"Kates?" Peter called as he stepped into the basement. His eyes adjusted to the gloom of what had been his-their-childhood playroom. Against the wall he could make out the shapes of Little League trophies. No lights were on in the room, and the midnight sky outside offered little illumination. Most of his family was sleeping upstairs, in whatever bed or sofa they could find, drawn together as his grandmother slipped towards death.
"I'm over here," a quiet voice answered. Kate reached for the light switch on the lamp next to her. "Careful, someone has rearranged the furniture." He saw her, then, curled into the corner of the daybed. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her face pale. Without thought he moved towards her and sat down on the daybed.
"All of my happiest memories are in this house. Gramps, Grams, and you. No matter how bad everything else in my life was, I knew when I got here it would be okay." Kate fought back tears again. Her childhood hadn't been perfect, but Peter's had been brutal. Their grandparents did everything they could to keep Peter with them as much as possible. An only child living in a downtown condo, Kate had spent as much as she could on her grandparent's farm, racing ponies with Peter. Suddenly he laughed, the light up his face, baritone laugh she had loved for as long as she could remember. "Remember when Gramps and Grams went into town and we drove the truck?"
"Do you mean do I remember when we went mudding in the truck when you were all of, what, thirteen? And you drove through a field Gramps had just finished preparing, after you told me I was to young at twelve to drive?" The conversation naturally drifted into the warm, happy memories of their grandmother and their own childhood antics.
"Anyway, if I had been the one driving the dune buggy that day it never would have flipped over," Peter informed her in the tone of voice she never had been able to abide. Katie sat up and playfully punched him in the arm.
"If you had been driving we would have all ended up in the lake!" Kate cried, and Peter tickled her side in answer. She retaliated by hitting him with a pillow. They jockeyed for position and dealt out playful blows, but soon Kate found herself pinned to the daybed. She stopped laughing and tried to catch her breath. Peter's black eyes bored down into her. "Why, Kate? Why did you leave for college and disappear from my life? Why have I only seen you at Christmas? You've come to visit Grams and never called me to say you were in town. You were my best friend, and then you were just gone." She closed her eyes against the pain in his voice. When she purposefully distanced herself from Peter she knew what she was doing, that she would cause him pain. But she had chosen the lesser of two evils, and had lived with her horrible choice for the last eight years.
Peter continued to look down on her. Her thick, glossy chestnut hair had come loose and floated around her head. He could see the rise of her breasts under the pink tank top, and could feel the swell of her hips pressed against his own. Cousin, yes, but more than that. Soulmate. Other half. Best friend. "You know I got divorced?"
Kate nodded, still unable to open her eyes. "Do you know what she looked like? Light eyes, brown hair, medium height, freckles. That's how all of my girlfriends have looked."
No, Kate thought, no. She had to make him stop talking. "Peter..."
"You, Kate. They've all been attempts to replace you. But none of them have had your sense of fun, your intelligence, your...Kateness."
Tears now slipped down her face. She had hoped that only she was tormented by the idea of a relationship that could not be. She had hoped that Peter only thought of her as his cousin, his childhood playmate, and nothing else. She had hoped Peter would settle down, and have the happy homelife he had been denied as a child. She had hoped to go to her own grave with her terrible secret never known.
"Peter, we're cousins! The woman dying upstairs is our grandmother. I haven't meant to ignore you, I've just been..."
"Liar," his voice gruff. Although Kate was better at coming up with stories to hide their misdeeds, she was such a horrible liar she always got caught out. It was her voice. It went higher and flatter, not the animated honey-whiskey voice that had haunted him since she was thirteen years old.
Now her voice cracked and her eyes opened. Light eyes met dark. Peter moved over her, pinning her down with his body. She felt the lean, clean weight of him press down upon her the way she had often imagined. He felt the softness of her breasts and hip flatten beneath him, her face inches from his own. Kate wasn't lying about their grandmother, and Peter knew that after she died, Kate would have no reason to return. A life without Kate was unbearable.
When his mouth clamped down upon hers, Kate tried to fight, moving her head. But his mouth stayed with her, and Kate began to fall into the kiss. With each flick of his tongue she felt some previously unknown part of her come alive. He shifted his weight so that he lay next to her, and she was pinned between his body and the wall. Carefully, he slipped one hand under the edge of her pink tank top and drew circles on her abdomen. Kate mewled against his mouth and he could taste her tears. He knew that the price of this night would be tears, both now and later. With great control, he moved his hand up to her bra, and was glad to find it was front clasped, the kind of bra he always remembered seeing in Kate's mess of a room when they were young.
Deliberately he unclasped her bra and pushed the tank top up over her breasts, reaching around her so that he could grasp both breasts. Their weight was unexpectedly heavy in his hands, and felt himself growing hard against his jeans. He pushed his thumbs against her already erect nipples and was rewarded when her body pushed against his. The tears turned into sobs. His natural instinct was to comfort her, so he started covering her face with kisses as he continued manipulated her breasts, enjoying the silken velvet feeling of her skin.
"Peter, stop. Please stop. Please stop." Kate was sobbing even as she arched her back to meet his hands.
Their foreheads were touching, and he looked into her eyes. "Tell me you don't want this, Kate, and I'll stop."
"I don't want this," Kate answered, but her voice was high and flat.
"You are lying," he told her as one hand left her breast and began sweeping down her side in large, soft strokes. Soon he was stroking the back of her knee, and then he placed her top leg on top of his own and began pushing her skirt up her leg as his hand explored the different textures of skin she had behind her knee, on the front of her leg, and on the inside of her thigh.
