Dying to Fuck My Sister

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.

*

1

And he was just standing there on the doorstep.

"James?" I screamed, running out of the house to greet him.

He dropped his bag and held his arms aloft.

"Hi Clare!"

I fell into his embrace. He scooped me up and spun me around.

My beautiful younger brother. He looked so handsome and healthy.

"I can't believe you're here!" I said, trying to hug deeper into his arms

"I can't believe I'm here! Traffic was all kinds of messed up."

"Why are you here?" I asked.

I was dog-sitting at our parents' house while they were in New York for their wedding anniversary. James was supposed to be 1000 miles away at college.

"Let's go inside," he said. "I need coffee before quick-fire questions."

As he entered the kitchen he was slobbered with affection by Rogue, our parents' adorable Boxer-cross. Within moments the two of them were on the floor.

"Hi Rogi! I know, I know. I missed you too baby!"

They exchanged more kisses than we had.

I set about making us some coffee and fixing James a snack. He told me he was ravenous, which I took to be a good sign.

When he'd finished eating, I asked: "So what are you doing here? Apart from scaring the shit out of me."

He'd been away at college for less than five weeks of his fresher year. I couldn't understand why he was suddenly home like this unannounced.

"Did I scare you?" he asked.

"A little. You know I was never good at being here alone."

Our family home was an 1890's Colonial Revival house perched on top of a grassy cliff. It had stunning panoramic views of the ocean, but as a child I had been consumed with fear the house would tumble into the sea. I was eventually diagnosed with a condition called benign paroxysmal positional vertigo.

"I decided to take a break from college," my brother said.

"You only just started!"

"And now I need a break."

"How's your health?" I asked.

He looked at his empty soup bowl.

"James?"

When he looked back up, his eyes were veiled with tears.

"Oh Jesus. No. It came back?"

He nodded.

"More treatment?"

He shook his head.

"But you can still fight it, right?" I said, my own eyes now welling up.

He shook his head again.

I raced over to him and collapsed into his arms. I was more hysterical than he was. It had always been that way. After the tears had died down, we continued to hold one another in silence.

"How long have you got?" I asked. I couldn't bear the answer, whatever it was.

"30 days," he said.

"Oh god, no!"

I clutched him even harder and wailed for another few minutes.

When the new storm of grief had subsided, I remembered our parents.

"We've got to call them," I said, reaching for my phone. "Did you tell them already?"

"Not yet. I came home to tell you all together. Forgot they were on a trip this weekend."

"You forgot their silver anniversary trip to New York City? The one they've been planning for, like, six years?"

"I forgot it was this weekend," he said.

"We have to call them."

"Let's not spoil their trip."

"James, you don't spoil things by telling people the truth. The truth spoils things. Mom and Dad need to know. There's nothing more important to them than you, and that includes me!"

I went to dial Mom's number.

"Stop!" he said. "Please. Don't do that thing where you take over."

His silvery eyes were so sad and vulnerable.

"Then explain it to me," I said, putting the phone down.

"It's Friday afternoon. Mom and Dad will be back Monday morning. The news isn't going to change before then. We'll tell them together on Monday. I don't want to do it over the phone, that's why I drove here. And I'm not prepared to ruin their anniversary..."

"No, you're going to ruin their lives."

"I don't want them rushing home early. I wanted you and I to have some time together this weekend."

"You didn't know I was going to be here!"

"Well, I do now. And it's likely to be our last time..."

"Don't you say it," I said, pummeling his chest with my hands. "Don't you fucking dare!"

We clasped one another tightly in another tearful embrace. I could feel his heart beating through my chest.

I wanted to freeze the moment in amber.

***

Somehow we fell asleep.

We must have been exhausted from the emotion - and in his case, the driving.

When I awoke, the living room had grown dark and a cloud-masked sunset lit the ocean a strange, metallic gray.

I watched James sleeping at the other end of the couch.

He looked so peaceful that it made me think of his ultimate sleep. Tears began to pour down my cheeks again, but quietly.

I couldn't fall apart, however much I longed to. I had to be strong for him.

I couldn't bear the thought of losing my brother. I wasn't prepared for it.

Even though the possibility had hung over us since he was 8 years old and had first been diagnosed with a rare form of genetic lung disease.

He had collapsed at school and almost died, and it began a near-endless journey of medications, therapies and surgeries to try and save his life.

