The Wrong Sister Pt. 04

There is nothing that you will ever encounter that will prepare you for receiving terrible news over the phone on a non-descript Thursday afternoon. The feeling of anxiety and fear as you rush to the hospital, unsure of what you're going to find, is bad enough. It is amplified significantly when you know you missed calls from your family because you were being fucked by your brother-in-law.

That guilt is even worse when I console Hannah at the hospital, knowing that Will's cum has soaked into my underwear. A quite literal stain of betrayal follows me into the room where my mum is, and I vow to myself that it would be the last time I do this to my family.

He'd at least come to my rescue, offering to pick up my girls from school as I rushed to be beside my mum. With our family surrounding her she was in good spirits despite her collapse at home. And as she spoke to us I mused that maybe Hannah had gotten a little overwhelmed by such an innocuous incident - that mum was robust and healthy and would be out in no time.

Life is sometimes cruel though, and instead the next month would be the worst of my life.

It was obvious there was more to mum's fall when the consultant called us all in for a chat. We were told that mum had had an MRI scan and it had revealed the cause of her fall and recent migraines.

An illness incredibly rare. An illness incredibly devastating. An illness that would remove all her faculties and, quite quickly, steal her from us.I knew what it was and all the terrible details - my job was a curse in that regard. I knew time was short. Grief gripped me immediately as the news soaked in.

I was going to lose my mum.

Will was the furthest thing from my mind for those weeks as I burned myself down to the wick between my job, spending whatever time I could with my mother, and protecting my daughters from what was to come. Emotionally I veered manically from stoic and hard when I was around others, to a grief-stricken mess when I was alone. In those dark weeks I would drive from the hospital in tears only to be almost emotionless at home with Jo and Gabby. That facade would only drop when I went to bed, where I fell asleep every night sobbing and fearful for the loss to come.

Will had tried to reach out to me but now it was my turn to ignore him because I feared that responding would drag me back into his arms. And with everything going on I knew I couldn't, even though I wanted to. That I needed to use this opportunity to escape from my feelings for him, though I'm sure his intentions in that moment were pure.

When the day finally comes I know it must be close to what mum would have wanted. While she was heavily sedated, she was surrounded by her three children and her husband. Each of us held onto her hands and regaled stories and memories of the woman who had raised us so well and thoughtfully. When she finally passed it was as graceful as she was in life, moving onto whatever awaited her in the next adventure peacefully.

I shut down emotionally almost immediately. A wail at her bedside at the immediate grief that overcame me was followed by my feelings disappearing and an irrational resolve taking its place. Now there were no more tears because I knew my mother had raised me better than that. To be stronger than that. So I held Hannah as she sobbed in my arms, and later that night I let my girls sleep in my bed as I consoled them at the loss of their grandmother.

But there were no more tears from me.

Time off work followed as I was allowed to grieve and help my father arrange the funeral. All of it was a blur as I numbed myself to the world, ignoring offers of company from friends and family. Even my ex offered to help, to come round and cook dinner for us all. But I wanted to be resilient, to be a role model for Jo and Gabby just like my mum had been a role model to me. To show them how strong their mother could be. So I rejected him, and continued to ignore Will for almost entirely different reasons.

When the day of the funeral arrives I feel as hollow as I have ever felt. I'm almost in a dreamlike state, floating through the house and getting myself and the girls ready while still feeling nothing. Both Jo and Gabby are too distracted by this new feeling of loss they're both experiencing to notice the change in their mother, and I'm at least thankful for that.

We all dress in black and I put on a small amount of makeup. It's a risk, but I'm aware I've not cried since mum passed and today doesn't feel like the day that dam will break. When we're finally all ready, I drive us the small distance to my dad's home to wait for the hearse with the rest of my family. When it arrives, we form a solemn convoy and follow it to the crematorium..

The funeral is a blur. I sit on the front row with both of my girls tucked against me, and I wonder whether it was a mistake to bring them. Am I stealing their innocence away? Or showing them the stark realities of life, preparing them for whatever difficulties they might face in the future? Either way, they shed the tears that I cannot on my behalf as I listen to a beautiful eulogy from my brother and hear stories of my mum recounted politely by a stranger.

