Unforeseen

"Jesus fucking Christ, TK. I...oh fuck, please don't stop. Please. Please, ...you've already got me close. You're my only...oh fuck."

I suppose that I shouldn't be surprised that Mary would like anal play. I licked around her puckered bud, slowly applying more force. She cried out and moaned as my finger, thumb, and tongue overwhelmed her. It was a little like torture in a way. She really wanted my cock but loved this. I applied more force with my tongue until at last, I slipped it inside her.

"Fuck, I'm coming, baby..."

Mary screamed. We were lucky we lived in a somewhat isolated spot because the neighbors would have heard that. She led her head drop to the mattress as I stopped my attentions. She was already panting.

"TK...that was amazing...oh, fuck!"

I gave her no rest. My cock ached, and I wanted, noneeded to make her mine. She had to be reminded who she belonged to. I was still angry, still hurt. That would take time to fade, but until then, she'd get some good, hard fucking. She moaned deep in her throat but didn't bring her head up.

I moved fast and hard, filling her and then feeling her grip at me as I took my cock away. She seemed unable to form words, just moaning and occasionally grasping at the sheets. It wasn't enough for me. I reached out and gripped her short hair at the base of her neck, and pulled her head up so I could kiss her. She responded wonderfully, and I continued to maul her neck as my rhythm sped up.

My groans and grunts became louder, and Mary replied with her own whispers and cries. I began to realize that she was saying something, low and over and over again: please. She was begging me to keep going, on the ragged edge of a massive orgasm. She was pleading for me to accept her and forgive her. She was telling me how ready she was for my cum.

"Oh, fuck, Mary, you feel so fucking good..."

At this small sentence of validation, she came, quivering and crying out over and over, body tense. Her pussy, already tight, felt like it was crushing my cock for a moment. Then I lost all semblance of restraint. I buried myself in my sisters pussy and released stream after stream of hot, sticky seed. Part of me wished that I could have lasted longer, but another part knew that this was right and good and that we would make love many more times. We were, at least in our minds, meant for one another.

The passion didn't end as both of us, panting and sweaty and tired, collapsed into each other's arms, making out slowly while our hands explored each other. My door was wide open, a fact that somehow neither of us had noticed. Thank god Mom was out of town until late tomorrow.

Eventually, we slept like that, but only for a few hours. I woke to Mary cleaning my cock with her tongue. She met my eyes, and hers were sad and loving. It hurt me to see how much she wanted to make things right. After she'd gone down on me for a bit I pushed her down and fucked her again, this time tender, cradling her head in my arms as she came. We slept again in each other's arms after that, much more relaxed

It was after the third time, both of us fatigued and spent from Mary riding another powerful climax out of me, that she realized her mistake.

"Oh. Oh, fuck."

"What is it?"

"TK...please...oh fuck. Please don't be mad at me. I didn't mean to..."

I was worried, but I suspected that whatever it was felt worse to her than maybe it actually was.

"Hey Mary, it's ok. We've got a lot to talk about but I love you, and I know you love me. So tell me."

"I forgot. In all of the confusion and tension, I forgot to take my birth control. Yesterday before I left and today. I never really thought we'd actually...you know...fuck the first night together. I wanted it, but I never thought...it doesn't matter. I didn't do it on purpose..."

"Calm down. I believe you. We've had problems, but lying hasn't been one of them, ok? Relax. You know that whatever happens, I'm still going to be there for you."

"It feels so good to hear you say that. You don't know...how much it means. I'm still sorry though. I better take care of it. The CVS here is still open twenty-four hours, right?"

There was no way I was going to cum in my sister and then make her go to the drug store to buy Plan B. That felt like the most classless thing in the world that I could possibly do.

"No fucking way. I'll go. I'd just worry about you because it's so late anyway."

"Really, you'll go out at," she stopped and checked her phone, "four in the morning? To get Plan B for me? I mean...I appreciate it, but it could probably wait until daybreak..."

"It could, but it's more effective the sooner it's used. I paid attention in sex ed."

"What if I don't want it to be effective?"

She smiled at me when she said it, but I noticed the way one hand drifted over her belly.

