Sibling Love Ch. 01

Ah, I'm so confused. I haven't seen Kevin yet and I'm dreading when I do. I see two possibilities here – one bad and one...really bad. Either I see him downstairs and I realise that this fluttering in my stomach is just simple, meaningless, carnal hunger (which is not a good thing in its own right); or, I realise there's more to it and...I crawl into a hole and die. Either way, things aren't looking good.

* * *

Dear Journal,

I think I may have been too quick to declare Kyla better again. At least, I hadthought she was better, after seeing her in the morning and at school. She certainlylooked better. But...maybe I was wrong.

Close to half an hour ago, I was in the kitchen looking for something to eat, when Kyla came through the door. I said hi, expecting at least a polite greeting in return, but that wasn't what I got. She just stood there, staring at me, looking like she wassurprised to see me in the kitchen or something. I asked her if she was okay, to which her reply was to nod absently.

"I...uh...I have to," she started to point back at the stairs, "I have to...I have to go." And she went, quickly and quietly.

I can't imagine why she'd do such an emotional back flip in such a short time. I guess the answer, though, is obvious. Something probably reminded her of what happened. Maybe it just resurfaced for no reason and she had trouble looking at me. I took it for granted that I'd put it all behind me, but maybe she hasn't. I don't know whether I should talk to her again or just wait it out and see if she brightens up again. I thought things would be better; now I don't know if they'll ever be.

* * *

Dear Diary,

Oh, my God. This can't be happening. It just can't. There isno way I have those...feelings...for my own brother. How can I? A few months ago we would have been spitting razor-sharp insults at each other for no other reason than to hurt the other person. And now.... Things were better, certainly, but...notthat much better.

Oh, I don't know what I'm going to do. I guess the first step was admitting it, which I suppose I've done. Seeing him in the kitchen, with his dark eyes and hair, and his smooth voice and those stupid sexy black clothes – it's not fair. I betI didn't look sexy. He's just come home from school and he looks like he wouldn't be out of place at a casual dance party.

God, where did this come from? If you'd asked me six months ago whether my brother was a good-looking guy, I would have laughed for a few hours on the floor, and then said no. But now...now he just looks different. Or maybe it was thatI was looking at him differently. Whatever it is, it's there, and I can't ignore it.

But what can I do? I can'ttell him, that's for sure.Then he'd hate me. Being tolerant about a little sexual misdemeanour (and now itdoes seem little) was one thing, but having your sister tell you that she's in love with you – that's horror movie material.

I guess the only option then is to make it stop. Either that or...live with it. But no, I can't do that. It's just a phase – it has to be. I've heard about things like this before. Sisters sometimes develop crushes on their brothers – it's not rare. Granted, those sisters don't mix that crush with a mutual masturbation session, but...it's still normal.

Oh, God. Oh shit. Am I wet? Holy crap, I am. Oh, my God, this is too much. This... I have to go.

* * *

Dear Journal,

Okay – now Iknow something's up. Kyla's been behaving strangely for the last two days now. I can't walk into a room that she's in without her leaving straight away. I must have done something, or said something – or maybe it was something Ididn't say. Should I have apologised again? Maybe she's waiting for me to tell her it's not her fault. But I did that.

I guess the only thing to do is ask her. I had some luck with that approach the last time, so what's to say it won't work again? I'm just afraid I might push her even further away if I say something wrong. Maybe she'll accuse me of not giving her space and tell me to get lost. Maybe she's still sorting out the thoughts in her head. She's taking it a lot worse than I thought she would.

Maybe that's it – maybe she's upset that I'm taking it so lightly when it's had such a profound effect on her. Should I have spoken to her about the event itself? Oh, God...maybe she's worrying about what it was like for me. Should I have told her that it felt good? I thought that was implied; I did tell her I hadn't been able to stop. Maybe she needs to hear more though. It wasn't sex but it could be that she was worrying about how she was. Maybe. I don't know. I'll just have to ask her.

* * *

Dear Diary,

I thought I had used up a lifetime's supply of tears last Friday night, but obviously not. For the second time in my life I feel like I want to die, like that fate would be merciful compared with the one I'm facing now. I'm not sure if I did the right thing or not, but it certainly doesn'tfeel right.