Even when the curtain closes and I see the small pine box disappear from view to the tune of my mother's favourite song, I still can't feel anything other than the numbing loss that has taken root within me.

The wake afterwards is far less sombre, as I had expected. Friends and family come together to remember my mum in their shared grief. I see the resilience of my daughters as they play and laugh with their cousins. Pride that they are mine is the first thing in weeks that is close to a real emotion I have felt. I'm at least a little thankful that, of all the emotions I could feel, it's a positive one.

My father on the other hand is not in a great place. Between Hannah, my brother and myself we take turns talking to him, holding his hand and being someone for him to lean on. There's nothing any of us can say to him to make this better. But as the wake is winding down, we know it would be impossibly cruel to leave him alone that night.

Hannah volunteers to stay with dad, but not before her husband has a quiet word with her in the car park. I notice the looks they both give me as they talk quietly amongst themselves for a few minutes before they share a quick kiss and go separate ways. My sister goes with my dad to her car, and Will comes over to me dressed smartly in a fitted black suit and tie.

"Hey girls," he says, smiling at my daughters who are now in my car ready to go home. "Do you mind if I come home with you for some dinner?"

They both yell excitedly but I just bare my teeth at him, happy Jo and Gabby can't see my face flush with anger. "And who said you were invited round?" I hiss at him.

"It isn't up for debate Izzy," he says calmly, turning his eyes on me. "Hannah wants me to make sure you're alright. Besides," he adds, looking to Hannah as she drives off with my dad. "I don't have a ride anymore."

I glower at him for several seconds while also being aware that my little sister is worried about me, the woman who's slept with her husband repeatedly. I feel a pang of nausea at that and hide it by getting into the car. Will does the same, his door opening to whoops of excitement from Jo and Gabby.

The short journey home is spent with me ignoring Will and him doing the same to me. Instead he focuses on talking to the girls animatedly, distracting them both from grief better than I have over the last few weeks. He continues to focus entirely on the girls when we get home, playing with them as I cook a simple dinner for us all. At no point does he try to talk to me properly, and I figure he's waiting until the girls are asleep.

After such an exhausting day, both fall asleep during the bedtime story I read to them. Even though I know they're both asleep, I don't stop reading the short story until it's finished because I know what's waiting for me downstairs. I know Will be kind and soft and gentle and I'm terrified of feeling something again. Of dealing with all the horrible things I've hidden from for a month.

But there's no avoiding it. I slowly descend the stairs and enter the living room, closing the door as I do so. When I turn around Will is sitting on the sofa, eyeing me expectantly. I look away quickly, hating his compassionate eyes so much at that moment that he's lucky I don't gouge them out with a spoon. Instead I look to the kitchen.

"Do you want a drink?"

"I can get it," he says, making to get up.

"I can make fucking drinks!" I snarl with anger I didn't even know I had, and I realise how frayed I've become. How close I am to breaking point. Will must see it too, for he freezes where he is, halfway up from the sofa, and slides back down into his seat. "Of course," he replies softly, and I quickly head into the kitchen.

My heart is racing and my hands are shaking as I reach for glasses from the cupboard. Shaking so much I can't hold onto one of them as I pull it down, and I watch it fall in slow motion to the tiled floor where it shatters.

"God fucking dammit!" I hiss at the pool of broken glass around my feet as Will enters the kitchen and sees what's happened. "I'll get the dustpan and brush," he says, and heads towards the cupboard under the sink.

"I can do it!" I almost yell.

"No," Will says firmly, stopping and looking at me with those soulful eyes. "Izzy, you're a mess. Let me deal with this for yo-"

"Oh I'm a mess am I?" I interrupt sharply, rage flaring within me. "That what Han thinks too?"

"Hannah is worried sick about you. So am I." he says, pulling brush and dustpan from the cupboard and coming to kneel at my feet. "You've closed everyone out and I'm worried about how you're coping."

"Worried about Gabby and Jo you mean!" I say, voice shaking somewhat hysterically. "Not like you've asked me how I am!"

