She looks like she's gonna fucking fight me, like she’s itching to go at it the way we did when we were younger. Back then, it was all harmless—just me provoking her until she snapped, and then she’d throw herself at me with an anger that could make anyone believe she stood a chance. But she never won. Not fucking once. I’d always pin her down, holding her squirming body until she gave up or screamed in frustration.
But now? Now it’s different. She knows better than to attack me, knows exactly what would fucking happen if she did. Because if I pinned her down now, it wouldn’t stop there. No, she’d be pinned down andfucked.Hard. Only screaming for more.
Suddenly, there’s a sharp knock at the door, and my mom’s voice seeps through the wood.
“Got some!”
Ebony pushes against my chest, forcing me back. I move sluggishly, my body reluctant, until I’m hidden behind the door. She side-eyes me, then takes a deep, steadying breathbefore reaching for the handle. Her face transforms instantly, that fake smile slipping into place as she opens it.
“Oh, thank you!” she chirps, her voice laced with forced sweetness, taking the pads from my mom’s outstretched hand.
She moves to close the door, but my mom stops her with a hand pressed firmly against it and Ebony freezes, her posture rigid.
“Have you seen Rook?”
Ebony shakes her head slightly and lifts her chin. “No,” she replies smoothly. “I’ve been in here.”
My mom hesitates, the silence between uncomfortable. “Oh,” she says finally. “He must still be on the phone.”
There’s a beat of tension before she speaks again, “wait, is that one of the Christmas tree ornaments?”
My eyes flick to it lying on the floor and the temptation to smirk claws at me, but I stop myself. I watch as Ebony glances back at it, her movements stiff. “Hm,” she says, her voice light but strained. “It must be. I’ll bring it out in a second.”
The silence that follows is stifling, heavy with suspicion. I can almost hear my mom questioning everything, the gears in her head turning, but finally, she leaves. As the door closes, Ebony’s shoulders drop, her body slackening with relief.
Without hesitation, she bends down, snatching up the ornament. Straightening, she moves to the sink, her steps rushed, her expression tight with irritation. She scrubs it under the tap, her head shaking with frustration. She doesn’t even look at me. It’s like I’m not even here anymore, like I don’t fucking exist.
When she’s finished, she dries it, then without a word, without even glancing my way, she unlocks the door and walks out, her anger clear in the air she leaves behind.
I stay still for a moment, the sound of the closing door echoing in the silence. Slowly, I let my head fall back against the wall, my eyes slipping shut as my hand drags over the stubble on my jaw. I exhale heavily, her cold persona settling in my gut. My hand falls limply to my side, my head dipping forward as defeat starts to hit me all over again.
Sitting on the couch with Cindy, I pull my dark hair forward, letting it cascade over my shoulder as she fastens the necklace she bought me. Her fingers work delicately, the clasp clicking into place. When she’s done, I glance down at it—a small token of kindness in the madness—and then swivel to face her, giving a soft, grateful smile.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice quiet, but genuine.
Before she can respond, the air changes. Rook strides into the room, his vibe demanding attention as always. He doesn’t spare me a look as he moves toward the kitchen, but my eyes follow him instinctively, drawn like a moth to a flame I should know better than to touch.
And then I feel it—a piercing gaze. My stomach constricts, panic winding inside me as I realize my dad is watching me. His stare is heavy, probing, challenging, a clear warning until finally, he looks away.
My focus snaps back to Rook as he downs a glass of whiskey in one smooth motion, the tension in his posture showing he's agitated. I watch him grab his helmet off the counter, preparing to leave already and my heart rate spikes. Cindy notices right away and she’s on her feet in seconds, hurrying toward him. Istay where I am, rooted to the couch, unsure whether to say goodbye or let him go without a word.
This is what we’ve become. Awkward. Fractured. Our once-normal—well, normal-ish—family life now a tangled mess of avoiding each other or forbidden lust. We’re like a spreading blemish, dark and poisonous, infecting everything around us. And no matter how much time or distance keeps us apart; the rot doesn’t fade. It just lingers. It festers into something so much fucking worse.
My eyes fix on him, the vivid flashbacks in my mind. The way he just manhandled me in that bathroom, lifting and dropping me down with a grip that stole my breath, taking exactly what he wants. The way he fucked my ass with that ornament, his tongue annihilating me at the same time, pulling muffled sounds from me that didn’t belong in this fucking world.
It’s clear as day. Rook still has me, body and soul, wrapped around his little finger. And no matter how far he walks away, how many years he leaves, no matter how much I want to avoid us, I’ll never be free. And I know that now more than ever since he’s clearly been hacking my shit and watching me.Psycho.
I’ve thought about it for years, wondering if fate would’ve been kinder, if life had played out differently. If he hadn’t been my brother, would our souls have still found their way to one another? Could we have had the freedom to love without the judgment crushing us? Without the watching eyes, the whispers, the smothering control?
People don’t understand the agony of it—loving someone so deeply and knowing they’re right there in front of you, so close you can feel them, but being stopped from reaching for them.
Cindy leans in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, her voice soft, her smile beaming. He then walks toward the door without stopping, without looking at me. Just like that, he’s gone, leaving me wondering when I’ll see him again and it feels like the air’s been sucked out of the room.
I lower my head, closing my eyes as the ache in my chest spreads. It’s the same old feeling, familiar in the worst way. My hands tremble on my thighs, and I press them into fists to make it stop. The sting behind my eyes grows sharper, hotter. Feeling like I’ve lost him all over again. Lost the other part of me.
I need to get the fuck out of here.
I tug on my jacket as I stand, then sling my bag over my shoulder and make my way toward the kitchen. My dad’s eyes are waiting for me as I step inside, suspicious and calculating. His gaze rakes over me like he’s looking for flaws, anything out of place.