"The idea of you being pregnant...is almost unbearably hot to me, but I don't think either of us is ready for that."

She sighed.

"I know. It just got me thinking is all. Fuck, I'm sorry again. Hurry back, ok? I'll wait up for you."

"No need. I'll be back soon."

I kissed her on the lips and left her there, nude, still with a light sheen of sweat on her pale skin, her short, dark hair framing her head on the pillow, her small breasts settled, a sheet covering her hips and sex. She was still the most beautiful girl that I'd ever seen in my life. I tried to take a mental snapshot, to remember her like this, forever. I don't know why it just seemed necessary.

It was late, and being only two days before Christmas, a lot of the town was dead. I saw more cops, out looking for drunk drivers and dealers, than I did regular cars. It would have been reassuring, but I really didn't want to get pulled over, so I drove more cautiously than needed. The roads were wet but there was no ice, and the snow that fell gently wasn't sticking. It was beautiful in my headlights. Everything was beautiful now that Mary had returned to me.

I had told her that it might take a long time for me to forgive her. The truth was it was already done. I was still a bit angry and frustrated, but there were healthy ways of dealing with that. It was easy for me to slip back into being her lover, mainly because it was abundantly clear that she had never stopped loving me.

I pulled into the drug store's parking lot. It was almost empty, and for a moment I was concerned that the twenty-four-hour business had closed for some reason, but the harsh fluorescent lights were beaming through the windows. I got out and walked inside, through the chill of the late evening.

The first thing I noticed when I entered was the heat, a little too high to be comfortable. The second thing I noticed was the lack of a greeting. This chain had, for years now, forced its cashiers to welcome customers as soon as they stepped in the door. I thought it was silly to make them do such a thing, but I turned to see if anyone was working. It took me a moment to understand what I was seeing.

There was a cashier there, young, eyes huge, trembling. She looked almost comical, frozen in the act of passing a wad of mixed bills to a young man. No, not even that. He was a boy, dressed in baggy donated clothes which looked as worn out as his eyes. The gun in his had seemed to be absurdly large as both it and his attention turned towards me, the unexpected intruder.

I was dimly aware of two other bystanders being conspicuously immobile just on the other side of the robber. I wanted to be invisible, like them. I certainly had no intention of trying to stop him. I was just here to buy my sister Plan B. The thought was, at the moment, dimly funny.

No, Mr. Gunman, I'm not going to interfere, I just don't want to knock my sister up.

I laughed involuntarily. It was more of a chuckle really at the absurdity of the entire situation. Briefly, my body twitched in response. I guess that was all it took. There was a flash of light and sound.

The kid had shot me.

For a brief moment, I felt nothing. I assumed I was fine. The kid bolted out the automatic doors. I stood there for what must have been a second or two.

Then I felt the white-hot poker in my side, and the warm, thick liquid against my stomach, then thigh. I didn't want to look down, but I did. The hole in my front was bad, but I'd seen enough true crime tv to know that the one in my back would be much worse.

At least we made up, I thought, before stumbling to my knees and rolling onto my back. I'd have been thrilled if I had blacked out here. It would have been better for my future dreams at least, if not for my health. There was a lot of warm wetness spreading beneath me. Breathing hurt, and I was getting cold fast. A cold, logical, part of my brain told me that my organs weren't getting enough blood, and I was most likely going into some kind of shock. I saw a lot of movement out of the corner of my eye, but I had difficulty focusing on it. There were voices that blurred together into shouts and tears.

Someone told me it would be ok. I didn't believe them, but it made me feel better to not be alone. I wanted to ask him to talk to Mary to tell her that I loved her and that it was worth it. I knew her and knew that she would blame herself for this. I couldn't stand the thought of her hating herself if I died.

Maybe that's why I didn't. At least not right away.

The paramedics showed up and were all professionalism and reassurance. I answered their questions or at least made answer-like noises. The fact that I was conscious seemed to please them though, so I was happy to do whatever. I don't know if it was from one fo the injections or just a part of the injury, but eventually, my side went numb. I was grateful. I don't remember much of the ambulance ride, mostly the bright lights in the back. For whatever reason, I was trying to read the labels on the various medical products stowed on the interior walls.