Quite often the desperate and increasingly radical attempts to save him meant that he had little or no real quality of life along the way. His childhood existence was taken up mostly with trying not to die.

He missed years of school, lost out on many of the basics of growing up; had never had a girlfriend or got to travel.

He was 19 years old now, and had recently begun an art degree.

We were excited for him because it was the first time he'd been able to focus on something that wasn't his health.

And now this.

My heart was in a million pieces.

In a cruel twist he looked healthier than I had remembered seeing him. His hair had never been so thick or lustrous, falling in golden locks around his ears. His eyebrows had never been so striking or dark, or his jaw so masculine and strong.

It was tragically unfair the disease would choose this moment to be victorious.

I wished I could call Mom and Dad. I respected my brother's right to tell them himself. But he didn't realize how much I needed their support - especially Mom's.

The burden of the news was a pressure I wasn't sure I could handle alone. I had a history of anxiety issues, mostly related to my vertigo.

I knew I had my brother for support, of course. But it felt weak to lean on him to help me deal with his own tragedy.

If I couldn't be brave, what chance did he have?

***

His eyes flickered awake and he looked at me.

"Did we fall asleep all night?"

"Less than an hour!" I said, glancing at the clock. "It's the dark clouds."

"I'm starving," he said.

"Look at the ocean. It's stunning!"

He sat up to see. The last red lines of sunlight were disappearing beneath the horizon, as though a blood-red wound was closing over the sea.

Then it was gone and darkness filled the sky.

Rogue was whining.

"Start a fire," I said to James. "I'll fix us something to eat. Come on girl, supper time!"

Approximately three minutes later I came back into the living room.

"It turns out we only have dog food," I said.

"Well, someone's gonna be happy," said James.

"I was supposed to get groceries this afternoon but my little brother showed up out of the blue to break my heart."

"Ah, it's my fault!" he said, laughing.

"Shall we get home delivery?"

"Better still... " he said sitting up, "let's go to the store, and on the way back we can get Scoops!"

Scoops was this cool, indie ice cream store we'd loved since we were kids.

"It's hardly on the way," I said. "It's like ten minutes farther. You do know there's a storm coming?"

"I'd like to taste Scoops one last time," he said.

"Oh god," I said, remembering with horror. "Of course we'll go to Scoops!"

My eyes filled with tears for the ninth time that evening. It looked like I had pinkeye.

I prayed we wouldn't run into anyone at the store. It was such a small neighborhood.

"Shall we take Rogue?" James asked.

The dog was noisily devouring the only bowl of food left in the world.

"She'll be fine for a bit. We'll be right back."

***

James drove us to the store in Dad's car.

I don't know if he could tell I was watching him in the darkness.

He had never looked so grown up, or so physically attractive. But his mood was darker than I'd known it. He was carrying the crushing burden of his fate.

My heart broke for him. This should have been the moment he was starting out on a wild ride. Instead his life was coming to an end. How did a person process something like that?

"Why didn't you call ahead?" I asked him.

"Huh?"

"Let Mom and Dad know you were coming?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise."

"Surprise! I'm dying!" I said.

He laughed. "Fair point. But then how much better is: I'm coming home for an important announcement. Assemble the family at dawn!"

"Oh god, they would have insisted you tell them instantly," I said.

"Exactly!"

"Slow down," I urged him.

The short drive was steep and mostly downhill and my brother was not the most confidence-inducing driver.

"I hate it that we can't tell Mom and Dad yet," I said.

"Please, Clare. Don't start this again."

"I'm not bringing it up to argue," I said. "I told you, it's up to you. I just feel sick thinking of them at the ballet right now, enchanted by the dancing. And they don't know. They don't know this thing that's going to break their hearts."

"I hope it doesn't affect Dad's heart," he said.

"The ballet? All those girls in tights?"

He laughed.

"Of course it's going to," I said. "It's going to stop Dad's heart. And Mom's. And mine. Forever. We will never, ever recover from this, James." I was clutching at his arm on the gear shift. "I'm sorry but we won't."

"It's ok. You're still in shock. I've had longer to process it than you. You'll be fine when we get some ice cream down you."

"How long have you known?" I asked.

"I got the test results back a week ago. They ran them again to be sure. The second ones were worse."

"Jesus."

