This is the second part in what I hope to become a rather lengthy series, all revolving around the girl named Viona.
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Very important note: The story describes the girl's entire life up to the point when she is around twenty-two years old.
No character under the age of eighteen engages in any sexual acts whatsoever.
It takes a while before the characters turn eighteen, but no sex will happen up to that point.
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This story is dedicated to and inspired by a very good friend of mine. You know who you are, and I love you dearly.
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August 16, 2008
Lily was different today. As if she had broken a cup and felt guilty about it. Everything she was doing had an obvious, awkward
I don't feel comfortable
vibe to it. The two safety pins in her right ear even seemed to sound sad when they'd jingle against each other today.
I wasn't enjoying it. Both of us had a bad day now and then, but we were usually able to talk about it. After all, we were sisters and lovers. We shared everything with each other. Any difficulty we'd face would always be so much easier to conquer with one another's help. It had always been like that.
For a while, I thought she'd spill it, so I didn't ask until after lunch. She just sat there, poking a last chunk of bread with her index claw. I glanced up from my phone while my fingers darted over the keys, texting my friend that I wasn't going to be able to see him today.
"Lily."
"Mmm?" she answered, distracted and reluctant.
"What's the matter, sis?"
"I don't know."
Please no, not this.
I dreaded this answer so much that I hadn't even dared to think about the possibility of hearing it. I stood up and walked over to behind her back. My hands comfortingly squeezed her shoulders, but she kept poking that piece of bread.
"Something bothering you?"
She finally looked up at me. I saw her lip trembling, and my heart skipped a beat. This wasn't good.
"Vivi... I really love you, but..."
More tension. More reason to think I shouldn't have asked. More reason to continue asking anyway. My voice turned shaky like the vibrator I still vividly remember her using on me the night before.
"But what?"
"I think should stop dating."
The world exploded. I cried and begged through her explanation and didn't hear a word of it.
---
September 24, 1985
The music was way too loud, and talking was next to impossible, except for the people who cared to go outside, running away from the party's ear torturing abience. Michelle was nineteen years old and having a rough time, while simultaneously having the time of her life. Or maybe the beer and cocktails made it seem like that.
"Michelle, ma belle!" A familiar, male face was looking at her. She vaguely recognized him, and he knew her name, so they were probably friends. She shaked her head and walked past him.
"Fuck you, ass."
Being named after a song by The Beatles was one thing, but costantly being reminded of it was another. All her life, she had vowed to murder Paul McCartney if she ever got the chance.
Stumbling on her way outside, she immediately fell into the arms of a tall, handsome feline. His furred arms and chest felt warm, and she was yet again reminded of the fact that she was one of the few humans on a furry party. Her main reason to come here was to find out whether furry people were able to speak, and whether their brain was indeed so much smaller than a human's. She had no idea, though. The first thing she knew when she arrived was that she immediately got a free cocktail, and her noble, biology induced intentions were forgotten on the spot.
"Hey, will you be okay?"
Michelle clumsily stood up again and looked up into his eyes with a nod. She had spilled her glass all over his pants, but neither of the two actually noticed this.
"Of course I will! Wuh... Why are you growling at me?"
"I'm not. That's called purring."
"Well yeah, caaaare. It's the same thing."
She looked around, and saw the party building twirling and moving around. When she looked up into his eyes again, he pressed his feline lips against hers, and she didn't resist. Minutes later, they were sitting around the corner, secluded by nothing at all, and she was bouncing up and down in his lap. Whimpers, moans and cries all were ignored by their surroundings, and even they didn't really know what exactly they were doing.
The next morning, Michelle awoke in her apartment and groaned. The hangover was way unbearable. While she was brushing her teeth, her eyes suddenly went wide and she dropped her toothbrush, her hand remaining motionless next to her mouth. She sat down on the floor and sighed, grinding her teeth against each other as she realized what had happened the night before. Her hands found her face and she cursed. She didn't even know his name.
---
June 10, 1986
"You're almost there, Michelle. Try to keep controlling your breath."
Michelle groaned, cursed, moaned, cried, screamed in protest, but we couldn't be stopped. When my sister was born, things got even worse for our mother. The baby had little cat ears, and a tail that was already more flexible than her arms and legs. When Michelle grabbed the kitten's hand to count its digits, five needle-like claws tickled her finger. The doctors and nurses were all astonished, thinking they were part of a fairy tale.
Things got
even
worse when Michelle realized that her daughter had a twin sister. I, Viona, was born seven minutes after the girl whose name would end up being Lily. No Lianne, Lilandra or Liselot. Just Lily. A simple name that would define and color my world from the day we were born.
