Sibling Love Ch. 01

The end of winter was obviously near, and spring was already showing its face. Outside the windows I could see the neighbours gardens in bloom, their lawns trimmed and the sky above a perfect cloudless blue. I envied the people who were out today, picnicking maybe or walking in the park with friends. I wished I could be one of them, free of these heavy thoughts that were burdening my mind.

The curtains were open all over the house and light was flooding in pleasantly, making everything look a lot warmer and more welcoming than it had last night. The polish on the floorboards was shining, the sink was gleaming and there were big squares of sunlight on the floor in front of the windows. I could have almost smiled.

Mum and dad were no where to be seen when I arrived in the kitchen, nor was Kevin, which brought my nerves down a noticeable notch. I cast my eyes warily around the room and then proceeded towards the fridge to find something to eat. Not wanting to spend too long in the kitchen, I grabbed the bread and the cheese and put together a very spartan sandwich. I was just returning the ingredients back to the fridge when Kevin walked into the kitchen, stopping as soon as he saw me. I, too, stopped halfway to the fridge, my whole body tensing up under his gaze.

We stood there for maybe a full minute, just staring at each other, Kevin looking as awkward as I felt. Eventually, he dropped his gaze and I turned away. It looked as though he hadn't had much sleep – there were dark rings under his eyes and his skin was paler than usual. I wanted to ask him if he was okay, but I couldn't. Even if I had been prepared for his answer, I wasn't sure if my mouth would comply and speak the words.

I didn't need to speak though, as Kevin did first. He took another tentative step into the kitchen as I continued to the fridge and put the cheese and bread away. I didn't want him to get too close, and he seemed to realise it. He stopped where he was and his gaze swept the room anxiously, fixing on me, then the floor, then the wall over my shoulder. It was obviously hard for him, and probably not something he was used to doing. He was displaying more maturity than I was though, and in strange way I respected him for it.

"How are you?" he finally asked when his gaze fell back on me. I wasn't prepared in the least for his words and his low, rough voice cut into me like a blade; it was nothing like his voice had been last night, when we were making jokes and fighting over the last M&M.

"Fine," I replied curtly, unable to meet his gaze as he was meeting mine, at least some of the time. I stared at his shoes for a moment then turned around to find a plate for my sandwich.

I could see him, or rather feel him, casting about for things to say, maybe trying to gauge what my reaction would be to what he wanted to say. I had the feeling that he was treating the situation with the utmost delicacy, almost as though he was afraid I'd explode into tears again and storm out if he said one wrong word. If that was what he was thinking, he wasn't exactly far off. Although I didn't feel tears just yet, I was ready to get out of the kitchen; it was just too painful.

"I...uh...told mum and dad you weren't feeling well last night," Kevin said to me.

I glanced briefly at him. "Thanks." He nodded.

And then there it was: that pause brimming with discomfort and trepidation and inevitability.

"Listen, Kyla—."

I picked up my sandwich. "I think I'm going to go back to my room." I started off towards the stairs and felt ready to collapse when I heard him hurrying after me.

"Kyla, wait." He closed his hand around my wrist. I spun around and yanked it free, my eyes starting to moisten.

"Don't," I said to him.

"Kyla, we have to talk." I wondered if the frequent use of my name was meant to calm me down, or maybe calm him down.

"I know," I replied. "But not now."

"Then when?"

"I don't know."

I chanced a look at his face, and found his eyes fixed inertly on mine. He was having no trouble looking at me, and that infuriated me, considering how hard it was for me to even be in the same room as him. And being this close, having his hand on my wrist, it was such a painful reminder of everything that had happened, of those few quick minutes that had caused so much agony.

He searched my face quickly and then his shoulders relaxed. "All right," he said more softly. "I'll wait."

I almost thanked him for being so patient with me, for letting me take the time to sort my thoughts out and prepare myself for what it was he had to say to me. But I didn't, because that would have screwed things up even more.

As it was, I was able to walk silently out of the room, rather than storming out. I clutched the plate tightly until my knuckles were white. The distance to the top of the stairs seemed endless, made longer by the fact that Kevin was quite obviously watching me go. I managed to hang on to my composure until I got inside my room and closed the door, at which point I put the plate hastily down and caught at the wall to stop from falling.