It's Tuesday today, and mum and dad were (and still are) at the shop, which is standard fair for weekdays. They were working later tonight though, so Kevin and I were left to cook our own dinner. I used it as an excuse to leave when he walked into the living room, where I was sitting on one of the side couches, staring more often at the couch it had happened on than at the TV. When Kevin walked into the room I said I'd make dinner and went into the kitchen to do so. I filled a saucepan with water and found a packet of spaghetti in the pantry. I tipped the packet in and then set about making the sauce, which was when Kevin came in.

He walked over to the sink where I was working and stood next to me, looking at me with that look of his that's both soft and heavy at the same time. It's a look that asks you what's wrong, and encourages you to tell him, even though he seems to know already. I avoided his gaze and kept silent.

"Kyla," he said softly, and I may have flinched. He paused and waited for me to reply, but I didn't – I couldn't. "Kyla, what's wrong," he asked.

"Nothing," I said, which may have sounded more convincing if I hadn't refused to look at him.

"Something obviously is," he said. "Why don't you tell me." He sounded concerned, not irritated, which was just like him, and just like me to think of.

"Nothing's wrong," I repeated emphatically, my body betraying me as a tear splashed on my cheek.

Kevin has never been a tactile person and I've almost never seen him touching anyone. I don't mean in a sexual way, but even just patting a friend on the back or standing close to someone he knows. He keeps to himself both emotionally and physically. But he did touch me then, placing a hand under my chin and turning it gently towards him. The contact was thrilling and agonising at the same time.

"What's wrong?" he asked again, and his voice was so soft and gentle that I shut my eyes for an involuntary moment. I tried to look away once I'd opened them but he held my chin in place, without doing so forcefully. Even his movements were contradictions. "Kyla," he said softly, "I told you you could tell me anything."

"I can't," I replied, and the words triggered more tears. "Not this."

"Not what?" Kevin asked. "Did I do something wrong?"

I settled for a shake of my head this time, fearing that more words would bring even more tears.

"Is it something Ididn't do?" he asked. I shook my head again. "Kyla," he sighed, and he made my name sound like a note of music caught in the wind, "I know we haven't been on friendly terms for that long – or that recently – but I don't like seeing you like this. Tell me what's wrong so I can help."

Then, I did look up him, and it was definitely a mistake, because as soon as I saw his eyes I burst into tears. "I can't," I said through them.

"Can't what?" Kevin asked, looking extremely worried.

"Tell you," I replied.

"Why not?"

"You'd hate me," I said.

"I already told you," he said, "I could never hate you."

"You would," I said. "For this you would."

And I began to wonder why I had told him this much. Certainly I could have made up a story about something happening at school. Now, however, he would keep probing until I told him, because he knew it was about him. No matter how this began or how it played out, there was only one way it could end.

"You're wrong," said Kevin, so firmly I had to believe him. "Nothing you say could make me hate you."

Embracing my new-found sense of inevitability, I dropped my gaze to the floor, lowered my chin, feeling utterly defeated, and said, "I love you."

I should have realised how he'd construe those words, but I didn't at first. So when I heard him say, "I love you, too," I thought my heart was going to rupture with pleasure. Then I looked up and noticed the simple smile on his face and the completelack of earth-shattering shock. I'd need to look at him to convey my meaning, and that was hard, but I had to. I poured everything I felt into my gaze and fixed it on him.

"No," I clarified. "I mean Ilove you."

He understood, instantly. His hand fell from my chin and he took a step back and that's when I knew he was disgusted, knew he was appalled.

"What?" he asked, clearly mistrustful of his own ears.

"I love you," I repeated weakly, though with my eyes on the floor this time.

He was still and silent for a long time. I could see his feet, but nothing else. They were fixed to the floor, perhaps refusing to move, perhaps too astonished to, or, perhaps, because they didn't want to. I knew it was a foolish hope, that he'd feel some of what I felt, that he experienced the same feeling in his stomach whenever I was near. But still I hoped.

