Date: Thu, 31 Aug 2006 14:58:09 -0700 (PDT)
From: Jane Doe <malkuth_lies@yahoo.com>
Subject: End of August  Part 2

~Yeah, if you shouldn't read this, due to age, local laws or simple
preference, please don't. Otherwise, enjoy! :)


It's hot, too hot to sleep. That's my first thought as I slowly drift
upwards through the layers of consciousness. I'm sweating, even though I'm
naked aside from the sheet. Why am I sleeping naked? It smells like
something, musky and strange, not a smell I'm used to. I reach out across
the bed and for some reason I'm expecting to find something there, but
there's nothing but empty space.

My eyes slowly open to the light of morning and my gaze drifts across the
room to my desk. Clean and neat, like I always keep it. A slight movement
catches my eye and my eyes are drawn to Sara as she sits at her desk. The
sight of her hits me like a punch in the chest and the memories of last
night flood my brain. How can she be so beautiful? The question tears at my
heart, making me feel like I'm going to choke on the lump rising in my
throat. Her dark hair is spilling down her back, the soft yellow morning
light lending a bronze cast to her skin. She's sitting there motionless
with her laptop in front of her, through the slats in the back of her chair
I can see the curve of her back, a light sheen of sweat making her contours
glisten. Now I know what I was expecting to find beside me^×her scent is
still on my pillows and sheets, the sight of her sitting there naked, even
if I'm not seeing... I feel like I'm going crazy.

I'm up and out of the room, wrapped in my bathrobe and carrying my little
basket of toiletries down to the bathroom. The water is almost scalding hot
as it rains down on me, and I let it flow over me at first, just standing
there. Then I start scrubbing. I have to get her scent off me. Out of my
hair, off of my skin. What the fuck is wrong with her? What was she
thinking? That I would like it? I scrub until my skin is raw. I think I've
washed my hair three times, but I still don't feel clean. I want nothing
more than to get the feel of her off of me, but it's like her hands are
still there. Her hands and her lips, moving over my skin... I shudder with
the memory of it, leaning back against the cold wall of the shower. What's
wrong with her? What's wrong with me? Fuck this, she's going to get a piece
of my mind.

I climb out of the shower, wrap myself in my bath robe and storm down the
hallway, ready to let her know what I think of her sick little
perversions. I throw open our door, tirade half formed in the throat, but
she's gone. NO! She can't do this to me and then just walk out^×hide from
the consequences of her actions like she always does. She can't do
this. What the fuck was it to her? Just another fuck, to be ditched in the
morning? I wouldn't doubt it knowing her.

Trembling with rage I slam the door shut behind me. Tears well up in my
eyes but I don't know why. I slide down, back against the door, heart
twisting in my chest; the pain I feel punishing me for my own impotence. I
hope it was worth it for her. I'm going to make her life a living
hell. Just like she's been doing to me.

I can't do anything but cry and curse her until I notice the time. Fuck...
Now she's made me late for class too. I throw on my uniform, try to hide
the effects of my crying with makeup and get to class as quickly as
possible. She'll just have to wait. God, I hate her.

* * * It's been an awful day, class after class, long and dull, and even
when I see Sara I have to keep my rage bottled up. I don't need to be the
one expelled. Even with that in mind, every time I see her in the halls,
everything boils up into my throat and I have to choke it back, as though
it were a vile conglomeration of bodily fluids that seeped into my stomach
and need to be expelled. Every time I see her my mind's eye opens, showing
me snapshots of what we did, things I wish I could forget.

For her part, she's still Sara. As though nothing had happened. The same
blasé look; the same slow, dignified gait; the same disinterested stare and
aloof attitude. Am I nothing to her? Does she just not give a damn about
any of it? When I think these things I feel like I'm going to cry, despair
clutching at my heart and tears threatening to well up in my eyes.

But why does it matter? She's a freak, a pervert and a bitch. I know how
she uses people and then drops them. She's just like Mom, and I hate them
both.

