of my sanity and I suppose he didn’t want to waste money on my therapy, therefore hoping somebody else would.
Eight years later, Eric finally found me. At first we just met frequently and talked a lot about my experiences. Looking back now I suppose it was so that I would get used to him and make it easier for the process to begin; it was either that or so that he could get used to me. Either way within a couple of months he adopted me and for the last year or so I have been living with him. In that time Eric went through three jobs, we went through three states, and as of the current body count, three housekeepers. I heard footsteps coming closer and chills went up m spine. I quickly turned around and saw Eric coming up to my room.
“You ignored my last question, so I wanted to check up on you” he said, looking around my room. “Are you ready to go?”
I waited before responding, looking slowly around my room then at my suitcase. I nodded “I just have to clean out the bathroom and then we can go.” I said quietly. Eric nodded and sweeping one last glance around my room, he nodded towards me.
“Good, meet me in the car in five minutes. Alright?” I nodded to him and he left, glancing at his watch as I did so. I repeated his motion; it was a quarter past twelve.