When at last he said my name, it was less like music and more like tyres crunching on gravel. "Kyla..." and that's all he said. Clearly he was too stunned for words. It was the first time I had ever seen all of his defences stripped away, and yet still I couldn't tell what he was thinking. There were too many threads of emotion to pull apart – confusion, shock, sorrow, remorse, disbelief. I would have to wait.

Eventually he spoke, and it was just a single word. "How?"

"How?" I asked back, looking up but not directly at his face.

"How did this happen?"

"I don't know," I said, and a large sob racked my body. "I don't know how it happened. It just did. I'm so sorry."

Kevin let out a long, shaky breath. "I..." he began, then stopped, and began again. "I don't understand. How...."

I didn't let him finish. It was too much, standing there quavering under his look of horror. I ran out of the room, up the stairs and into my bedroom. Just like that Friday night, I shut my door and fell on my bed, crying (if it were possible) more than I had been then. And that's where I stayed, until I opened my diary and wrote these words, these words that are so painful to write and so hard to read.

Even under all the shock and misery of what's happened, even under the weight of Kevin's bewildered reaction, I still have that small hope that, maybe, just maybe, he feels the same way.

* * *

Dear Journal,

After last night, after finding out what was wrong with Kyla, I didn't think things between us would ever be mended. But nor did I think they would ever get worse.

Perhaps I shouldn't have reacted as I did, perhaps I should have said something; but it's not easy finding out that your own sister has those kinds of feelings for you; it's...a little shocking. I'm not sure what to do, to be honest. It's enough of a task making sense of all this myself, but then there're Kyla's feelings to worry about. I know how she'll deal with this and it won't be well. She might never speak to me again.

I guess Ido know what to do, because it's something Ihave to do. Kyla won't broach the subject again – I know that. She's too hurt and too afraid to say anything about it, which means that I have to be the one to bring it up. I just don't know how she'll react. This isn't like last time; she might not agree to speak to me at all. Still, I have to try, and I'm going to do that right now.

* * *

Dear Diary,

It seems there is just no end to how much despair I can wallow in. Whenever I think I've seen the worst of things, I'm proven wrong. This time, I guess, was the worst, mainly because I got my answer.

I was in my room, again, as I so often am these days, at every time of the day. I had cried myself out and was sitting with my back on my pillow, looking out my window at the night sky, which was dotted with stars. I could find nothing pretty about the scene though – it just filled me with more remorse.

It would be accurate to say that I hadn't expected Kevin to come and see me. I figured I had been lucky that he had been in an approachable mood the other two times, and that finally his resolve would thin and he would go back to brooding. But he came, and he opened my door this time.

"Kyla," he said simply, after shutting the door behind him. If I had been lying down, I could have feigned sleep, as it was too dark to make out each other's face. But, as it was, he knew I was awake and he wasn't going to go away any time soon. I only hoped he wouldn't turn on the light.

I kept silent as he took a few steps forward. He repeated my name. When he was only a few steps away from me, he gazed down at me, looking very dark and very solid – a silhouette, but nothing else. I wiped a tear from my cheek.

"Kyla, we need to talk about this," he said, and, obviously convinced of my determination to remain silent, he started solo. "I'm sorry I reacted the way I did. I just didn't know what to say. But I don't want you to think that that means I'm angry with you or that I hate you." He had read my mind and answered its questions. But not all of them. "I just...want to understand," he said, and I looked up, thankful for the veil of darkness between us.

"I don't even understand," I replied in a voice so small I wondered if he could hear it. Kevin didn't respond, and I had the feeling that now that he'd started the ball rolling, he was going to let me speak my mind. I couldn't stop myself. "After what happened last Friday, I just...I felt miserable. I thought you'd hate me for what I did – that you'd be appalled with me. But then we talked and you said those things to me and...it was just...nice. I've had crushes before and I've thought about love, but I've never felt the way I did when I was with you, just talking or...doing more." I think it was clear to him what I meant.

"Kyla," he said, "if that's all it is then..."