* * *

Dear Journal,

Well, I did it – I confronted Kyla. And though it didn't exactly turn out the way I had hoped it would, it's a start. If nothing else, I now know thatshe knows we have to talk. She said so herself, though she wasn't prepared to do so yet. I don't know how long it'll be before she feels ready; I only hope it's not too long.

They say makeup can do wonders for a rough night's sleep, but I've never known Kyla to use any, so her fatigue showed. She looked much the worse for wear. I realise now that she's taking this a lot harder than I am, though it hasn't exactly been a picnic for me. I never could understand how guys I know could engage in sordid bouts of sex that didn't even qualify as a one-night stand. The parties they would talk about and the girls they'd mention never held any interest for me. I guess I just place a lot of meaning on sex, in all of its forms. And after last night, I know beyond a doubt that that view will never change. And I guess this philosophy is more common to females, which is why Kyla is taking it so much harder.

I felt almost guilty when I started to think about what impact last night would have on the rest of my life. With things starting to happen between Danielle and I, and the possibility of my first girlfriend in the mix, I couldn't help but wander whether I would have to tell her about this, should we ever get together. Did this mean that my first sexual experience would forever involve my own sister? Those thoughts weren't pleasant and led to all sorts of agonising questions.

Still, it was better to focus on the short-term, make things right with Kyla andthen worry about Danielle. I only hope I can do those things sooner rather than later.

* * *

Dear Journal,

I didn't see Kyla for the rest of Saturday evening. I did hear her get up this morning though and take a shower, which was a good sign I supposed. After leaving the bathroom she spent close to an hour in her room before I heard her footsteps on the stairs. I was sitting at the table at the time, flipping idly through the day's newspaper. I looked up when she appeared on the stairs and noted immediately that she was looking much better. She had donned a skirt and short-sleeve top in the spirit of the weather; her hair looked a lot tamer and her face had some colour in it other than the burning spots on her cheeks.

"Hi," I said simply, wondering whether she'd reply or if she'd merely turn around and go back upstairs.

She did reply, however, with a quick, "Hey." She still wouldn't meet my gaze, but I couldn't exactly blame her. It had been two days and yet the memory of her staring into eyes was still crystal clear. I watched as she moved about the kitchen making a bowl of cereal, then took a seat opposite me at the table to eat. She kept her head down but I got the impression she knew I was still looking at her. I turned the page over.

"Mum and dad are out," I said. At last she looked up, as though I was about to pounce on her with questions and accusations. Not wanting to frighten her or put unnecessary pressure on her, I decided again that this wasn't the time to talk and turned back to the newspaper. Kyla though, didn't turn back to her cereal.

"You want to talk," she said; a statement rather than a question.

I looked up. "Only if you want to."

"I don't," she replied. "But I know we should."

"We can wait longer," I said. "If you need to."

"No. It'll be worse if we do."

I nodded and then realised I didn't know what to say. I stared blankly down at the stretch of table between us; Kyla did likewise. We were silent for quite some time

Eventually, Kyla said, "So does our talk include talking?"

I looked up and actually smiled, for the first time in almost two days. Kyla even managed a tiny smile, though it was fleeting and soon disappeared. At last I settled for the best thing to say, which was also the simplest and most obvious.

"I'm sorry."

Kyla raised her eyes with a look of confusion on her face. "Sorry?" she said. "Why should you be sorry? I was the one that...." She broke off, as I knew she would, and she dropped her defeated gaze back to her cereal. "You didn't start it."

"I didn't stop it either," I replied. And it was the truth. I could have stopped it at any time, though perhaps that would have been worse, as I would be in the clear and Kyla would be feeling the full brunt of the responsibility. She would never have mustered the courage to speak to me again after that.

What she asked next though, surprised me, and I got the feeling that it wasn't easy for her to ask, but that it was the one question she was most curious about. "Why didn't you?" She looked up as she said it.

I opened my mouth to speak, then closed it, then tried again and closed it once more. It was now me staring down at the table and quavering under Kyla's gaze, as unsteady as it was.