Finally class ends and I find myself out in the courtyard, so lost in my
own thoughts I was unaware I had made it so far. Standing in the bright
sunlight, I cast my eyes about for an anchor to pull me out of my
disorientation. As if God felt my need, the best anchor possible comes
walking through the gate. I grin like a goon and run to meet Marc as he
saunters on in, catching me in his arms easily. Troubles momentarily
forgotten I plant a kiss on his lips and soon we're surrounded by friends
and everything seems normal. Thank the Lord for small favors.

With Marc's arm around me and gossip being passed around our little circle
I don't even notice her until I catch my boyfriend's gaze wandering past
me. Of course he would notice her, right beside me, listening to my friends
chatter with that passive look on her face and smug gleam in her eyes. Fury
and outrage swell and threaten to boil over as she gives me a faint
smile. How dare she just wander in and disrupt my world like this? I settle
in against Marc's side even closer, sliding an arm around his waist
possessively and I see her smile falter then fade. It's my turn to
smile. She doesn't like that, does she? Every bit of attention I lavish on
him seems to sour her mood a bit more. Nuzzling his shoulder, playing with
his hair, kissing his cheek; every little move bringing another crystal of
ice into her eyes. Driving her farther back behind her pretentious
façade. Does she think she has some kind of right to me? That she's laid
some sort of claim to me? I think not.

When I can see the fury simmering in her, a mirror to my own, I pull away
from Marc just a bit, lacing my fingers with his as his arm drops from my
shoulder. I give him a sly smile and a wink, excusing us from the gabbing
circle of girls to... take a little walk. The girls get the idea and our
departure is accompanied by giggles and knowing glances. Sara's eyes are
locked on Marc^×he might think she looks interested. But I know her better
than that, the only interest she has in him is possibly to castrate him at
this point. Her anger is like a sweet balm to my mind and heart, and I feel
lighthearted and unburdened as we wander the grounds, searching for a bit
of privacy.

* * * I've avoided it as long as I can. Marc had to leave in time to get
back to his school for dinner, though the making out in the meantime had
been an escape. I went to dinner, studied, hung out in Charlotte's room,
talking about guys, anything I could think of to stay out of my room, stay
away from her.

I sigh, staring up at the dormitory, dreading what waits inside. I guess I
have to bite the bullet eventually, but as I pass into the building my feet
feel like lead and I have to steel myself for the long slow climb up the
stairs. I feel like I'm walking to the chopping block, the executioner
waiting with his razor sharp axe. But why? It's my room too. Why should she
have this power over me, to make me feel like I can't even return to my
room? Because it is my room too! My pace quickens and by the time I reach
our door I'm almost running. I open the door forcefully and nearly slam it
behind me as I enter. She doesn't even look up. I stare at her with burning
defiance until she meets my gaze. She's lying on her bed, stretched out on
her stomach with books open in front of her, maybe doing homework, maybe
just doodling as she reads.

Her look is cold and closed. Distant, uncaring, the very essence of my dear
sister. Our eyes lock and I will her to acknowledge my defiance, my
independence, the fact that I will not be a slave to her whims and
desires. I should've known better. Once again I'm left with twisting
frustration in my gut and embarrassment rising to my cheeks as she goes
back to her books, her look dismissing me as an overemotional and
overdramatic child. How does she do this to me? She doesn't even have to
speak to make me feel like this, as though I wasn't even worth more than a
moment of her time. To make me feel so ashamed of what I do, of how I
feel. As if I were the unreasonable one. Suddenly I feel like crying, my
frustration jumping from my stomach to create a knot in my throat and make
my eyes burn with shame.

Somehow I hold it in, clamping down with all my strength and willing myself
to not let her see my vulnerability. So I simply slide into my bed quietly,
doing all I can to maintain control. I lay there, staring up at the bunk
above me where my sister, my twin, lies, and I can almost feel her disdain
drip down from above.

* * * All is silent until lights out. I watch her as she climbs down,
putting away her books and then turning off the lights, only changing into
her pajamas in the darkness. My eyes haven't adjusted enough to be able to
see anything other than her vague form across the room by her dresser, and
I have to ask myself if I really want to see more. She wears what she
always wears, a white button down shirt and a pair of underwear. I don't
have to see detail to know that.

