The Things You Make Me Feel Ch. 01

Ellie was furtively observing her brothers while pretending to care about whatever Jack, Eva, and Gena were chattering about. As a woman, she was already well aware that Rita wished Dave to vanish into thin air. The way she tossed her hair back whenever speaking to Oliver; that coy eyelash bat she was awarding him and was way overplaying in Ellie's expert opinion. That Latina bimbo was most certainly after her baby bro, Ellie was convinced.

It annoyed her. No, it infuriated her. Watching Dave slowly realizing what she herself had realized half-hour ago at least. Watching that mocha-skinned hussy seducing her shy kid bro with a slew of well-timed giggles and hair tosses—which she herself could easily outperform, she had no doubt. She wanted that bitch dead.

"Would you excuse me for a second," Oliver said to Rita after plucking out his phone. "Dad, is there something wrong?" he anxiously answered, plugging one ear. "I understand. Put Michela on the phone... Dad, just put her on the phone... Vita mia, qual'è il problema? Hai fatto un brutto sogno? Era solo un incubo, amore... Papà arriva tra poco... No, questo non è vero; non dire così... Michela... Ascoltami un secondo, piccola," (My life, what's the matter? You've had a bad dream?... It was just a dream, beautiful... Daddy will be home shortly... It's not true; don't say that... Michela... Wait a second, baby).

Oliver rose and excused himself.

Ellie overheard every word and was conflicted. On one hand, she was saddened to think that her niece wasn't handling her father's night out all too well; on the other hand, she was ecstatic that Michela interrupted him and that her existence would have to be discussed with Rita upon his return, and hopefully, that would be enough to put her off. She knew it was despicable of her to wish for something like that, but she couldn't help it. She was indeed wishing for it.

Oliver returned a few minutes later and took his seat back next to Rita. "I'm sorry, I had to take—"

"Is everything okay with your daughter, Oliver?"

Oliver frowned at his sister, surprised and a little angry with her choice of words. "Yeah, but I will need to head back. She's not taking it well."

"Um, daughter?"

He gave Rita a brief synopsis of the events that preceded tonight and apologized if he misled her. He arose and notified his siblings that he was forced to leave.

"Don't be ridiculous; we're all heading back," Ellie said and asked the waiter for the tab.

Jack was tipsy and wanted to stay, but Gena, who was the designated driver, wanted to call it a night, too. Dave was more than happy to leave after being stood up and after losing a second chance to improve on his night to his brother; thus, ten minutes later, the SUV was on its way back.

*

It wasn't quiet in the car—as some music station was on and Jack was singing along—but it was tense.

"Why did you have to say it like that?" Oliver said out of the blue to Ellie.

She screwed up her face, feigning innocence. "Say what like what?"

"Why did you have to call her my daughter in front of everyone?"

"You mean in front of Rita," she said, more bitterly than she'd intended.

"Yes."

"Well, I'm sorry, but is she not your daughter?"

"It was a dirty move, Ellie," Dave interjected, playing a game on his phone and now investing in his theory the appropriate amount of attention. "It almost looked like you wanted to drive a wedge between them."

"That's ridiculous. Why would I wanna do that? You're absurd." She sighed, cold sweat accumulating on her palms. "I don't know why I called her that. I didn't give too much thought to it. I was worried about her."

Oliver regarded his sister suspiciously. He then shook his head and looked out the window. "It doesn't matter. I wasn't looking to hook up anyway. It's virtually the last thing on my mind."

"Is it? You could've fooled me."

He turned to Ellie, clueless as to her hostility. "Why are you acting like this? Did I rub you the wrong way or something?"

"Well, you did disappear for five years without even paying us a fucking visit—as if we were nothing but a bunch of strangers—and showed up a widower with your secret daughter after years of feeding us lies. So if I were you, I would shut my fucking mouth and be grateful that my family is still speaking to me."

All were in utter shock from that outburst. Even Jack who was quite intoxicated risked vomiting and looked back at them. Dave's endeavor to set a new high record in his childish game went up in flames as he goggled at his sister. Gena was equally stunned, following the backseat action in the rearview mirror. No one was more befuddled than Oliver though.

A sharp pang of regret pulsed in Ellie when Oliver turned to look out the window.

