Then, I heard someone downstairs singing with me, harmonizing perfectly with my voice.
Take a sad song, and make it be-ee-ter...
I froze in my tracks. Tom was home? A wave of cold nausea rolled over my entire body. Had he heard me? Had he been listening to me moan and gasp, wailing his name in a voice choked with my unspeakable, secret, shameful desire?
Maybe he hadn’t. I would have to keep walking downstairs, acting as naturally as possible. If he had, I would probably see it on his face.
“Hey!” he called up the stairs, “why did you stop singing?”
“Sorry, ha ha, I didn't think anyone was home,” I yelled back awkwardly in response. He started singing again, but I didn’t have the heart to join in. I was sick with apprehension. His voiced died away, disappointment ringing in the last few words. Tom loved to sing. Music had been his only salvation after his mom had died, and it carried him though, at least until now. The sound of his voice, as soulful and ragged as his guitar playing, and so much older than his 19 years, was yet another thing about him that truly drove me wild.
This was so embarrassing! But I had to keep walking down the stairs. It would be even more awkward if I turned and ran back up to my room, which every mortified cell in my body was screaming at me to do. I tentatively stepped into the living room, where Tom was tuning his guitar.
“Hey sis, are you feeling any better?”
“A little,” I said as evenly as I could manage. I tried to stop the heat that was reddening my face. “Did you get off work early?”
“Yeah,” he said offhandedly, plucking a string and listening carefully to the note that pulsed through the awkward, quiet room. He wrenched the string a little tighter, and the note got sharper, then buzzed away and died. He put down his guitar. “It was slow today, so they sent me home. Figures. At this rate, I’ll never save enough money to go to California.”
“I thought Blake was going to pay for most of it?"
“He was, but the band broke up. Blake’s going to college, and just yesterday Andy decided he doesn't want to go with me. I'm a little bummed."
I was crushed. I knew how much Tom's band had meant to him. I had heard them practice so many times, and had even gone to their first shows, before they started gaining popularity. They had been good, really good.
“Oh my God, Tom, I'm so sorry." I hugged him tight. Tom didn't look upset, but I knew how he held things in, trying to keep a lid on himself before he exploded in pain. He had turned into a problem child, someone who disappeared for days, worrying my father sick before he returned looking ragged and hung over, wearing the same dirty clothes he had walked away in.
After his mom died, he had lost control of his grief, and his world had spiraled into darkness. He quit the football team, where he had been the star running back, and drifted away from everybody. I couldn't count the number of fights he had gotten into, or how many times he had been suspended. On a couple of truly grim nights, my dad had made the long drive to the police station to bail him out of jail.
But he had never lashed out at me. If anything, we had become closer throughout all the trials and tribulations. It only made sense; I had lost my mom to cancer when I was a little girl, and he had gone through that same awful loss two years ago, when his mom died in a car wreck. I was the only person he confided in, that he could spill his guts to. And when some of the popular kids at school made fun of me, he had sent one of them, a preppy asshole that everyone worshiped, on a brutal collision course with a staircase that knocked out most of his teeth. He had gone to jail for that one, for assault. The judge had been lenient because of his mother’s recent death, and Tom had narrowly escaped doing hard time.
My infatuation with him felt so wrong, and I was ashamed of myself. But I couldn’t help it. He was wild and brooding, and that thrilled me in ways I couldn’t believe. His troubled soul was deeper than that of anyone else I knew. I wanted to give all of myself to him.
I wanted to move past this silly adolescent crush, especially when it was so dirty and forbidden, but it was so hard. Especially in moments like this one, when he was tuning his guitar with intense concentration, brushing his wayward hair away from his handsome face. I was pretty sure he had no idea how good he looked.
He needed someone to be truly close with, someone he trusted enough to not push away. I knew that my sex could heal the wounds in his soul, just like it would heal the emptiness in mine. I knew I could tame his wild grief, and set his unhappiness at ease; but I didn’t know how to get from here to there. I was a virgin, for crying out loud! What did I know about seduction?
Plus, I was sick of being so good all the time. Everyone thought they knew me, but they didn't. I had passions, I had desires. And I was so damn horny all the time it was driving me crazy: crazy enough to get my hot stepbrother to fuck my brains out.
I hugged Tom again, as tight as I could.
“I love you,” I said, in the most sisterly way I could.
“I love you too,” he said, his voice husky with grief. He hugged me back, and I practically melted in his arms. It hurt when he let me go. I walked to the kitchen and made myself lunch.
“Do you want anything?” I called back into the living room.
“I dunno, a sandwich? If you want to make me one.”
I would have jumped into traffic if he asked me. I returned with our food and sat on the couch next to him, as close as I dared. I felt better again, now that we were sitting together. We ate quietly for a moment.
“So,” he asked, “what did you do with your day so far?”
“Not much,” I lied. I just had the most consuming, mind-blowing, blast-me-to-the-fucking-moon-and-beyond-into-another-dimension raging orgasm while dreaming about you ramming my hot little pussy. “I just read a little and hung out.” I squirmed a little, feeling a sexy, electric chill run through my body. I liked it when it was just the two of us, hanging out on a quiet weekday.
“Uh huh,” he said. His voice almost sounded teasing. Shit! Did he know? I scanned Tom’s face for any sign that he had heard my outrageous moaning half an hour ago. He looked bemused; one of his sly smiles was starting to pull at the corner of his mouth. I suddenly wanted to die. He quickly changed the subject.
“I met a girl today.” Shit again! This day was going from bad to worse.
“Uh huh,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed. “What’s she like?”
“I don’t know. She’s totally crazy. And she’s possibly the most sexual person I’ve ever met. You probably wouldn’t get along with her: she’s just so fucking bad, worse than I am. I think I really like her though. And she loves music more than anything, just like I do."
I swallowed hard. It was taking every iota of energy in my body to keep myself from crying. I was devastated, and I couldn’t help it.
He continued, “I don't know, Sasha. Something inside me feels like she could heal me, or like we could heal each other. I finally feel hopeful. I’ve never felt like this before.”
I couldn’t take any more. I tore away from the couch and ran for my room, before Tom could see the hot, bitter tears coursing down my face. I locked myself in my room and sat down with my back to the door. I tried to stop myself from crying, but as soon as I had caught my breath another spasm of grief would shake me, and I would start to sob again.
All the things that were supposed to bring Tom and I even closer--music, sex, the loss we had both survived--didn’t matter, because Tom had found all those things in someone else. And she sounded better than me, like she was interesting and experienced, someone that Tom could really talk to, could really relate to.
But what about me? What about my feelings? Was I going to be left alone in this cold, harsh world, to carry my burdens and stupid desire for Tom by myself? I needed love too, more than I wanted to admit.