At length I said: "I've never...I mean, I haven't ever..." I looked up and met her eyes in an effort to communicate my meaning without the need for words. I think she got it; she opened her mouth to reply but shut it again as I had. "I mean," I continued, "it's not easy to...to stop."

Eyes lowered, she nodded. "I know."

"But I should have, and I'm sorry that I didn't."

"Don't be," Kyla replied. "It's not your fault. I'm sorry for what I did. And I'm sorry for running out. I just...needed time."

"Me too," I replied. "I just didn't want things to fall apart between us. I mean...lately, it's been..."

"Different," Kyla finished for me. "I know."

"And I like having things different," I said.

"Me too."

I took a deep breath and wondered whether this was a good place to get out while I was ahead. I lowered my head to peer up into her down-turned face. "Are you okay?" I asked.

She looked up and forced a smile. "Yeah."

I kept my eyes on her for a while longer, reading her expression as I could always do with Kyla, to see if she really was going to be okay. She was still hurting, I knew, and still embarrassed about what had happened, but shewould be okay. I only hoped things betweenus would be okay.

"It wasn't your fault," I reiterated. She smiled a bit more genuinely.

"Thank you," she said. "For making me talk about it. I don't think I would have if you hadn't. And thank you for not hating me."

"Hate you?" I said in shock. "Why would I hate you?"

"I don't know," Kyla replied idly. "I was just worried you'd never speak to me again."

"That's what you were worried about?" I asked in surprise.

"Most of it."

"You don't ever have to worry about that, Kyla," I said, trying my best to emphasise that point. "Things are different now. You can always talk to me...about anything. You know that, right?"

She looked at me and nodded pleasantly. "Thanks."

"No problem," I said, taking another deep breath and swimming back to reality. The sun was still shining and the world was still rotating and everything was going to be fine. I considered asking Kyla if she wanted to go out somewhere, or take a walk, or watch some TV, but I thought it best to give her some more time alone, especially considering the latter suggestion may have resulted in more painfully resurfacing memories.

I stood up and headed for the stairs, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder as I past, which she covered briefly with her own hand and looked up at me with a now steady smile.

* * *

Dear Diary,

We did it; we talked and it wasn't bad. I'm not in tears and Kevin doesn't hate me and I don't think I'll be scarred for life anymore. I can't express how much of a relief it is, to finally talk about it and put it behind us. And Kevin was so good about it; he told me it wasn't my fault and made sure I was okay and everything. He can be so understanding when he wants to. I'm not sure what I expected – I didn't see Kevin as the type of person to yell at me – but it was just a lot easier than I thought.

The whole time my stomach was just brimming with happiness and gladness that we had finally resolved it. I don't think I've ever felt so relieved in my life. Strangely though, I was also relieved by what Kevin had said about the event itself, about not being able to stop, which was exactly how I felt at the time. In the end I guess we were just two young virgins caught up in a new sensation that we had no power to stop.

Oh yeah, I know now that Kevinis a virgin. He actually told me, though...not in so many words. I was shocked to hear him say, but somehow not really surprised. I know that sounds like I'm selling him short but...Kevin doesn't strike me as the kind of guy to 'give it away' lightly. And now I can't believe I'm writing about this stuff. And I'm smiling too. What's wrong with me?

Anyway, I'm just happy (so, so happy) to have things back to normal again, or as normal as they'll ever be. I guess there's still the worrying possibility that the experience will forever hang between us as an unspoken memory; but after our conversation I don't think that's very likely. Even when Kevin touched my shoulder at the end, there wasn't that sickening pang that I felt the last two times he touched me, only a light fluttering in my chest because of how relieved I was feeling. And now things are back to normal – simple and uncomplicated, just the way I like them.

* * *

Dear Diary,

Monday morning. I'm early for school so I decided to write this down quickly, before I forget it. I had a dream last night, about Kevin. We were walking home again, on that day a few weeks ago, only this time he had his hand on my shoulder the whole time, and he was telling me again that I could talk to him about anything. He said it over and over until I wondered whether there was something I was supposed to be telling him. I think I may have dreamt about being a goldfish after that. I don't know what the dream meant (either of them) but it was funny nonetheless, having it.