She shut her eyes and sighed, mourning her every word. "Oli—"

"Leave it."

*

Twenty minutes later, Gena pulled into Alice and Dan's driveway. They had dropped Dave off at a friend's two minutes ago.

Oliver thanked them and stepped out of the car.

Ellie stormed after him. "Wait!"

He ignored her and mounted the stairs to the front door two at a time.

"Oliver, please!"

He halted but didn't turn around. He could hear the SUV's tires rolling as it drove off.

Ellie raced past him, the urgency billowing her dress, and looked into his eyes as she stood on one step higher. "That was a really nasty thing I said before, but you have to know that I didn't mean it, any of it."

"Yes you did, every word."

She shook her head and swallowed, her blue eyes gravitating to his lips. "No, I... I'm just..."

She was battling herself not to kiss him.

"You're just what, Ellie?"

"Jesus Christ," she mumbled and looked away, clearly in distress.

"Great," he hissed venomously. "Glad we sorted it out. Now if you don't mind, my daughter is freaking out in there. So with your permission..."

He walked past her and entered the house.

Ellie was terrified. She had never been so scared in her life. Looking into her brother's brown eyes made her weak at the knees, made her heart pound, made her skin flushed, made her sweat... by now, she'd already acknowledged that her bro wielded an enormous power over her, power only matched by her greatest love, power no brother should ever command over a sister. She was 16 again but only worse, for she knew she was 16 no more, and the boy that was causing her to feel this way was none other than her own brother.

To make matters worse, the predicament was rendering her erratic. Her passive-aggressive behavior with Oliver was hitting new lows, and she knew it. One moment she would be cold, angry, and distant; a moment later, she would be flirting like a common streetwalker. She didn't want to behave like that with him, but she was impotent. She didn't know how to resolve that battle between her mind and heart.

Indistinguishable screams in Italian startled her back to life. She darted inside and saw her parents standing helplessly in the living room while Oliver was fighting to pacify an emotional and panic-stricken Michela. Her niece was sobbing her heart out while punching her brother's chest, yet he was enduring her assault by holding her closely, caressing her hair, and whispering in Italian in a soothing voice.

Ellie had thought her brother to be exaggerating a few hours ago in the car when speaking of his daughter's fear of abandonment, but he was really telling it like it was, she now understood. This was a monstrous a tantrum as they come. Ellie could easily feel Michela's fear of being deserted and the fury toward her father for making her feel this way. There was no need for a translator here, Ellie told herself. Some things were universal.

Ten minutes later, Oliver managed to ride out his daughter's outbreak, and she was now reduced to gentle weeping while enveloping him with all four of her small limbs. Not his parents nor his sister could bring themselves to move even an inch during that episode. It was so frightening that they froze in place, praying to god for her to calm down.

"Oliver, we're so sorry," Alice wept. "We didn't know what else—"

"It's not your fault; it's mine," he calmly said to his mother, his eyes brimming with guilt. "I should have never left her." He kissed Michela a few times and whispered, "I'll go put her to bed."

With his daughter in his arms, he slowly mounted the stairs.

While he was upstairs with Michela, Ellie calmed her parents down and went to make a potent pot of black tea. As she was waiting for the kettle to whistle, she couldn't help thinking how extraordinary Oliver really was. Not even 23, but he was emotionally more mature of them all. The way he sheltered his daughter and engulfed her in warmth and love until she couldn't fight him any longer astonished Ellie.

She then tried staving off what was next to come, but she failed miserably. What Ellie attempted to avoid thinking about was how amazing it would feel to be in his arms, to feel his kisses, even though she'd gotten a tantalizing taste of both earlier. After witnessing him taking care of Michela in such devotion, she knew he could take care of her, too. She knew he could make her feel loved, protected, and safe better than any guy out there. She wanted him to. She was aching for him to, and she hated herself for that.

She poured her parents a nice dosage of her tea, and they all discussed Michela's troubling behavior a few more minutes. When noticing Oliver wasn't coming down, she started up the stairs to see what he was up to. She opened his bedroom door and watched as he was spooning his little girl in their bed while singing to her in Italian what she could only assume was a lovely lullaby, even though her niece seemed to be fast asleep by now. She made sure he noticed her before miming him to come downstairs and gently closed the door. A moment later, Oliver finally joined them and was presented with a steaming tea mug by his sister.

