Sisters Ch. 01: Intimacy

She squealed, arched her back and instinctively tried to force Wes's face harder against her. As a reflex, her legs tightened around his head and she tried to roll to her side. She cried out a series of breathy "AHH!" sounds alternating them with gasps of breath. Wes had just enough maneuverability to run his tongue up her slit and to press it against her clit one more time. The last sensation renewed the vigor of her release, and she gripped a breast with her hand, squeezing until it hurt.

Slowly, she recollected herself. After a few deep breaths, she looked at Wes, who was standing and smiling down at her. "Water," she demanded hoarsely. Wes took a few steps over to the nightstand and picked up a bottle. He handed it to her and Hannah realized she might not have been the only one who expected them to end up in the bedroom that evening. There had been two bottles of water on the nightstand...

After a minute to catch her breath, Hannah noticed that Wes's khaki pants were bulging out around his erection.. With great enthusiasm, she unlatched his belt and pulled his pants down. In one smooth motion, he lifted his leg out of his briefs and put his knee on the bed. Kicking his underwear off the other foot, he pushed gently against Hannah, forcing her onto her back.

"OK like this?" he asked softly.

Hannah almost laughed at how considerate he was. This was definitely OK. She hadn't been able to nod her head more than twice when she felt his knob pushing past her folds. He didn't wait; he didn't need to. She was ready for his entrance and he was ready to enter. Adjusting his elbows just a bit for leverage, he thrust all the way in, grunting softly.

"I know I've told you that you're pretty," he whispered. "But like this, you are a hundred times more beautiful than I imagined."

"Ooohh, you've been imagining me naked?" she cooed.

"I have," he said, with a hint of embarrassment, "but my imagination didn't do you justice."

Such words tended to just bounce off Hannah, and though she didn't react the way most women would to such genuine praise, she still felt a slight hint of warmth at the comment. Not knowing how else to respond, she put her arms around his neck, kissed him deeply, and began moving her hips. At the first hint of movement, Wes sighed deeply.

"It's been a while," he whispered.

"You should get out more," she replied, then instantly regretted it.

"It's not that," he said, seeming unbothered by the implication of her remark. "Bedmates aren't that hard to find. It's finding someone who you really want to be with. And that's my standard."

"Oh," she said softly, not quite understanding.

"I don't just want a body in bed with me," he continued. "I want a person."

And then Hannah understood. She had been right about Wes. He was the kind of guy who saw her as something more. Whether or not he was right to do so was a different issue. But if she could keep up the ruse long enough to start feeling safe again, maybe she could actually be who she was pretending to be.

And maybe, perhaps, she might not get scared.

As she thought these things, Wes was speeding up his thrusts into her depths. Once his breathing became erratic, he paused, then slowed down again.

"I don't want it to end yet," he explained. "I want to stay this close to you for as long as I can."

Hannah pushed back the guilt she felt. Was it wrong to be pretending for his sake? What if it really made him happy? Feeling the need to control things a little more, she said, "Let's switch."

Wes shifted his weight to the side, carrying her body as he rolled and stopping once he was on his back and Hannah was straddling him.

"Oh God," he said, looking at her body as it rose over him. Hannah knew that if she continued to work his cock and also arched her back to push her breasts out, Wes would find it hard to hold back. She wasn't wrong. He reached up and caressed her chest, moaning in appreciation. Her hips bounced up and down, almost rising high enough for Wes to slip out. Rather than speed up, however, she slowed down, pushing harder on her lover and feeling him try to press further up into her.

"Mmmmm... yeah...yeah!" Wes grunted, suddenly gripping Hannah's hips and pulling her down. He groaned, "HNNNNGGGH!" and froze. The corner of Hannah's mouth turned up in amusement as Wes's face grimaced in pleasure. She felt the pulsing in her depths and subconsciously began counting each one. He relaxed and pulled out a little, still twitching.

Five... Six... Seven, she mentally tallied. Then as she slowly lifted up... Eight. Wes exhaled loudly, his eyes closed, his head deep in the pillow. Hannah left him there as she washed up and dressed. When he noticed she had her pants back on, he frowned and said, "Stay the night. It's OK."

With a kind smile, Hannah leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Not this time, lover. I'll see myself out." She heard him in the bathroom as she picked up her shirt from the couch. The desire to run out the door was getting stronger, but she resolved to exit calmly. By the time she was at the door, Wes was there, wearing just a pair of sweatpants. He pulled her face in for one last kiss, then he opened the door for her without a word. They smiled and said good-night. Hannah was halfway back to her apartment when she felt the odd compulsion to turn around and stay the night.

*******

She didn't stay the next time either, but after a few weeks, they were regularly spending nights together. After a few months, Hannah ended her lease and moved in with Wes. There were moments - only a few at first, but more and more as the months went by - when she felt safe. When she felt at home.