* * *

Dear Journal,

Things with Kyla are better, which is a relief. This morning, before school, I saw her in the kitchen, and she smiled at me amiably, which let me know that she, too, was feeling much better. At school, too, I saw her once, walking past me in the locker bay with a group of her friends. One of her friends was talking to her in rapt tones but Kyla didn't seem to be paying too much attention. She had a smile fixed almost permanently on her face and it didn't vanish when she looked up and saw me. I smiled back and she kept on walking.

Danielle too, seemed much happier. I guess she's finally getting over her break-up with Anthony, which is a good sign. I don't want to push things with her, but after waiting close to five years for someone, it's hard just being friends. I've hinted, certainly, and I think she may have hinted back, but things haven't seemed to progress from there.

Her friends tell me she's happy when she's with me – that I make her laugh. And God knows I'm happy when I'm with her, which is something of a rare occurrence. Being friends with her is great, but I'm not sure I can keep it like that. I thought that all I wanted was to be around her, and then maybe see where that leads, but it's hard. Her smile gets me every time. I've never seen a smile like that before.

* * *

Dear Diary,

I cannot believe the entry I'm about to write. I...I feel sick – and I don't want to write it, but I know I have to because if I needed to deal with what happened before, then there's no way I can escape dealing with this.

I'm not crying this time, but only because I'm not sure if I want to. I'm not even sure how I feel. I'm not angry and I'm not upset, but I'm certainly not happy. I think confusion wins out at this point, though that could change. I have no idea how this could have happened, or even if ithas happened. Maybe I'm reading too much into it. Maybe there's nothing to think about.

I'm stalling, I know, but it's hard. This is so much worse than what happened last Friday – so, so, so much worse. And now it sounds like I went further with Kevin. I didn't – it's worse than that. It's...

I think I'm in love with him.

Oh God, it evenlooks crazy. But, like I said, maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm misreading my feelings. After all, I've never been in love before – how would I know what it feels like? It's just...it was so strange.

Okay, I was at school, sitting in the quadrangle during lunchtime, with my friends, eating our lunch as usual. And, as usual, the subject of conversation turned to boys. Now, I can guess easily enough that Kevin was only on my mind because of what had happened over the weekend, and because I had seen him at his locker; and so the mixture of the two topics was...bad.

Marissa was at her usual garrulous self, talking about the perfect guy in this case. Strangely though, they didn't focus on the physical side this time, and instead started on about all the personality traits their dream guy would have. So by this time I was already letting my attention wander, not wanting to listen to another mindless eruption of giddy-teenage-girl syndrome. And, I guess my attention chose to wander onto Kevin.

So there I was, thinking about how things were better between us and how nice he had been about it all, when Marissa starts reeling off her dream-qualities.

"He's gotta be sensitive," she said, and I felt myself nod. "And charming and witty and smart." Check, check, check. "And he understands what girls are like and doesn't treat us like objects." And I found myself checking off all of her points against none other than my own brother! Of course, I didn't realise I was doing it until I gazed off across the quadrangle and saw Kevin sitting with his friends and felt the enormous smile on my face.Then, I realised, and I ran. Well, I walked, but it was a quick walk. I told my friends something about needing to see a teacher, which, in their present state of awareness of reality, was enough to sate their curiosity.

So I went to my locker and hyper-ventilated I think, then I hid myself in the stacks in the library, then I splashed copious amounts of water on my face in the bathroom until I was in danger of soaking my shirt, and finally, when the bell rang, I walked mechanically to class and realised what a mistake that was. During my last two periods, all I could think about was Kevin, and how this feeling in my stomach wouldn't go away unless I did.

It's preposterous, I know. It'sludicrous. It's...it's absurd. I can'tpossibly be in love with my own brother. I mean, sexual attraction is one thing and – oh God, do I have that too? No. No, I can't. Well, maybe I can...havethat, but not the other thing. My body just remembers what it was like, and it wants more, because that's what bodies want. It would probably be happy with any guy, not just Kevin. And does that make me sound like a slut?