"How is she?" Dan asked worriedly.

"Sleeping like a baby," Oliver said and carefully sipped his tea.

"Oliver, this is not normal," Alice said. "Have you—"

"I have. Her grandparents and I took her to a child communication and behavior specialist a year ago. He was unable to get to the bottom of it, though he estimated it was a phase and advised us to be patient. She might be 6 intellectually, but emotionally, she's more like 2." He sighed as he paced about. "Anyway, this was my fault. I knew what she's been feeling, and we just moved here, and she doesn't really know any of you, and she needs time to adjust... I didn't even give her a chance."

Everyone mused it over some more.

"Well, I don't trust these Italian specialists," Alice said. "We'll take her next week to one of our own, get a second opinion, make sure that poor thing isn't going through something. She already suffered enough in her short life, and I'm not willing to sit by and watch her having even one more of those outbreaks. She was severely distressed, Oliver. She truly believed you were gone."

Oliver bobbed his head as he took another sip, all too familiar with his daughter's unfounded and disturbing phobias.

The folks retired to bed a few minutes later and left the siblings to themselves.

Oliver unbuttoned his shirt and remained in his khaki trousers and the white tank he was wearing underneath. He strode out to the patio and slumped onto the sofa that was facing the pool, deep in thought over his daughter. Ellie sat next to him a second later, trying to pick the right moment to address her own misbehavior.

"Listen, Oliver, about—"

"Ellie, I really don't need this now. Just please leave me alone."

His sister frowned, feeling her chest searing with the tone of his voice. "What exactly do you think I was going to say?"

"You were about to hand me another reproach, I can only assume."

"No I wasn't," she protested, deeply offended at the accusation. "Why would you even think that?"

"Because that's the only thing I got from you from the second I got here. Not that I blame you," he swiftly added. "I just want a break from that for a few hours."

She sighed when thinking how intense she'd been since his return. "I admit that I have been somewhat angry and bitter these last couple of days, but I certainly wasn't about to berate you now after what happened with Michela."

He cut his eyes at her before he resumed looking at the pool, pensive.

They remained silent for more than five minutes. Ellie knew that since she checked her watch periodically.

"It's never gonna be the same again," he mused while staring at the pool. "Between us I mean. Is it?"

Ellie knew the answer to that since the second she'd laid eyes on him a few days ago.

"No," she whispered, heavyhearted.

"No matter what I do to make this right, it's not gonna be the same," he stated matter-of-factly yet was seeking confirmation.

"No."

He nodded at the pool, more dejected than ever on account of his daughter and sister. "You don't love me anymore; I can feel it. This much hostility... I gotta admit, it hurts... it fucking hurts."

"What?" Ellie murmured in painful perplexity. "Oliver, no. How can you even think that I don't love you?" She scooched closer and held him in her arms from the side. "It's because I love you I'm behaving like that. Because I love you so much."

"I find it hard to believe. No one's given me even half of what you were so willingly. Just look at tonight."

"No, Oliver"—tears sprang to her eyes —"that is not true. I love you." She kissed his cheek. "Do you hear me? I love you." She kissed him again. "I'm so sorry." Another kiss. "Please forgive me." More kissing.

Ellie wasn't aware that she was losing control of herself, but she was whispering and kissing, kissing and whispering, as if she'd been performing a ritual, alternating between his cheeks and settling into a rhythm that her brother couldn't stay indifferent to. Her audible breathing was the only thing that could be heard between her sucking and whispering.

Oliver felt very uncomfortable but, oddly enough, also hungry for more, for her soft lips, yet he was still in neutral at the moment, wanting to see how far his sister would go while trying to make sense of his own emotions. It was that vicious spell paying both of them another visit, yet this time, it was determined to compel them to do its bidding.

"I love you so much." Tears trickled from Ellie's eyes as she kissed Oliver's left cheek. "I'm so sorry." Right cheek, closer to his mouth. "I'm so fucking sorry." Kissing the left corner of his mouth. "My god, I love you..." Sucking fully on his lips. "No one loves you more." A longer suck. "Tell me you love me back." A harder suck. "Say you love me back, baby." Parting her li—

"Ughhhhh!" Ellie whimpered when Oliver pulled on her long hair before she could slip her tongue into his mouth.