She would feel it when she would curl up close to him at night and he would ask her about work, or when she would hear him walk in the door at the end of the day. She would feel it when he entered her and waited for her eyes to find his before continuing.

But she still felt like she was playacting, like she was a prisoner in the character she had created. She thought that if she said all the right words and did all the right things, they would start to become genuine. But it never happened. She smiled, though she seldom felt like smiling. She spoke affectionately when she didn't mean it.

But she stayed. Even when she was frightened to be so close to someone, she stayed.

*******

Hannah awoke to the feeling of a hand on her hip. She was still groggy and unsure what was happening. Then she felt it behind her. It was pushing up against her, trying to get between her legs. Her heart raced. Her eyes tried to adjust to the dark room to look for help, but she knew that help wouldn't come. Help never came. Only he ever came. He would come, he would cum, and he would leave.

But this time was different - he had made a mistake: he wasn't holding her hands down. Her breathing quickened with excitement. Excitement and terror. After a few seconds, she had the opportunity she needed. He shifted behind her, adjusting his approach. She pounced forward and grabbed the alarm clock. Spinning around, she hit his face. It must have been a good shot to the nose - blood splattered through his fingers as he covered the wound.

"HANNAH!" he screamed.

She reached back to the nightstand and grabbed the metal lamp. Yanking it loose from the wall, she hit him over the back of the head. While he was stunned, she pushed him off the bed and onto the floor. She kicked. She hit. She swore. She spat. She swung the lamp again and again. And all he did was lie on the floor and take it, curled up in a ball, trying to protect his head with his arms. He wasn't so tough now.

"Hannah, STOP! What the HELL?" he was screaming. She stopped for a moment, panting. Gripping the lamp in her rage, she stared down at... at... Wes. Oh God. It was Wes.

She dropped the lamp. She put her hands on her head. "No, no, no, no..." she began chanting. It couldn't be Wes. What had she done? He was bleeding. Something didn't sound right in his throat. She looked at the door. She took a few steps in that direction. A voice in her head said, Fucked it up again, didn't you? Just as well, you didn't deserve him.

She stopped and steadied her nerves. It was his voice. How dare he? She couldn't let him keep pushing her buttons. Run? That's what he'd want her to do. She turned around and went for her phone.

*******

Hannah hadn't cried in a long time. She wasn't sure if she had ever cried like she did that night in the emergency room. It wasn't the first time one of them had woken up the other with sex. Usually she initiated it. They joked about it. They enjoyed it. But that night... Maybe she had been dreaming, maybe something had sparked a memory. Whatever the cause, she had been lost in the belief that Nicholas was there, raping her for the thousandth time. And all the sober, unflinching, emotionless resolve that she had built up over the years crumbled in a second.

And it was Wes's fault. No, he hadn't done anything wrong. He had loved her and treasured her and made her feel safe. But in that environment of love and protection, she had lowered her defenses. The problem was, some walls aren't just for keeping things out. Once the defenses were lowered just a bit, there was no longer anything to keep her fear and rage in check.

But why did it have to be Wes? A distant part of her mind tried to suggest that it was a good and strange thing that she even cared what happened to Wes. That soft voice tried to fan into flame the compassion that had been sparked. But it was caring that had landed him in the hospital, she countered.

And so she sat there in the waiting room, clinging to a bathrobe that she had put over his naked body while waiting for the ambulance. He hadn't moved and she hadn't dared to try to move him. He had stayed there on the floor of the bedroom, blood dripping down his beard, curled up in a fetal position and groaning for ten minutes of eternity. The police arrived with the ambulance. They talked to her at the house and then escorted her to the hospital. They weren't arresting her, but it was clear they were keeping an eye on her until they could talk to Wes.

At one point, shortly before dawn, a young doctor came out and told her a lot of things she didn't have the capacity to process. It seemed Wes was going to be OK, but there was a punctured lung, a broken nose, some chipped teeth and a lot of stitches. She didn't ask if she could see him. Should she ask to see him? She could see a police officer heading down the hall towards the direction where they had taken Wes. She thanked the doctor and sat down. He looked back over his shoulder, then turned back to Hannah and gave her a forced smile. Without another word he turned and walked briskly back down the hall.

Hannah listened to the muted beeps and buzzes and other noises around her. She stared at the clock, then at a display of brochures, then at a stain on the floor. Her mind wouldn't engage, like a stalled engine that refused to turn. She found herself pulled in two directions. On the one hand, she hurt for Wes, she feared for herself, she regretted her actions, and she longed to run down the hall, throw her arms around him, and apologize. But on the other hand, she felt a hardening in her soul. The walls were going back up. She didn't need to care about Wes. Life would be much easier if she didn't.