"Because it's clear how you are," he says, voice as placid and calm as a lake. "And I'm not nearly as worried about them as I am about you. Your girls are resilient because they've got a great mum."

That shuts me up, and for a moment all is silent with the exception of the sound of glass being swept into a dustpan. It doesn't take me long to find my still hostile voice.

"That's because I've been strong for them, like my mum was for me. Just gone about my life like my mum... did. Not even cried."

Will stands up slowly, his brows furrowed slightly, and then shakes his head slowly. "You have been strong for them, Izzy, of course you have. But what's wrong with crying?" he asks me softly.

For the first time in a month I feel a hard lump at the back of my throat and I don't have words to reply to him. I just shake my head and clutch his dress shirt as he places the broken glass on the counter and puts two hands on my shoulders.

"Janet wouldn't want you to bottle all this in. Why are you so scared of crying?"

I continue shaking my head as I start to feel my eyes sting. "Because... I wanted to be strong for my girls," I croak.

Will's face melts with kindness as my eyes start to burn. I'm not ready for this, even now.

"Izzy... you are strong for your girls. So strong. But there's no shame in crying. Nothing weak about showing how much you loved your mum. It was obvious in everything you did."

My lip trembles and everything I was worried about happening when I came downstairs happens. All the weeks of bottled up feelings bleed out of me all at once and it's all I can do to cling to Will as tears take me suddenly and violently.

I have no idea how long I'm like that in his arms. When I come out of the abyss of grief I'd fallen into I am aware that we're back on the sofa, and that he has one arm around my shoulders as I sob into his chest. His other hand is linked with mine, thumb gently caressing my fingers as he silently offers the support I have run from since seeing my mother pass. He doesn't say a word throughout it all - all he does is offer a soothing cooing voice and a strong arm to keep me close to him.

It was all I needed.

When I'm finally in control of my emotions I lean back from his chest with a sniff and then gasp as I see the black mascara stains on his white shirt.

"Oh Will," I exclaim. "I'm... I'm so sorry."

He looks down and softly chuckles. "It's just a shirt Izzy. It doesn't matter. How are you feeling?"

I consider this for a moment and then nod. "Better."

"You look better."

I sniff miserably, wiping mascara from my cheeks and then offering my black fingertips to him. "Yes, I'm sure I look delightful at this moment." I moan.

"Like some badass emo chick."

He makes me laugh. I can't remember the last time I laughed at anything. My eyes lift up and I look at Will earnestly. "Thank you," I whisper. "Thank you for being here."

His smile. His smile is perfect and oozes the warmth that's in his soul. "Anytime Izzy," he replies, giving me a little squeeze as I reach up to touch his face lightly, caressing his cheek and then touching the lips I still dream about.

In his arms I feel him go tense at the touch, but I ignore it. Our eyes are on one another as I slowly lean up so that our faces are close, and I hesitate for just a moment before I press my lips to his.

It's very brief, but it's reciprocated a little. "Izzy," he whispers, mouth still close to mine. "You don't want this. Not right now. Not like this."

"I do," I answer before another kiss. "I just want to feel something again. Something good. Something life affirming."

Something with the man I care for so deeply.

He's still hesitant as I kiss him again, my lips parting this time as my hands slide across his chest and to the top button of his shirt. It's as my fingers ping it open his shirt that I sense him give in, his hand grabbing my leg to pull me on top of him so that my legs are straddling his lap.

I groan into the kiss as he grips my behind and pushes my body into him. After weeks of going without him, going without anything at all, his touch sets my body alight and I gasp out as my fingers eagerly undo his shirt. It takes Will little time to start plucking buttons on my black blouse and reveal the plain black bra underneath.

We remove each other's shirts and I reach back to unclasp my bra which Will removes with the same eagerness he's always had for getting at my breasts. When it's tossed aside he runs his large hands over them while still kissing me, my back arching and pushing my tits into his grasp until I feel him grope them hungrily.

I rasp as our kissing gets more intense. It's clear Will needs this as much as I do as he wraps an arm around my waist and quickly lies me down on the sofa before standing up so he can start to remove his trousers. I do the same, pushing my own trousers and pants down and flicking them off, all the while looking at the godly naked form of Will for the first time.