To my surprise instead of climbing back up onto her bunk she slides into
mine, lying on her side, facing me. I don't quite know what to think, but I
don't trust this one bit. We stare at one another in silence for a long
while. As my eyes adjust I can see her, faintly illuminated by the feeble
light of the moon outside our window. Why is her face always so calm, her
eyes so impenetrable? It's times like this I hate the most. At times like
this not even I can read her. It makes me want to lash out, hurt her, get
her angry, at least then I know where I stand.

"Why did you do that?" Her voice is soft but clear, utterly devoid of any
feeling. I have to ponder a moment before answering.

 "Why did I do what?" Searching her eyes I find nothing, they seem as flat
and empty as her voice. It scares me in some fashion, having her look at me
like this, talk to me like this. It feels unnatural, and then it dawns on
me^×this is how she talks to Mom and Dad. The irrepressible urge to do
something, anything, to get her back to normal wells up. She can't do this
to me, she can't look at me like she does them, no, no, NO!

She rolls onto her back as though she'll get up, but I can't let her. I
can't let her leave me like this. I can't be like them, I can't! I slide my
arm over her waist and move so I'm lying half on top of her, my chest on
hers and my chin resting lightly just below her collarbone. She doesn't
resist me, she isn't reacting at all. Complete indifference. This I fear
above any other response at all. I can feel the tears I held back springing
to my eyes, threatening to spill over as my heart lurches in my chest.

"No. I won't let you leave." It's all I can think to say. Even if it
doesn't make that much sense. But she wouldn't just be climbing up to her
bunk. There's an air of finality in the room, clinging to us, cradling our
words and lending our tiniest movements a staggering weight.

"Why not? You already left me." And in my mind's eye I see the stare she
gave Marc. I see the smile she gave me, I see the warmth in her eyes
through the day that I willed myself not to see at the time. And my tears
make good on their threat, spilling out and down my cheeks, as what I've
done staggers me. I sag against her; laying my cheek on her chest I let my
tears fall. Were I standing I would've sank to my knees.

I can't even speak. Insidious weakness and revulsion wash over me, turning
my silent tears slowly into wracking sobs, curling in against her. My body
and soul beg her forgiveness, even if my voice cannot. I feel her arms
slowly slide around me as I cry, eventually cradling me against her and her
fingers gently sliding through my hair. Slowly my sobs fade, leaving me
exhausted and depressed. I do my best to find my voice, though all I can
manage to produce is a ragged whisper.

 "I'm sorry, Sara. I'm sorry." I don't know what else I can say. I can't
deny it. I didn't just leave her. I ran screaming from her. I still don't
know what I think about what we did^×maybe she is sick. Maybe she's totally
fucked in the head, but I can't be like them. I can't just ignore it and
lock her out, leave her in the cold, alone. We may hate each other
sometimes, but we've always had each other to hate, and to join in hating
our parents. There's nothing worse than nothing.  She gently cups my chin
and tilts my head up to look at her. I can see her face plainly now, her
lovely face, delicate features normally given strength by her confidence
and unbreakable will, sad and tired here in the darkness of our room. Her
eyes, her eyes are what pain me the most. They're not only sad, but so damn
lonely. A loneliness I know all too well. It's heartbreaking to see so much
of myself in her, and briefly I hate her for letting me see it.

"Does he tell you he loves you?" Her shell is cracking, her walls crumbling
down. This has never happened before, not in all the time we've been
together; never once in our shared lives has Sara lost it. I do all the
time, but never her. It scares the hell out of me.

 "Of course he does." He told me when we left school last year. He's been
telling me since we came back. Of course he tells me that; he wants in my
pants.

 "Why do they always lie to us? Why does everyone lie..." Her voice is
barely a whisper, and I can see the wetness in her ice blue eyes. She's
breaking, and I have no idea what to do. She's not supposed to, she's never
supposed to, but what right do I have to expect that from her? I do nothing
but try to break her. I try to break her, and when she crumbles I hate her
for being so much like me. Is it really her I hate? I feel so lost, but as
a tear slides down her porcelain cheek I know I might be lost, but I'm not
alone. And I won't let her feel alone either.