He stared into her needy, blue eyes in bafflement, yet he was not letting go of her hair. He asked the obvious question with his eyes, but, to his amazement, the answer in hers remained the same: she wanted to put her tongue in his mouth. He was extremely confused, but, strangely, not about this. He couldn't fathom it, but he wanted what Ellie wanted. He wanted them to kiss, the way they never dared to.

He slowly released her blond hair but made no attempt to kiss her. If they were to cross that line, to lock lips, the way lovers do, his sister would need to come knocking on his door for the second time; the gravity of such action demanded it. Ellie felt his fingers unclenching, and she was allowed movement once more. Although communicating solely through their eyes, his message was received loud and clear: he was giving her a way out.

This was her chance; a chance to escape it, to pin it all on booze, on madness, on—

Ellie leaned in timidly, closing the distance between his mouth and hers. Her brother might have given her an out, but it wasn't much of an out to begin with. She'd gone too far, and she couldn't walk away from it now, not before she tasted him, before she learned him so intimately. She continued to make slow yet steady progress until their cheeks overlapped. She nuzzled hers in his, but he wasn't stopping her, and he wasn't backing away, either.

It was such an intimate dance, their cheeks snuggling up, a dance Ellie didn't remember ever performing before. It had taboo written all over it. They shouldn't, she shouldn't. She shouldn't want him, not like this, not now, not ever. She shouldn't want to breathe in his masculine scent, to have his taste in her mouth, his tongue on hers, his lips sucking on her—

Ellie pulled back a bit, only the right corner of her mouth in contact with his cheek now. She was breathing heavily, but so was her brother. She knew by now that he wanted it, wanted her. There was no doubt. He wasn't pushing her away, and he wasn't calling her a pervert or a sicko, either. He was... still, letting the beating of his heart do the talking, and what a beautiful melody it was playing, Ellie thought. He wanted her. She knew it. He knew it. She could practically hear his heart begging for it, for her, but so was she, begging for it, for him.

The tension was about to crest now. Something was going to happen, to break it, but it wouldn't be Oliver who'd be doing the breaking. Control was on Ellie's side. He made of sure that; he guaranteed it. And Ellie was struggling now, breathing so hard. Maybe she shouldn't do it. Maybe she should leave it at that, a half-assed attempt, a neglected longing. She should. She would. She would walk away and let the acidity of her sinful want eat her up from inside. She'd let it consume her, torment her, remind her every day of—

Ellie thrust her lips at her brother's and sucked passionately, blasting her inner conflict into microscopic shrapnel. They were doomed the second he had put her in charge. Oliver countered her needy suck with one no less desperate, and so it began -- a kiss. Not just any kiss however. A kiss that would demolish hearts, tear at families, rip through everything and everyone. A kiss neither could even comprehend the destructive powers it withheld. Solely destructive? If they didn't want to find out the answer, then it wasn't over yet. They could still escape it if they only avoi—

Ellie parted her lips and slipped her tongue into her brother's mouth, obliterating any hope. She teased him, just prodding the tip of his, waiting for him to go crazy at her taste. Crazy was what Oliver was all about the second his brain translated her saliva. It couldn't be. She couldn't taste this good, this sweet, this addictive. But she did. She tasted better than he could ever explain to himself. She shouldn't have, let him taste her, tease him, suck, swirl, stroke, submit her mouth to him.

But she was. She was kissing him the way she'd been kissing boys since she was 12. Open-mouth kisses with lips, tongue, and spit. Lots and lots of spit. But this kiss wasn't normal and neither was this boy, Ellie knew. She'd been kissed before, many, many times before, but not like that, not this good, not this overwhelmingly good. Her brother wasn't just a pretty face and a hot body -- he had moves, plethora of them. And his taste, dear god, his taste... why?! Why?! It's not fair!

"You taste fucking amazing!" she blurted after a zealous suck.

"Ellie, what's happening here?" Oliver gasped just before his sister took his mouth again.

Ellie was no longer in any condition to justify, rationalize, or resist anything. She was hungrily kissing her brother, her heart threatening to rip her chest in two. It was throbbing so forcefully, like a trifecta of drums. She couldn't believe the intensity of their kiss as her tongue was soaking up her kid brother's palatable saliva.