Collision

Newton's Third Law states that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. This means that any force exerted onto an object has a counterpart force that is exerted in the opposite direction back onto the first object.

* * * * *

What does one do after raping one's sister?

Brett didn't know what he did the rest of that day. He must have walked, must have sat somewhere, must have stared at nothing, and must have cried. He didn't quite know. All he knew was that he couldn't go home.

It was well past midnight when he returned home. He had shut his cell phone off after an attempted call from Jody, only sending a text home to his mother that he would be home late and not to wait up for him. He couldn't face anyone. If he had to show his face to Jody, talk to her ever in his life, he needed time. He needed to build up his defenses.

But...

how

?

How could he really even begin to get over the horror, the anguish, and the deep hatred he felt for his own worthless selfishness and get over this? How?

And what of her? Of what he had done to her? In an effort to comfort her, he had wounded her so deeply that nothing could ever compare to the pure heartlessness of it. He had shattered her. Nothing could ever make her whole again.

Love? He thought he loved her? He wanted to take his heart out and grind it beneath his heel, to dig his nails in deep and tear it apart, snuffing his life with it. She was right in not believing him. He was not capable of love.

He was broken, and he had just broken the only thing in his life that was perfect.

But in his haze of self-derision, one thing was clear. He had to know if she was okay. Hell, she couldn't be, not ever. But okay enough to... go on. He needed to know that.

It was that thought that brought him back, creeping in the dark of the night, trying to hide from everyone. From himself.

He crept into the dark house, up the stairs, through the hallway to her room and silently turned the doorknob. Inch by inch, he pushed the door open. There was no noise from inside. That was good. At least she wasn't crying. He peered into the darkness and tried to figure out if she was in bed.

"Get in there," said a voice behind him.

Brett crashed into the door, scared out of his wits by the unexpectedness, making what felt like a god-awful noise in the quiet house. He whirled around and saw his sister standing there behind him.

"Go on. We need to talk. And keep it down, will you?" she directed. There was steel in her voice.

He licked lips that had suddenly gone dry. "Jody? No, I just wanted to see...."

"Brett, go in. You owe it to me."

He did.

She walked in behind him and closed the door to her bedroom; went and sat down on her bed.

Brett turned away. He didn't know what to say, how to deal with this. All he knew was that this was dangerous. He could not let her get too close to him. He was never good for anyone. Look what he had done to her already. He could kill her.

He would just listen to her tell him that. He would listen to her fling furious words at him about what he had done, how disgusting and selfish he was. And then he would leave. He owed her that.

It was a while before she spoke. "You think you're the only one who has demons to fight, Brett?" she said, her voice a faint whisper in the dark.

"What do you mean?" It was wrenched out of him by the unexpected sentence, the softness of her voice.

"Why did you run away?"

What could he say?

"Brett, why did you run away? Talk to me." Her voice was soft, pleading.

He couldn't. He couldn't let himself do anything else to her and whatever came out of his mouth would be fucked up anyway. His words were fucked up. His actions were fucked up.

He

was fucked up. What could he say? How could he explain? And so he said nothing.

"Well, I guess you can listen then. I'm sorry you felt that it was anticlimactic or something. I mean, it must have grossed you out. But we're adults, Brett. We can deal with... what has happened. You just can't run away from things. We're still part of the same family and we need to deal with issues. And we can be mature about stuff. It's not something that needs to affect you. We can just put it behind us, right? And, well, I just wanted to add... I don't know if you've been with other girls or not... but it's not always that way. I don't want you to feel like every time it's going to be... disgusting like that..."

What

in the name of God was she going on about? Brett tried to figure out if he was missing something.

"...was a letdown maybe, but other girls are better than I am. Much more beautiful. Well, and it's not even about looks all the time, is it? I guess part of it is that we're brother and sister... and that's probably why you don't think I'm attractive... it's perfectly normal."

What? Did she think...? His befuddled brain was beginning to get her drift.

"...it's okay if you felt you loved me and that's all that matters. I love you still. And you don't have to feel bad if you didn't like it. You don't have to run..."