With trembling hands I cup her face, wiping her tears away, my eyes
searching for hers until she allows them to meet. I can't say anything to
what I see in her eyes, and I can't do anything but will her to see my
response in my own. I want to tell her it will be OK. This time I'll be
strong for her, but it won't do any good unless she can see it, unless she
can feel it, without words, without lies. Her eyes have never told me
anything untrue, whenever I really looked. Why haven't I looked more often?
Why wasn't I willing to see what's been right in front of me all along?
Maybe I had to break her to get to this point. I don't know, but I wish I
hadn't.

I can feel her body trembling under mine, I can feel the tremors of her
loneliness and sadness taking over. Was it me that hurt her so badly, or
did I just strike the final blow? I prop myself up on one elbow, and
looking down at her I know I have to be true to her, to myself, to the
promise my eyes made. I can't stand seeing her like this. I think of her
disdain for our parents when they forgot birthdays and school plays, her
condemnation of their sometimes unthinking cruelty. How she always stood
strong for me when I needed it, and how our strength may have been drawn
from our hatred, but for the first time I can see it was drawn from being
together.

With all this in my mind and my heart I am steady and I am strong, if only
for her. Leaning in my lips catch hers, ever so softly, for once
encouraging her with love. I've had enough hate for one life. I can feel
her crying begin in earnest as I kiss her, and I let her tears
fall. Sometimes it's OK to cry. I hold her close and kiss her lips then her
cheeks and her chin and her eyelids, growing more ardent and adoring as I
do so. So maybe I'm pretty sick too. She trembles like a leaf and all I can
do is kiss her, endlessly kiss her, finally parting her lips with my tongue
and acknowledging her as more than just my sister. Last night she was in
charge. She did as she wished and gave everything to me^×now it's my
turn. I kiss her deeply, trying to suck the pain from her soul, to let her
know I'm willing to bear the burden with her, and as I do so I begin slowly
unbuttoning her nightshirt, exposing the bare flesh of the valley between
her breasts, down over her stomach to her navel, slowly pushing away the
thin cloth that is her only remaining defense, the only thing keeping me
from having her completely and totally vulnerable in every way.

I shift up on top of her, kissing her deeply, then begin a slow move
downwards, over her chin and along her throat, feeling almost drunk with
the taste and smell of her skin. I dive into the hollow of her throat,
sucking and nibbling at every curve and hollow, her gasps and soft moans
like music to my ears. My hands travel down over her sides as though they
had never known the feeling of another body before, seeking to know and
glorify her body in every way possible, to elicit every last ounce of
pleasure for her and myself. I spread her shirt farther, exposing her
perfect breasts as my mouth works down between them, and I sit up for a
moment, leaning back to gaze down upon her prone form, her skin so pale it
almost seems to glow in the dimly diffused moonlight. I let my fingers
wander back up her sides, slowly cupping the soft beautiful orbs that are
her breasts, each pale globe accentuated by a dark nipple, contrast in
tone, heightened by the lack of true illumination. Her eyes say everything
I need to know; they make a wordless pledge of not only her body, but her
heart and soul as well. In this moment I know I love her, perhaps more than
I should. But in knowing that, I feel complete. And I know that she is the
only one that can make me feel this way. My twin, my other half. I think we
understand that now.

Smiling gently I lean down to take her left nipple into my mouth, first
sucking and then lightly nibbling, flicking my tongue over its quickly
stiffening tip. I feel her moan reverberating through her chest more than I
hear it, and I quickly switch to the right nipple, lavishing attention on
each in turn. The smoothness of her flesh and softness of her skin is a
marvel to me, a true wonder to be explored and worshipped. I'm far from
satisfied with just her nipples though, and my mouth greedily wanders
around them, covering each breast in turn and moves slowly outward from
them, around the supple sides and down to the barest beginnings of their
swelling from her chest, and then down over her ribs and the flat expanse
of her stomach. Her navel draws me back to her midline and I nibble and
lick in and around it, adoring the feel of her hands in my hair.

