Inner demons (freewrite)

My brother was doing that thing he did. That thing with the rag in the sink. He would wash it every day and make sure to rinse and it drove me mad. It reminded him of that night, I suppose. In a way, it was his penance, his way of asking for forgiveness from the above divine for what he'd done. But sometimes, there is no forgiveness. For nobody, from no one.
Ian was a firm believer in the worst in people. I know, it's a strange thought. But he always believed that you could, if you truly put your mind to it, bring out the worst in people. He always told me there is a beast inside each one of us, just waiting to be called.
He said that he beast always answers its name, you just have to know it. And he tried to do that with the people he met, with his lady friends, especially. I can't tell you exactly what he did. I always stayed shut up in my room when they were there, but they all grew darker.

Lisa comes to mind. She truly was a lovely girl, not much older than I am now. She was so sweet, but confused when she'd come to see my brother. I remember she always looked up at him with these great big eyes, like he was the best thing in her world. A shining star, an angel sent down to brighten her way.
But she lost that light, somehow. I didn't think much of it back then, I was just a girl, but Lisa became dark, she lost weight, until she had hollows in her cheeks.
And all that light was replaced with...ambition. Drive. But I knew, even then, it was a bad kind of drive. The kind that pushes people to hurt. Themselves, others, anything. It was a craving for blood, for raw tears, that I saw in her eyes. Until one day, she stopped coming around the house. I tried asking Ian what had happened, but he just changed the subject to some game I liked back then. He was always in a good mood after a breakup.
I was never allowed to leave the house when his girlfriends came over. And I didn't find it at all strange. Not then. He liked me there, where I could hear them, where I could see, through the walls, what he was doing.
I used to sit in my room and brush my hair. Thousands of strokes that pulled long, blonde strands from my head.

Only Uncle Bill thought that this was funny. He'd see me and ask if I was growing a bald spot. My teacher, Mrs Henderson, had asked me about it, seeming genuinely worried. But I hadn't told her anything. Because then, I would have to tell her about my brother and about what they did and that sometimes, he'd leave the door open.
Our parents died when I was six and the plan was Uncle Bill would come take care of us. My brother was only eighteen, he seemed so young... But when Uncle Bill announced he would come a week later then he was supposed to, my brother said it was just fine, and the week after that, he decided he could manage. So Uncle Bill didn't come to take care of us and Ian was left to care for me as best he could.
That's when he started doing the thing with the rag.

'Anna,' he'd call out and I would follow his voice into the kitchen. And when I was little, he'd sit me up on the table, right beside the sink and he'd begin washing the rag. At first, I didn't know what it meant. But then I noticed that he only did it after a breakup.
With Lisa, the rag sat in the cupboard for a long time. Dry. It was always clean because it wasn't used to actually wash anything.
He'd talk to me, while he did it, while he rinsed the rag again and again. He'd tell me about people and about demons. About how he could bring out that bad side in people, but that was a good thing.
He said people wait for that side to be free their whole lives, and that he was only giving them a helping hand. Bringing them closer to their true selves.
After Lisa stopped coming to the house – by that time, I was fourteen and he was twenty-six - he told me that she was most definitely not a good woman. Not by the time he was done with her, anyway.
I don't know what my brother did to those ladies, if that's what you're wanting to hear, or what he told them.
I just know they were never the same, afterward.
By the time I was seventeen, I was really looking forward to leaving. I was a very naive young girl and it took me a long time to understand that whatever my brother did to those women was not an act of kindness. And I longed to be away, to not be a part of it anymore.
I was so close.

The buzzing of the lies grew louder in my head, until it drowned out all other sound. I saw everything he'd told me, as a child, for what it was – the distorted lies of a madman. Yet, I couldn't do anything. He was my brother, I couldn't have told anyone. I couldn't have. They would've taken Ian away and I didn't want that.
I mean sure, I knew what he was doing was bad, that he was hurting those ladies, but I didn't want him to be put away. He was my brother, my saving angel. He raised me and I owed him everything I knew.

I became a liar, myself. I would tell people at my school the strangest things, I would lie to my friends about why I couldn't go out with them on certain nights. I couldn't go out whenever my brother brought someone home. Not after the incident.
One night, just after Lisa, I had stayed out late after school. I usually came by the house, saw Ian, and then went out if it was okay with him. But on that day, I stayed with some friends until about midnight. I was fifteen and it was a relatively safe neighborhood. Nothing could've happened to me and we both knew it.
Besides, I knew that Ian would be with someone, so I figured I'd give them some space, now that I was old enough to be by myself. Besides, I no longer wanted to be in the house after Lisa.
When I got back, Ian was waiting for me in the kitchen. He looked up, as I walked in, and threw his mug of tea at me. I dodged it, but I didn't dodge him. There wasn't enough room in the world for that.
Let's just say I never “missed” a night after that time.
I don't know why he wanted me to be in the house while he...did what he did. I suppose you think you probably do. My brother was a complicated man.
A strange and very troubled man.
We were in the kitchen when he began acting strange. He was washing the rag in the sink.
'There are some bad demons inside all of us, Anna. They're...neverending. Don't try to escape them. It only draws them deeper in.'
The next day, I came back to find Ian hanging from the kitchen ceiling. The rag sat crumpled in the sink.

I find it, sometimes, when I'm cleaning through the house and then, I give the rag a wash. Not because it needs it, but because it allows me time to think. I think about my brother and about my parents.
And I wonder if the inner demons run in the family.

Weekend freewrite based on the prompts by @mariannewest.

Thank you for reading,