"I liked it." The words dropped into the room, putting an end to her rambling, bring a sense of quiet with them. "Loved it. Love you. So stop thinking all this rubbish."

Silence enveloped them again.

"You... did? So why did you run?" she said finally.

"Because I forced you and I couldn't face even myself, let alone you, after..."

"God, Brett. Is that what you've been thinking? That you forced me?"

"You don't have to pretend for my sake, Jody. We both know what happened."

"What? What happened?"

"You want to hear me say it? Fine. I will. I raped my sister. There. I said it."

"God. Brett."

She was silent for few seconds.

"Brett," she started up again, her voice whisper soft. "You didn't. I was, well, involved. I mean I also was... you know what I mean... I was also into it and...."

"You don't have to save me from myself, Jody. I know what I did." His shoulders drooped and he wiped a weary hand over his face. "I know what I did."

"Brett, I wanted you to!"

"Don't lay the blame on yourself, Jo. You don't need to do this. Please. I know what I am, and what I'm capable of doing. Don't take it up on yourself."

He felt the mattress sigh as she stood up and walked over to him. She slipped her hand in the one that was hanging by his side. And then she led him to the bed and turned around to face him.

"Then let's do it again and see whether it's me giving myself to you or you raping me," she said, her eyes trained on his downturned face.

Slowly he raised his gaze up to hers, and what he saw there nearly did him in. There was such tenderness there that his eyes filled up and he felt like he could almost start bawling right then and there.

But she bent in and kissed him... and all thoughts of crying flew out of his head. There were just her soft lips on his. That was all that he could feel; that was all that mattered to him.

"Make love to me, Brett," she said against his lips, then turned and climbed up into her bed.

Brett stood there for a moment, uncertain.

Then she raised her arms up to him and whispered, "Please."

How could he not? God help him, how could he not after such a request? He climbed in beside her and took her in her arms.

This time, it was pure love. He kissed her forehead, her eyes, her nose, her chin, stroking her arms and stomach and body, taking his time over her. He worshiped her like she needed to be worshiped. His angel.

Neither of them said anything; there was no need. Jody's submission proved her assertion to him and Brett, his devotion. He kissed and touched gently, until she impatiently deepened their kisses and guided his hands to her breasts, pushing her body into him.

"Love me," she said.

And he did. With his mouth, with his hands, with his words and his heart. There was no place for any misunderstanding this time. Everything was as clear as her eyes looking into his, her voice whispering his name, her hands stroking his back.

She guided him, gently but firmly, telling him what she needed, showing him how she needed him. She was the one who started slipping his clothes off, then when he moved away to take care of his jeans, pulled hers off.

He saw her nakedness in the dark, her white form fragile, shadowed. He touched her hesitantly, a finger trailing down the side of her neck, a hand coming to settle on her stomach.

She held still, trusting him with her body while he touched her.

His hands moved over her body, familiarizing himself with her by touch -- the slope of her neck, the curve of a breast, the dip of her navel, the scraggly hair on her mound. He hesitated there, unwilling to cross that barrier, but she shifted her legs and rose into his palm, giving him permission wordlessly.

He bent himself over her then, taking one soft nipple into his mouth and suckled until her hands clenched on handfuls of his hair and her hips rose into his hands as she uttered stifled moans of pleasure. He left a warm trail of open-mouthed kisses down her body, stopping again at the tops of her thighs. He licked the crease where her leg joined her body again and again, his hands caressing her until she said, "Love me," in that tremulous voice again, and he dipped in between her legs and tasted her center.

There was nothing that could compare to the ecstasy of that moment. His tongue laved over his sister's pussy, her warm spicy smell intoxicating him. Again and again he flicked his tongue against her. His fingers joined his exploration of her and he parted her warm, wet folds, finding her entrance and pressing in.

He didn't really know what he was doing, if any of this was pleasuring her or not, but he kept at it because she didn't tell him to stop, and then in a while she was moaning and moving against him as he worked his fingers in and out of her. Brett latched his mouth onto her the little nub poking out at the apex of her thighs and she let out a little cry at that.