"It's not," I replied. "It's more than that. I think about you in so many different ways and I know they're not all sisterly. I'm not just hung up on what it was like to have an orgasm with you." And there I'd said it, at last, specifically. I couldn't tell the reaction it had on Kevin, but the reaction it had on me was definitely noticeable. It felt good to say it. It felt...empowering.

I stood up then, a small amount of strength flooding through my veins – not much, but enough. I took two steps forward so that I was less than a foot away from Kevin, my hands twisting nervously together in front of me. I felt small, standing before him like that, noticing for the first time how much taller he was than me. He wasn't a muscular guy or a tall guy, but at that moment he looked so very solid, as though I could fall against his chest, have him put his arms around me and everything would be all right.

I had to know.

"Do you..." I began hesitantly. "Do you love me, too?"

"Kyla," he replied gravely. "You can't do this. You have to stop before..."

"I can't stop," I interrupted, running on autopilot all of the sudden. Logic was a memory, rationality a long lost friend. "I know it's wrong, and I know it can't work, but Iwant it to. I want it to work. I want to be with you."

There was a pause after my words, and before his, that was almost the worst thing I've ever had to endure. Almost, but not quite. His words were the worst.

"I don't," he said, dropping his head. I felt like his words had severed a connection between us; like he had already left the room and I was still standing there feeling stupid and alone.

"You don't?" I asked, crying forcefully now.

He looked back up. "I'm sorry. I just don't feel that way about you."

I couldn't speak; couldn'tbreathe. I couldn't feel the floor beneath me or any bone in my body. My heart certainly wasn't there; I had poured it out to Kevin and he had batted it away. As the strength left my body, I fell back on the bed, sitting with my hands clenched tightly together in my lap, praying for death.

"Kyla..." he began, starting forward with an outstretched arm. I flinched back and he stopped.

"Go away," I said to him. He didn't move, so I repeated it. Finally, he retracted his arm.

"Kyla, I..."

"Please just go."

I turned away from him and hoped that he would leave soon so that I could collapse. He finally turned around and walked out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. And then I fell apart.

* * *

Dear Journal,

I haven't seen Kyla for days, and I know it's because she's avoiding me. It hasn't been hard; she told mum she was sick and hasn't left her room since.

I feel awful; I have even less of an idea what to do now. I couldn't lie to her though – that would've been worse. What she said to me...I've wanted to hear those words from Danielle for so long. But Kyla...she's my sister; and more than that...I just don't feel about her the way she does about me, or the way I feel about Danielle. I know I did the right thing, but it doesn't make me feel any better.

I'm still having trouble understanding where she's coming from. Physical attraction I can see (without being vain) – after what happened last Friday, I know I've been looking at her differently, noticing her clothes more and her hair – but beyond that, I just don't see how it happened, orwhy it happened. Is it possible she's misleading herself, convincing herself she feels something she doesn't? I know I've felt a much stronger connection to her in the last few months, so maybe she's interpreted it wrongly. But then Kyla's a smart girl and if I know that what I feel for Danielle is love, why should she be any different?

Why do things always get so complicated for me? I have a girl that I've loved for years, who Ifinally befriended, despite the odds, and she's not exactly keen on a relationship. And then I have my sister, who's smart and warm and beautiful yes, but still my sister – and she has the feelings for me that I'm trying to find in Danielle. It just never works out right.

So what do I do now? Do I leave things be and become estranged from my sister for the rest of our lives? Do I persuade her to talk more about it? But then what? Convince her that she doesn't really feel that way about me? That would never work.

The thing that's surprising me is that I'm actually thinking of her as just another girl. The 'you're my sister' argument should have taken the forefront and settled all the questions. But I didn't think about that at first – I thought about whether or not I felt the same way she did. And what if I had? Would I have declared my love and lived happily ever after with her in a small seaside cottage, sans marriage and children? It was pointless to even consider it. But obviously she had.

She loves me. She'sin love with me. I still can't believe it. I mean...I care about her...alot, and Ido love her, and she's clever and kind and romantic and definitely attractive, and sheis willing to offer me a lot more than Danielle is, who would probably pick up with Anthony right where they left off, if he gave her the chance, but...