I've never been naked in front of him before I suddenly realise. All our other trysts had been quick, passionate fucks where we'd removed just the clothes we needed to. I should feel incredibly nervous about him seeing my stretchmarks and the signs of childbearing properly for the first time. But if I was hungrily looking at his firm body and hard cock, Will's look at me was practically ravenous.

He comes back to the sofa, between my legs, and his hands smooth up my body adoringly. His thumbs trace across my erect nipples and then fingers lightly pinch them until my breath shudders from my lungs. My eyes are closed but they flutter open then to look up at him, my hands shaking as they reach for him and pull his body down on top of mine.

We kiss slowly as my hands slide across his back and my legs wrap around his. Everything about this time with him is slow, his respect for my grief and current fragility obvious in his every movement. Will even takes his time entering me, teasing my body with the thick, bulbous end of his manhood.

When he starts to fill me it is bliss, and in two slow strokes I feel better than I have in a month. Not that it fixes the pain, but it's a salve to my battered emotions to have him in my arms.

To pretend he's mine.

He takes me so slowly, pulling his manhood back so only the head remains in my pussy. And when he pushes back in he's just as slow, grunting as he thrusts deep into me and holding his body there until I'm moaning under him. I kiss his chest and hold him tightly as he fucks the life back into me.

But we're not fucking. This is the furthest away from fucking we've ever been. Fucking isn't slow, sensual movement. It's not delicate touches of erogenous zones. This isn't fucking. It's lovemaking.

And I realise then that I'm in love with him. In love with my brother in law.

With my face pressed against his neck, I mouth silently the three powerful words I want to say to him but can't. Words I cannot say to him despite every part of me wanting to. Words I want him to say to me, but know he cannot utter even if he meant it.

He leans up from my body just as tears sting my eyes and he immediately stops. "Izzy?" he says, voice and face concerned.

"No," I gasp, shaking my head and reaching down to grab his behind as I start to buck my hips to get him to start again.

"What's wrong?" he asks, refusing to respond to my desperate attempts to keep going. I cannot tell him. I will not. "Please don't stop," I beg of him. And after another moment of looking at me with genuine concern he drops his face to mine, kisses me sweetly, and starts to roll his hips against mine once more.

All I had to do was keep quiet. I bite my lip so only squeaks leave me when he is at his deepest, my eyes never looking away from his. Until one stroke is so incredible, so perfect, that my eyes flutter close again and it's all I can do not to cry out his name. Instead it's him that murmurs a name. My name.

"Isobel."

I hate my name. Hate it. But from his mouth its three perfect syllables wrapped up in a pretty little bow, sent by the angels in heaven themselves.

"Say it again," I pant, and Will responds by shifting us from our original position and into one where he's on his knees and I'm in his lap. I'm even closer to him now, my large breasts pressed into his chest as I start to ride him.

"Isobel," he repeats. And he keeps repeating it, a whisper of some intensity as I start to ride him faster as I chase an orgasm. My hands run through his short hair and I grind my hips onto him, the slick lips of my pussy sliding easily along his thick shaft. The angle is perfect, and the noises I make start to stray dangerously towards what I'd consider to be loud.

I resist and whimper in his arms, strange and subdued noises emanating from my mouth instead. Will never looks away from me, and the only thing that's missing from that almost-perfect moment is him suffixing 'Isobel' with 'I love you'.

He lets me take control, letting me make love to him as he holds me. I feel safe and secure, ignoring everything but how he feels deep inside of me. I only see his perfect eyes as he nods silently as he sees how close I am, beckoning me towards release.

Because of the small children sleeping upstairs I can't cry out when he sets off fireworks behind my eyes. Instead my mouth screams without sound as Will plants me back on the sofa, and he starts to thrust hard and deep into me as my pussy clenches around his cock. I hear the tell of his release when he grunts loudly against my ear. The grunt, I've noticed, is his tell for what comes next - the thick pulsing of his seed deep into my sex.

I kiss him because he is perfect. Because if I can't tell him how I feel then I will do the next best thing and show him through the intensity of which I hold him. He responds, but I have no way of knowing whether those feelings are reciprocated.