My memory jumped to the hospital, at last. The same one where my father had died, under the knife. Where I was going. I wondered if I would get the same surgeon, the same tools and medicines. I wondered if I would meet him soon. I tried to get the attention of the nurse who accompanied me. She was working closely with a doctor, but I just wanted to know if they'd clean my body before they showed me to my sister. It seemed very important at the time.

Finally, a nurse gave me somethingreally good and asked me to count backward from one-hundred. I got to ninety-eight.

* * *

I knew I was dreaming. Or in a coma. Or something. The point is that I knew I wasn't awake. You can't watch yourself being buried.

On the other hand, maybe you can if you're a ghost. That thought came to me a lot, and I hated it.

I saw the day of my funeral. I had no control over anything, and I just kind of floated over everything and observed, like an omniscient TV camera. Unlike most of the shows I typically watched, this was more dramatic than I expected or wanted it to be.

That wasn't the worst part though. The worst part was that I followed Mary, specifically, throughout her experiences.

It started with her waking up. She stood up and went to her vanity and then sat back down in front of it. She looked at herself with a deep sigh, her expression dead. Her eyes were red and bloodshot, with dark circles underneath them. Her features were no longer beautiful but sharp, her cheeks hollow. Her cheekbones stood out, making her her beautiful in a way that I wasn't comfortable with. I wanted to yell at her. I was desperate to tell her that she needed to eat and take care of herself, but I was dead, and thus just a passive observer.

Mary put on her makeup, ensuring that it was flawless. A few times she almost started crying but then stopped herself. Every time she did she looked in the mirror and said "This is for him," as if reminding herself of some great responsibility. Then she got up and put on a black dress. I'd never seen it in her wardrobe before, so she must have gotten it at college. It fit her like a glove, and I wanted her again, right there. Could ghosts want like this without ever being able to fulfill their desires? Given the casual cruelty of the world towards the living, it seemed likely that the dead would suffer such things as well.

She looked for a while at her fishnets, considering. I knew what she was thinking at that moment, not through any magic. I loved her in them and always had. They were part of her goth look and more than once she'd worn them with the explicit purpose of arousing me, and the night had ended with them wrapped around my waist. In the end, she decided against it, because it would look strange at a funeral. She did, however, decide to wear the same pair of sheer black panties that she was wearing the first night that we had fucked. She had a small but sorrowful smile as she pulled them on. Then came the heels.

She looked at herself in the mirror a final time. Most worrying to me was that she had done nothing with her hair save run her fingers through it. I know that seems odd, and believe me when I say that I found her achingly beautiful in any case. The concern was that she usually spent at least a little time on it, no matter what she was doing that day.

I saw everything. The grim breakfast with mom. Meeting Rebecca and Chelsea at the church. The service was simple, and there were more people there than I had expected.

The cemetery was covered in a thin layer of snow and ice. A few people shivered and watched as my casket was set upon its final bier.

Mary held Chelsea's hand as I was lowered into the ground, much as I had for our father's funeral. Chelsea began to sob, and Mary pulled her very close. At last, the burial was complete. I thought that finally, I'd be able to dream of something else.

But the show went on.

It was mundane. They all went to something like a reception. Grief was shared, and people expressed sympathies. I saw it wearing on Mary as the hours passed.

Finally, it was over. She would be allowed to go home and rest. But again, I was wrong. She disappeared back into her room, but rather than go to sleep, she took out a notebook and pen, sat at her desk, and began to write.

She'd journaled since forever, although I'd never pried into what she had been writing. Today she seemed to be chronicling our relationship. Specifically the romantic parts. I began to grow worried as she detailed what she viewed as her sins. From the perspective of her grief, she'd had a sexual obsession with me, and had abused her power as the older sibling to seduce me. She wrote about how much she loved me and how I had loved her in return. She wrote about breaking it off and how much it had hurt, and then she wrote about "being weak" and seducing me again. She ended it with a description of how my death was the result of her inability to control herself, and that I was going to the store on her behalf for plan b when I died. She ended it with an apology to Chelsea for having killed me. Even though I knew I couldn't affect anything, I tried to reason with her, shout at her that she was wrong and that I had loved her and that she wasn't manipulative or evil but the best thing that had ever happened to me. For a moment I thought that she heard my voice, and she gave a small smile to nothing in particular. Then she stood up.