"But I've lived with this shit my whole life, Clare, we all have. If this family knows how to do anything it's prepare for me to die."

"You could defy expectations again," I said, hopefully.

"Not this time. My luck has run out."

We pulled into the lot of the convenience store.

The wind had picked up and on the short walk from the car to the store entrance, a light rain began to fall.

"Fuck Scoops," he said. "Let's get ice cream from here."

We managed to choose and purchase our groceries quickly and decisively, and would have been out the store within minutes, but we heard a voice:

"James Wilson? No way! James!"

It was a girl called Wendy who had been in James's year at High School.

"OMG! You look amazing," she said to him. "Sophi!" Her friend was finishing in the checkout line behind her. "Look who it is! It's James Wilson from school!"

"OMG," said Sophi, in exactly the same tone as her friend. "No way. You look amazing!"

"You really do!" Wendy agreed. "So are you, like, better now? Everyone thought you were going to die."

"They really did," Sophi assured him.

"I'm a ghost," he said.

"How long are you home? Maybe you should take my number," said Wendy. She was practically purring.

"I'm hanging with my sister this weekend," said James politely. "But nice to see you both."

"Ok, bye James!"

"See ya James! I'm on Instagram!"

Their voices were like kisses blown after him.

We had to grab the groceries and make a mad dash for the car because the rain was falling so heavily now.

"Be careful driving back up the hill," I warned him. "It gets slippery in this weather."

"I do know," he said, "I have been in this family for 19 years too, did you notice? I was the one on a ventilator."

"I don't mean to fuss you like Mom does."

"Then don't."

"Ok. Stopped."

The visibility was poor on the narrow, climbing road.

"What flavor ice cream did we get again?"

"You got plain," he said. "I got butterscotch hazelnut. Which one of us lives life in the fast lane?"

"I didn't get plain. I got vanilla!"

"Which is plain."

"Vanilla is a flavor like everything else. Maybe we could mix n' match. Pretty please?" I walked my fingers up his arm.

"I am pleased you acknowledge the error of your choice," he said. "And yes, my butterscotch hazelnut will come to the rescue of your plain, boring life!"

"Boring? How dare you!"

He stopped joking for a moment and said more seriously: "I'd give anything for a boring life."

"I want you to know," I said, "if I could give my life to save you, I would."

He reached for my hand and kissed it to his lips.

"I know that's true."

We listened to the billowing storm outside for a while, and the squeaky defense of the windshield wipers.

"Who were those two girls at the store?" I asked.

"They were in my year. Can't say they ever spoke to me. But then no girls spoke to me."

"Well, they were super into you tonight."

"I know, it's tiresome," he said.

"I don't get it. Why are you upset two hot girls think you're a stud?"

He snapped at me: "Because it's too late, Clare! They paid no attention to me when I was at school. No girls did. When I was fixed up to respirators, or carrying an IV drip into Geography class. I was the weird, sick kid. Nobody saw me as a regular guy."

"Well, they have a big crush on you now," I said. "You could take some satisfaction from that."

"I can't get no satisfaction," he said.

He didn't mean it as a joke.

2

When we arrived home, I made us dinner while James went upstairs to shower.

I probably should have jumped in the shower too. My hair was a tangled mess from the rain. But I figured we should eat because it was almost 8 PM.

The storm continued unabated and several times the lights flashed off and on.

When James came downstairs he was barefoot. He wore a pair of cargo pants and a sweater. His hair was still drying and looked darker than usual. I don't think he'd ever appeared more tragically beautiful. His eyes were a hollow gray.

I wanted to rush over and hold him and never let him go.

Instead I was burning his supper.

"Shit," I said, blowing the flame out on the grill pan. "I can't do anything right."

"You do more right than anyone in this family," he said.

It was sweet and I might have cried if there was any moisture left in my tear ducts.

Dinner didn't taste too bad, but James seemed preoccupied. It wasn't as though I couldn't understand why.

We treated ourselves with a bottle of expensive wine, stolen from Dad's cellar, and reminisced about growing up in the big house on top of a cliff. We laughed so much, and I cried several times, despite not imagining I could anymore.

We recalled how growing up he had been the sickly one, while I was the one whose vertigo was so bad I had to be carried up flights of stairs until I was 7. He mocked me for not being able to step foot out onto the balcony, even now - I hadn't dared go out there for almost seventeen years.