I caress the flare of her hips, gently gripping and stroking them before
hooking my fingers into the waistband of her panties, slowly dragging them
down to expose yet more of her, and my lips and tongue soon follow my
fingers. She squirms and writhes as I traverse the lines of her hips and
slide down over her thighs, dragging her panties farther down as my mouth
requires access. I can feel the heat of her body rising, her hips lifting
to ease the removal of her underwear, granting me a glimpse of her neatly
trimmed mound and allowing her scent to permeate my senses. And my god, she
smells like heaven. I let my kisses wander between her navel and the
beginnings of her neat patch as I slide a hand up her inner thigh,
marveling at the warmth I can sense at her core. It takes a feat of
willpower to keep from ducking my head between her thighs. Instead I let my
fingers trail ever so slowly upwards, finally coming into contact with her
slick, hot center after what seems like an eternity.

At first I merely let my fingertips slide along her slit, feeling her
writhe and strain for greater contact. She's so soft, so incredibly wet
it's a nearly frictionless touch, simply gliding over her most tender
parts. Her gasps and soft cries take on a more pleading tone and I can no
longer resist her pull. I slide my fingers deeper into her valley and allow
her hips to find the placement as she impales herself on me, taking my
fingers deep inside and grinding on them. I'm so lost in the sensation it's
almost a surprise when the top of her cleft meets with my chin. She lets
out a soft cry and I drop my mouth the scant few inches necessary to truly
taste her. Near where my chin had rested I find her neat little bud, a
perfect place for sucking and I do so without thinking; as lost in her
sweetness as I am, I continue to thrust and explore her insides with my
fingers. One of her hands grips the sheets and the other holds my head in
place as her writhing reaches new heights, her chest heaving as she pants
for air. I can do nothing but marvel at her beauty and utter abandon, my
mouth and hands continuing of their own accord. As her frenzy works to a
fever pitch, I'm mesmerized, totally in her power as she is in mine, and
she lets out a guttural cry, primal, from some dark part of her soul as her
insides clamp down on my fingers and I can feel her slickness coating my
hand and her inner thighs. She's like some primitive goddess, pure and
animalistic, loving and brutal.

Awe turns to horror as I hear fast footfalls outside our door, followed by
a pounding. I can barely throw the blankets up over her before the door is
thrown open and our floor monitor bursts in. My heart seizes in my chest
for a moment as Sara looks up, flushed and groggily confused.

"My Lord, Abigail! What's going on in here!?" My eyes are wide and I can
feel my heart seize in my chest. I blurt out the first thing that comes to
mind.

"She was having a bad dream. I don't know... I tried to wake her..." My mind
is locked in terror and my heart goes from a complete stop to a hundred
miles an hour, thundering in my chest and ears.

I quickly stand and step back as the forty-something nun crosses to my
sister's bedside and sits down beside her. Sara just looks confused and all
I can do is pray the smell and wetness on my hands and face go
unnoticed. Sister Francis lays a gentle hand on Sara's forehead, giving her
a concerned look.

 "She seems to have a bit of a fever. Are you all right, Sara dear?" I feel
very near fainting. Sara faintly smiles and gazes over at me, still
breathing a bit heavily.

"I think I'll be fine. It was just a dream. Could Abby sleep with me
though? I feel better with her close." Her voice is dreamy and soft, I can
almost see the tough old nun's heart melt. She's certainly been familiar
with our fighting.

"Certainly, dear." She stands and gives me a stern look. "Abigail, I know
you two don't always get along, but your sister is sick and she needs
you. Look after her. There's nothing more important in this world than your
sister." I stare gape-jawed for a moment, then slowly nod.

"Yes, Ma'am. I'll make sure she's taken care of."

Under Francis' watchful gaze I strip and pull on a nightshirt, then crawl
into bed beside Sara, doing my best to keep her naked form covered. The nun
gives me one last commanding glare, then retreats, closing the door and
enveloping us in darkness once again.

Sara immediately pulls me into a lingering kiss, letting her hands slide up
under my nightshirt, sending a thrill up my spine. After the kiss breaks I
hold her close. I never want to let her go.

 "You looked guilty as sin there, Sis. If you were anyone else we woulda
been so busted." Softly giggling she settles in against me, still
completely naked under the covers.

"Yeah, well... maybe that just means God wants us together. He kept our
secret safe right in front of one of his daughter-in-laws."

"What's up with that, anyways? Christ is some kind of pimp there?" Our
giggling continues long into the night, and we fall asleep nestled
together, finally in tune with our other halves.