After some period of indeterminable time - long enough for daylight but not long enough for the sun to break over the horizon - she saw the doctor and a police officer walking down the hall together, talking in soft undertones.

The officer exited the room and the doctor came up to her.

"He's awake for a little while longer, if you'd like to go see him for a few minutes."

Hannah's eyes were on the exit door that the police officer had just used. She hadn't been told that she was in any trouble, which meant she was free to leave. She looked at the door and thought about heading out. It would be easier.

"Ma'am?" the doctor prompted. Hannah felt herself being pushed down the hall - not by any external force but by an undeniable spark of human sentiment that asserted itself over her will, despite her intention to walk the other way.

She tried not to react when she saw him. At the very least, she didn't cry or blubber or throw her arms around him. Wes looked sadly in her direction.

"Sorry about all this," she said calmly. "I thought you were someone else."

Wes's eyebrows knit together in confusion.

The doctor's soft voice spoke from behind her. "Excuse me, like I mentioned earlier, his jaw was dislocated. He won't be speaking just yet." Wes leaned his head back into the pillow and sighed.

Hannah looked up and down the battered body, noticing with only passing interest the bandages and tubes. Wes lifted his head and looked at her, his expression hard to read. He raised his eyebrows, questioning her, wanting to know more.

Poor guy, she thought. He had no idea what kind of hornet's nest he'd stumbled into when he met me. Oh well...

Straightening up and setting his robe on the chair next to the bed, Hannah said, "Well, Wes, I know this is bad timing and all, but it's probably better for both of us if I move on."

A flash of anger in his eyes, then fear. He shook his head back and forth. "Hm-mm, HM-mm."

"Yes, yes it is. I know it's a bit dickish of me to leave you in the hospital, but I think it's something that has to be done now while I'm thinking clearly. I'll let your sister know you're here, OK?" Acting on some impulse of propriety, she stepped closer, leaned over and kissed his forehead, aiming for a spot between two small bandages that no doubt covered fresh stitches. Wes tried to shake his head and even reached his arm up. But he was too weak to grab her elbow when he got his hand on it.

"I'll clean up the bedroom and leave the key in your nightstand before I go," she said casually as she turned around. The doctor stared at her in disbelief as she walked past him. She heard him whisper, "My God," as she entered the hallway. She sent a quick text to Wes's sister and then dropped her phone in the trash can on her way out of the building.

*******

It took her only two hours to clear out of Wes's place and to get on the road to somewhere else. She was still torn - fighting an inner battle between the strong, unfeeling sham of a woman that had survived for so long and the frightened, hurting, confused woman who threatened to unravel her stability. She needed to know if it was possible to be happy. She had to know how Penny had done it. And so she pulled the old wedding invitation out of her glove compartment. Entering the address into her GPS, she drove.

*******

Three hours later, Hannah was parked in the driveway of Penny's place. At least, she assumed it was still Penny's place. It had been a few years, but the name on the mailbox was right. This is the right thing to do, she assured herself. Penny will understand.

Wishing she had picked up a pack of cigarettes on the way, Hannah nervously drummed her fingers on the railing at the bottom of the steps leading up to the small porch. She could hear noises inside: a vacuum cleaner running and stopping and then footsteps approaching the door. Hannah breathed in deep and forced a big smile as she prepared to walk up the steps.

She knew Penny would forgive her. Penny would understand without needing an explanation.

Penny would... not be the one exiting the door. A petite brunette swung the door wide open and pulled two big trash bags onto the porch. She had her hair back in a bandanna, highlighting the freckles that trailed across her face and down her neck. Noticing Hannah, she froze for a second, then straightened up and pulled the door mostly closed behind herself. "Can I help you?" she asked, smiling prettily.

"I... uh... I'm sorry..." Hannah stammered, unprepared to explain to anyone other than Penny why she was there. Thinking quickly of the wedding invitation, she asked, "Is Andrew here?"

The young woman studied Hannah for a second, then carried the trash bags down the steps. She had on a plain green polo shirt with stitching on the chest identifying her simply as "Isa." After tossing the bags into the trash can at the top of the driveway, Isa turned towards Hannah and said, "No, he's not here. Want me to give him a message?" The young woman crossed her arms, exposing her left hand to plain in view, and slowly tapped the ring finger against her arm. Hannah couldn't help but notice a shiny ring - most likely an engagement ring. Hannah saw defiance in the young woman's face, her eyebrows raised in seeming challenge.

Hannah faked an apologetic smile. "No, that's OK. Sorry to disturb you." She could see Isa smirk as Hannah took a step back, turned around, and went back to her car.

Driving off to find the interstate, Hannah clenched her jaw. So it hadn't work out for Penny, either. There was no such thing as home for women like them. Damn Nicholas. Damn Andrew. Damn them all.