All too soon he felt her tense, little by little, until she was as taut as a drawn bow, and he felt the trembling start somewhere deep in her and spread in waves as she jerked like a marionette at the end of a string. Her pussy clenched around his fingers in her, and he stopped moving, just experiencing the intensity of her release and awed by it until she lay limp and spent.

"Are you okay?" he asked timidly.

"Come here," she said.

He crawled up to her and she just reached down, taking his hardness in her hand and guiding him to her. Brett focused on his sister's hand around his cock. Soft. Gentle. He moved his hips into position and her hand between them steered him to her center. With the tip of his cock at her entrance, he looked deep into her eyes. His eyes had adjusted to the dark, but he could still just see the faint white in her eyes and the darker pupils.

"I love you," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion.

He was eager and awkward in the feelings overwhelming him, sliding his hands under her and trying to lift her hips to him. They shifted until they were aligned and then his passion rose and he charged wildly, embedding his length in her in one hard thrust.

"Slow," she murmured. "I'm still... go slow."

Brett slowed down, his strokes starting long and languorous, and that was a slow fire in itself, heating up his passion and making him acutely aware of every inch of him sliding into her softness. He took her mouth in his, sliding his tongue inside the same way his cock delved into her honeyed warmth. He moved over her as if in a dream, his strokes measured and gentle, the heat of her enveloping him every time he buried himself in her.

He felt his blood rising and tried to control himself, tried to untangle himself from her arms but she held on to him, urging him on with her body.

"I'm... wait... I need to...," he muttered breathlessly.

"Just let go," he replied.

And he did.

He lost himself in her, his body milking each moment's thousand pleasures, his brain fuzzy with the warm measured desire of it all. He sensed each moment within her, knew each instant minutely as his desire climbed, and felt the exact second he tipped over into dreamy hot and cold shuddering ecstasy that drained his seed out of him deep within her.

He came to rest on top of her warm body, his heart thundering in his ears, his blood flowing through swollen veins. His blood -- the same as hers within whom he was buried deep. They were of one blood and one flesh. And now, one body. As close as two people could ever be. Their hearts beat in rhythm, breaths coming in shallow gasps as they savored the afterglow. He could smell his own sweat mingled with hers, the warm musk of their desire covering them.

Closing his eyes, he lay with his head upon her breast, peaceful, once again cradled in those arms and he wished that she would never let go.

* * * * *

They didn't talk for a long time, but slowly as his thoughts caught up to the situation, he had to know. "Why did you do it, Jo?" he asked her.

"Do what?"

"Make... love to me. Because you feel sorry for me?"

She took her time answering so that he would know what she was telling was the truth.

"When you were born," she started in a low voice, "well, I was only two, so I don't quite remember, but you know how mom says I was in love? I would barely take my eyes off you. I would trail after her when she walked around with you in her arms after feeding you. Climb up on anything I could to see what she was doing to you when you were on the changing table." Jody chuckled at that. "I never left your side she says. Maybe it started then -- loving you."

Her fingers started ruffling through his hair.

"Then I grew up and went to pre-school, then school, the big girl. I got into a new world, leaving you behind here at home. Maybe it died a little then, but something like that cannot die I think. Maybe it was just buried a bit."

She paused, trying to get her thoughts together.

"I don't know when it started, or when I became aware of it really, mom and dad's obsession with excellence I mean. Maybe I didn't really become aware of it. Maybe I just absorbed it through my skin until it became a part of me. And I started performing for them."

Her fingers in his hair stilled.

"We all have our crosses to bear, Brett. Yours was giving up. Mine was to carry the weight of their expectations. Do you think that hurt any less? To always be the one who is expected to be brilliant, to bring home the first prize, to dedicate your life to what your parents see you as? You remember when I was in second grade? But you wouldn't, you were just a baby. Lenore had come first in class that year and I was a close second. I still remember how Dad had looked at my year-end report. Like I had disappointed him. He hadn't said anything about it though, just smiled and said 'Good work' but not before I saw the unspoken dissatisfaction. I thought... I thought if I couldn't be what they wanted me to be, they wouldn't love me, you know?"