And the whole time it hammered down with rain. We could hear it on the shutters and the rooftops. As the wind rattled the window panes like it was demanding something from us.

After dinner we sat on the sofa in front of the fire. James at one end, me at the other; our legs like sardines beneath the blue whale blanket, as we'd named it - because it was blue and big enough to envelop us. It almost still did.

We opened a second bottle of wine but went with a cheaper one this time because we already knew Dad was gonna freak.

"Don't worry, I'll tell him I'm dying," said James, laughing.

"That's not funny," I said. Although it was a relief he still had his sense of humor.

I couldn't tell the difference between the cheap bottle and the expensive one we'd finished. They both tasted exactly like wine. But both made me tipsy.

Then we ate our ice cream, and my brother shared his, like a gentleman.

He was right. I had picked the inferior flavor. I'd played it safe. Because that's what I did. I was afraid of heights, while he liked to scale them.

"There's something I have to ask you," he said in-between mouthfuls. "A sort of favor."

"You already know the answer's yes," I said. "I told you, anything you need!"

"You might not say yes to this one."

He sounded serious.

"Try me!"

I was merry from the wine and high on the butterscotch

"It's pretty personal," he said.

"Oh?"

"And quite intimate."

Now I was super curious.

"Did you know I'm still a virgin?" he asked.

'So what?" I said. "I was a virgin til I was 21!"

"Yeah, but I'm not going to be 21."

I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach again.

"I'm not going to be 20," he said. "I'm never gonna know what it's like to have that with someone."

It was harder for him to talk about this than it had been for him to tell me he was dying.

"Oh god James. I hate this for you."

"And it hurts because I always figured sex is pretty awesome."

"Well, it's overrated and misrepresented by movies and magazines," I said, "and porno. But yeah, it's okay."

"I don't want to die a virgin, Clare."

"We'll hire you a hooker!" I said triumphantly. "And I mean a high-quality, clean one. You could even keep her for a few days!"

I made it sound like we could grab her from Vons.

"I bet Dad would pay," I said. "Knowing Dad, he'll ask her to stick around!" I got up to find a local newspaper for the racy classifieds at the back.

"Clare, no! Come back," he said. "I don't want a hooker. I'm trying to have a conversation with you."

"Or you could call those girls from the grocery store! They looked like they would have serviced you there and then!"

"Clare, please" he said, "this is serious. I'm trying to ask something. And it's not easy. I need you to hear me out."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm all ears."

I poured myself another glass of wine to be all ears with.

"I already know how I want to fix the problem," he said, "and I don't want to do it with a random person. I want to experience it with somebody I love and trust; someone who matters."

"Ah! You want to make love," I said.

"Exactly!"

"It is much better when feelings are involved," I said, confidently - as if I was any authority on sexual matters.

"But I don't have time left to grow feelings with someone," he said.

He looked like he was about to cry. I reached out for his hand and held it.

"I'll never know what it feels like to be touched. Or kissed," he said. He began sobbing, but almost as quickly, started to laugh: "I promised myself I wouldn't cry when I asked you this."

"Asked me what?"

His eyes were beautiful and intense.

"Asked me what, James?"

"Would you make love to me?"

I was so shocked that the room began to wobble.

"No I will not!" I said. "And you shouldn't ask me that. Are you even serious?"

He nodded.

"Oh my God, you're serious!"

I downed my glass of wine. I wanted to cry. I felt dizzy and lightheaded

"We already love each other," he said.

This time I got up. I didn't know where I was headed but it was in the vague direction of the wall.

"Clare, don't leave. Come back!"

"Not if you're going to carry on with this creepy talk," I said. "We're brother and sister, James."

The rain outside grew more intense, as if it were as appalled as me.

"Just come back and sit down," he said, "you promised you'd help."

"Not by spreading my legs for you, little brother."

"All I want is for you to listen."

He dangled the bottle of wine mid-air, ready to pour me another glass if I returned.

It seemed like a reasonable deal so I sat back down.

"I totally understand your gut reaction," he said, refilling my glass. "It would be mine too, under normal circumstances. But I'm dying. Really fast. And to put that in perspective, I'm not going to live to see the finale of The Masked Singer. People spend 30 days of their lives in the blink of an eye. But it's all I've got left. You're the only one who can grant me this wish. No-one will ever have to know. And it will be about love."