This is where I want to stop writing, but I can't.

She left and went to my room, as she had done many times before to "borrow" clothing. This time she came back with an old leather belt.No. She made a loop with it and put the loop around her neck.No. Don't do this. Please. She pulled the chair back from her desk and stood on it. There was a simple hook in the ceiling, secured to a rafter. She used it for hanging plants and decorations. Now she put the hook through one of the belt holes.Please, stop. I'm sorry for dying just please stop. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her small, sad smile returning for the very last time.

I was screaming. I was screaming, and no noise came out, but my throat hurt. It ached. I saw the slightest movement of her bare foot, ready to kick the chair away. Things went black.

* * *

I woke up in a general haze and ache. My throat hurt, and I wanted to gag on whatever was inside it. My arm had an alarming-looking IV connector in it and, somewhat humorously, that was what made me panic. I saw a button nearby, and I pressed it. Thankfully it was for a nurse and not to dispense large amounts of opiates into my system.

An attractive middle-aged woman with short, red hair appeared as if by magic. Were all nurses hot? She smiled indulgently as if she could read my mind.

"I'm Veronika. It's all right. You're through the worst of it. Are you in pain?"

I nodded, my throat too full and dry to speak.

"Nod if it's sharp, shake your head if it's dull."

I shook my head.

"Good. I'm going to keep you on your scheduled pain management. We want to keep you comfortable, but we want to use as little as possible. We're going to remove the breathing tube, but it's a little more complex than just yanking it out. So just try and relax while we work, ok?"

I closed my eyes, happy to be done having to answer questions. I heard Veronika talking to someone else, and they worked quietly around me. There was a weird suction feeling coming from the tube, then it was just gone. I coughed but was easily breathing on my own. My throat was dry, but it felt like an enormous relief to have it gone, like the first step of recovery. I fell into thick darkness.

When I opened my eyes some time had passed. Hours or days, I could not tell. I felt her though. Not Veronika, but Mary. She'd been there, I was sure of it as if I could still feel the heat of her hand on my own. With that feeling came a wash of relief. I rationally knew that I had been dreaming, but I had still been afraid that it had somehow been the truth. I looked around. I wasn't in an ICU filled with other patients, which I took to be a good sign. I had my own room, small though it was. It was dark outside. Had dawn not arrived yet?

"Hey," a voice said, familiar, from the doorway. It was Mom. Mary and Chelsea stood behind her. They'd obviously been crying, and I felt guilty. I wanted to apologize to them for getting shot. I guess that crying was reasonable. I would have had it been one of them instead of me.

"H...hey," I croaked back, my throat still dry and cracking. Mary was there in a moment, pouring me water and helping me drink it. It was ice cold and tasted better than any other drink I had ever had. I realized after taking a few gulps that she was looking at me with an expression of guilty grief. I smiled at her, although it probably looked a little ghastly. I wanted to tell her that none of this was her fault, that it was worth it, a small price to pay for the rest of the previous night. I couldn't do it in front of Mom and Chelsea though.

Speaking of Chelsea, she was at my other side and holding my hand, with a pale face and a thin smile. She was a mature girl but still a child. I couldn't imagine what I looked like to her eyes. I thought about what my father must have looked like in the morgue, what her mother looked like in the ICU. She squeezed my hand as if making sure I was really there and alive. I pressed back, so she know that unlike Dad, I was going to walk out of here. She broke down almost immediately.

"Oh my god," I said in mock offense, "I know I'm ugly but come on..."

"Shut up," she said, laughing despite herself.

"I feel bad making you worry."

"It's all right. By the time they told me you'd already gotten out of surgery. But you wouldn't wake up."

"How long was I out?"

"Thirty-five hours," Mary answered, deadpan, her eyes haunted.

"Oh. I can't even imagine how you..."