He remained quiet, not knowing what to say to this. He never knew.

"And when I was in sixth grade, the tennis competition? You remember that, don't you? I had cried for the whole day after that, and Mom had been fed up with me and shouted at me. 'Why didn't you win the damn thing then if it was that important to you?'" she mimicked in a perfect impression of their mother's voice. "That's what she had said. It's branded into my brain. Did she think I hadn't tried to win? I felt her love for me die a little that day. I think it was then that the resolve to be the best at everything solidified in me. Before that, it was just... kind of... I hadn't really thought about it I suppose. But after that day, I

needed

to be the best. I wanted them to love me, you know? I wanted to be worthy."

Brett's eyes had started prickling and something heavy lodged in the middle of his throat.

"But that was naïve, wasn't it? By the time I realized that my accomplishments were only adding fuel to their aspirations, not to their love for me... after all, what is love when it isn't given freely to your own child but tied to what she can do? By the time I realized that, I think I already was this person who was good at stuff. It wasn't to make them proud of me anymore, to make them love me... because I think I had realized that it couldn't happen that way. But it was just what I had become by then. I had grown into the girl they wanted me to be."

Jody laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

"At one point, I thought I was helping you, you know? By being the one who satisfied their desires, so you wouldn't have to. So you could be whatever you wanted. So you wouldn't end up like me, constrained to a frame made for you by someone else, destined to grow into what they want you to be. That was right before I graduated from high school. I remember thinking that my result was such a big deal that yours would escape notice. Or at least not be as important. You had started rebelling by then, and I hoped if I could make them happy, that would be enough for them. But, I didn't help you, did I?

She was quiet for a long moment.

"I'm sorry, Brett. I'm sorry I failed you."

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat but it wouldn't budge. He didn't trust his voice right then so he didn't speak. He longed to tell her that it wasn't her fault. She was the best, just because of who she was, not because she was forced into it. Yes, the expectations were what they both dealt with, but she was so much more than the result of those. She was so much more than all the year-end results and all the firsts in all the competitions anyone could ever achieve. Her soul, her goodness and her light was something that was hers, not something that was given to her through the cross she had to bear.

But he didn't say that. He just kept on breathing, trying to hold himself together.

"I'm sorry," she said again and brushed her lips across his forehead.

"Jo...." It came out strangled. He cleared his throat and tried again. "You don't have to say that. You were the only thing... if it wasn't for you... God." His thoughts rushed over themselves, anxious in his desire to assure her of her worth. "Jo, you were...

are

the best thing in my life. I know I said some pretty stupid things this morning but I didn't know then. I mean, I knew that it wasn't your fault, but I didn't know you felt this way... about all this."

He needed to say something more. To make her believe.

"You don't have to apologize, Jo. And you're not what they made you. You're... you. Your kindness and your energy wasn't given to you by mom and dad. They might just be the whetstone on which your mind was sharpened, but you couldn't have done it only with their wanting it. It had to come from you, don't you see that?"

There was a bit of silence.

"Maybe," she said finally.

He knew not to push her. She would come to her realization soon. He had planted the seed, and he would nurture it with love. In time, she would come to realize how special she was if it the only thing he did in his life.

"I guess it was my fault then... looking for love in exchange for what I did." Her voice was soft.

"No..."

"Hush. I did think that. But I realized that's not how it works. I realized love cannot really be exchanged for anything. But... that doesn't mean you stop looking for it. I didn't."

She took a deep breath and her voice got softer. "So, to answer your 'why'... well, you said you loved me," she said simply.

"Yes," he replied. "I do. But I'm such a disaster. Look at me... I ruin everything I touch. How can you want this? I'm a selfish, immature, broken person, Jo."

"None of us are whole, Brett. At least not in this family. No one is perfect. We all have different things that are our failings. I have mine, God knows I do. But, well, what I'm trying to say here is that you have a heart I can love."