Our mother hated us, and was depressed for years. She spent several hours per day working hard for her money, and had to spend every dime feeding her two little monsters. Each time when we'd meow or purr, she'd turn the radio louder and tell us to shut up.
We grew to be what you'd call
hybrid cathumans
. Our bodies were furless, except for our big ears and long tails. We had claws with sheaths, and when we were young, we meowed more than we spoke. I myself had sharp fangs instead of normal teeth, and my canines were notably long. Lily's teeth were similar to a human's, though.
By the time we were four, Lily and I still only had each other. We were exceptionally intelligent, but oblivious to the world outside our house and garden. By this time, we were able to team up on mice, rabbits and even birds, which we caught and ate raw - like real kitties. Our mother did feed us, but she never cared to make enough for the two of us, often even giving us one plate with barely enough food for one child.
Lily was my best friend. We shared everything we had, and did everything together. We were like siamese twins. Our happiness together frustrated our mom even more, as if she was jealous of how close we were. She'd often get annoyed over simple things like when we'd be giggling a bit to much, and her favorite way of punishing us was by merely sending one of us to our bedroom, while refusing to allow the other to follow.
Until we were six, we never realized that we were any different than our mother. When we first went to elementary school, we were surrounded by humans, who did nothing but bully us. Our ears and tails were pulled, we were called names, and we were generally seen as filthy animals.
"No! Don't use that pencil! Those kitties had it earlier."
We were used to it; life with our mom was much of the same.
School suddenly became better than being with our mother though. When we were thirteen, one of the teachers once told us he had a nephew just like us, and he began loving us as if we were his children. He protected us from bullies, bought lunch for us when our own money got stolen, and convinced our mother to put a little bit more effort into us.
Mister Janssen.
For half a year, things were gradually improving. Mister Janssen occasionally visited us, and helped our mother with the heavy burden she had. Our fourteenth birthday was the first one we celebrated. Three weeks after our mother finally bought both of us our first bras, Mister Janssen was caught trying to seduce a girl in our class, and he was forced to move to a different school. My mother shrugged it off, and life went back to what it had been.
---
June 10, 2002
"Do you, Viona Vanwonderen take me, Lily Vanwonderen, as your wife?"
I giggled and mouthed those two words to her. She slid the second of the two stolen rings around my finger, and we were married. We exchanged
happy birthdays
for the one millionth time that day, and we hugged. The hug lasted for several hours, and we eventually fell asleep in each other's arms.
It wasn't until the next day that we realized our mother hadn't come home. She was probably having her brains fucked out by a person she had met only a few hours ago - like she did about once or twice every week - but now it was two nights in a row. This had never happened before, and both of us were ironically worried.
There's something about the relationship between a mother and a daughter; both are undeniably supposed to love each other, no matter what. In our situation, there had never been any love, but there had been a peculiar kind of affection. When we were thirteen, Lily had been hit by a car, and our mother was crying her eyes out in the hospital while she waited, unable to deal with the possibility of having to give her daughter away. When Lily was eventually allowed to leave the hospital, she was nearly suffocated by our mother's enthusiasm when she hugged the little girl's head to her chest.
Now it was the day after our sixteenth birthday, and our mother was gone. At first we didn't let it bother us, but a day turned into several days, and days turned into weeks. After our exams, we awkwardly told our teacher that our mother wouldn't be able to come and talk about our results, and he eventually made us call the police.
Our mother was found in a forest near the Botrange on the first of July, and everything showed that she had shot herself in the head, in the middle of nowhere. She died at the age of thirty-six, and took a four months old fetus with her.
Life went on, but it was incredibly hard. Financially it was okay, and even the work we spent in household didn't change very much. We had been able to cook ever since we were toddlers, and were perfectly able to take care of ourselves. We missed our mother simply because she was our mother.
---
August 1, 2004
I woke up to the feeling of Lily slipping out of bed. With a sly smile, I caught a glimpse of her breasts before they disappeared behind the folds of her white bathrobe.
We were eighteen now, and had changed drastically. Five years ago, everybody had mistaken us for identical twins, but now people often even thought we were just friends who happened to be joined by the hip. While we had both always had brown, straight hair, my hair had decided to become curly when I was seventeen. I did everything to make my hair look as beautiful as Lily's again, but to no avail.
Apparently, my body had simply liked being the odd one out. We had developed similarly during our puberty, but when she stopped growing breasts and getting taller, I continued doing exactly that. At 5'4", I was now three inches taller than her, and I was blessed with a 34C bosom while she contented herself with a B-cup. She was even more thin and less curvy than me, and I usually outweighed her by five or ten pounds. Even my ears had become larger than hers.
