Another long, painful silent streak followed their rest stop as Calli sat with the thousand-mile stare she had perfected long ago pasted on her face. Mark knew full well that her expression could have meant one of a thousand things, very few of them actually being good. The embarrassment that was welling up inside of him threatened to choke the life out of him, and it became readily apparent that this entire trip was a bad idea.
For Mark, the worst part was that he had truly been hoping to salvage his relationship with his stepsister, not merely because his father and stepmother wanted him to, but because deep down, he had, over the years, learned to value Calli as a person, to love her as a part of his family. He'd never told her so, knowing she'd probably laugh at him, but he wanted her back in his life.
It was the pressure that had torn them apart, the pressure of being a family that had been forced to love each other. Mark vividly remembered the day his father had announced his engagement to Calli's mother. He'd sat down on ten-year-old Mark's bed and told him, "You're getting a new mommy and a big sister, and I promise you, you'll absolutely love them." The tone in his voice had been subtle, but Mark picked up on it, the tone that added the implied "or else" to the end of his sentence.
Mark grasped the wheel tighter, the memory of his overbearing father's announcement, his assumption that Mark wanted a new family, grating on Mark's mind as it had for nine years. Just as his knuckles began turning white on the vinyl steering wheel of his '89 Honda, a soft, slim hand gently slipped over his own. He looked over at Calli, and by the glow of the dashboard lights, he could see that her light eyes were locked into his.
"Don't be mad it him," she said quietly, "it's not his fault."
"How did you know-"
"I'm not mad at you, Mark, I was just surprised, that's all. I didn't think you looked at me like that."
"I......" His brain and his mouth suddenly didn't want to cooperate.
"So do we keep going?"
"What do you mean?"
"Our game," she said, "deep, dark secrets, want to keep going?"
He sighed, relieved that she didn't seem too pissed at him, but hesitant to keep pushing his luck any further. "I don't know, Cal, I don't think it's such a good idea. No matter how hard I try to pretend you're not my stepsister, I just can't deny the fact."
"That shouldn't change anything."
"It does."
"No, it doesn't," she said resolutely, "who says just because we're related doesn't mean we can't share everything? Shouldn't family be able to share more with each other than anyone else?"
"Not necessarily."
"Mark, please...I think you want to hear what I have to say."
Of course she was right. There were so many things she wanted to tell him, and so many things he wanted to hear.
"Okay," he said, his heart pounding violently in his chest.
"I lied. I already knew you used to watch me, Mark, I knew it the whole time."
"And you never said anything? Christ, you used to beat the crap out of me for a lot less than that."
Calli giggled slightly. "I know, but I didn't say anything because I liked it."
"What?" He heard her fine; he wanted to hear her say it again.
"I liked it. I wanted you to watch me."
The conversation was really beginning to strike home, and Mark had to strain to keep his concentration on the road now that it was dark. He glanced over at the clock on the dash, which read "10:13." They would have to stop soon because he was getting tired, and even at twenty-five, Calli hadn't bothered to get her license. That had bothered him when they started the trip, but now it didn't seem like such a big deal.
In the passenger seat, Calli waited for his reaction, not knowing that his mind was busy working through such dull, practical details. She wanted him to respond, but what she wanted to hear were things she wouldn't admit to herself she wanted to hear. Her state of denial had been strong and true ever since the day three years ago she realized Mark was turning into a man.
"Mark?"
"Yes."
"Talk to me."
He paused for a moment and glanced at the clock again. "I'm going to stop soon. We'll get started early tomorrow, probably reach Florida around two or so."
"You know that's not what I meant."
"I know."
He turned and looked at her, finally admitting to himself how lovely she was. This wasn't like his horny adolescent glances at her changing in her room, nor was it like the erotic strip shows he would imagine as she showered. This was, for the first time in his life, something true, something pure.
He didn't notice the tits and ass he had lusted after as a teenager; he noticed the raven-black hair cascading over her shoulders, the way her hands unconsciously brushed it away from the light, soft skin of her face. He noticed the way her striking gray eyes watched him thoughtfully, and entranced him when he looked into them. He noticed the subtle, refined femininity that let her be tough when she had to be and sexy when she wanted to be.
He noticed all the things he'd never let himself notice before.
And they rode in silence for another fifteen minutes, but this time was different. There was no more uncomfortable void, no more battling siblings. The uneasiness they had lived with for so long was now gone, replaced by an undeniably powerful yearn that neither Mark nor Calli were strong enough to admit to each other.
Before long, a small roadside motel came into view. The place was small, and the parking lot seemed crowded, but the sign indicated that there were vacant rooms. Mark stopped the car in front of the office and glanced over at Calli.
"So, uh...should I get separate rooms-I mean, do we have enough cash for separate rooms?"
"Yeah," Calli forced herself to answer, "it's probably a good idea. I know...you snore."
"I don't snore."
She smiled sweetly at him. "You lived in the room next door for two years, Mark, and I can't tell you how many times I was frightened out of my sleep by a herd of charging cattle."
"Ha, ha, ha, it's amazing how fucking funny you are. I'll be right back." He flashed her a coy smile and made his way to the office.
She watched him the entire way, wishing she would stop him, wishing she would tell him to get one room so she could stay up all night with him, talking to him, whispering her secrets to him. She wanted to touch him so badly, touch him in the way new lovers touched each other before their first time, she wanted to run her fingers through his hair, down the back of his next, softly, softly across his shoulders, up his neck to his face, over his lips following them with tender, moist kisses, feeling his breath on her lips, running her fingers down his chest, down, softly, slowly, lovingly, whispering close to his ear her every desire, her dreams, her fantasies, telling him how badly she wanted-
A rapid knock on her window startled her half to death. It was Mark. She rolled down her window.
"You scared the living shit out of me, Mark."
"Sorry. Problem."
"What?"
He held up a key, one key, one single key. "They've only got one room left."
Calli turned and look at the flickering neon sign just as the "No" in "No Vacancies" flashed on. She turned back to Mark and offered him a sheepish grin.
"Oh well, I guess I'll have to listen to you rattle the windows after all."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said as he handed her the key, "I'll get your stuff out of the back, smartass. Our room's on the second floor, just down the way."
When Calli's heart managed to stop its calisthenics, she made her way to their room, Mark's words "our room" repeating over and over in her head like she was a schoolgirl with a crush. She suddenly began to feel very silly about the whole situation, and tried to remind herself that she was twenty-five years old, not fifteen. Yes, she had feelings, yes, those feelings were entirely inappropriate, and yes, she had to accept the fact that she had to put her feelings aside, that writing her stepbrother's name in the cover of her math book in fifty different ways surrounded by little tiny hearts would have gotten her drummed out of private school when she was a girl.
She unlocked the door to their room..."their room." It was a simple little place that she noticed, thankfully, had two double beds. Having been in the car all day, she immediately collapsed onto one of them, and Mark soon entered the room carrying a couple of small bags, which he dropped on the floor, then dropped himself into the other bed.
He lay there for what seemed like a long time, wondering if she was thinking about him half as much as he was thinking about her. Could it even be possible that she wanted him as much as he wanted her, or was it just wishful thinking? Maybe he had completely misinterpreted what she'd told him, maybe it was all just a childhood whim, a fantasy.
