To the Victor the Spoils

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I originally wrote a first version of this story in early 2024. I have massively edited and revamped it, and I'm currently in the process of writing a continuation to it as well. For now, enjoy this massively improved redux!

DISCLAIMER: as always, all characters depicted in this story are adults over the age of 18.

Chapter 1 - The Bigger Sister

"This is so boring!" Slava complains, snapping me out of my immersion.

Dear. God. In. Heaven.

I give a sigh of pure exasperation. Yes, what a great idea, renting the same flat for university! We're going to save so much money, and besides, two sisters should stick together, right?

Unfortunately, the only thing Slava is apparently capable of sticking to, is ruining my time watching my favourite true crime show.

"Just let me watch in peace," I say, not taking my eyes off the screen.

"You do realise we have on-demand, right?" Slava says, and the condescension in her voice makes me grit my teeth. She knows how much it angers me when she talks to me like I'm an idiot. And that's exactly why she keeps doing it.

Slava might be two years younger than me, but she's been doing better at uni than I am. I try to suppress the sting of embarrassment that comes with it. Somehow, growing up, I always bore the greater weight of our parents' expectations, in terms of what their two daughters would achieve.

Then, over the last two years, Slava suddenly woke up. She has better grades, better networking through her relentless volunteering, more friends. More self-confidence. It's good for her, but it makes me feel insecure, and she knows it.

Exploiting those insecurities to win a fight over who gets to watch the TV, though? That's just a low blow. I refuse to dignify her with an answer, focusing on the engrossing narration of the early life of yet another creepy serial killer.

"You gotta be really messed up to enjoy watching stuff like that," Slava says. "Come on Anastasia, can we please watch something else? Literally anything else?"

Then, she tries to grab the remote from my hand, and I immediately tense up.

Alright, that's it. Now all the pent-up frustration and insecurities that have been bubbling up within me are ready to burst.

My attention now firmly unglued from the TV, I turn to look at Slava, ready to tell her my piece. I'm confronted with her mischievous smile, her clever eyes framed by her long, wavy brown hair. Looking at her, it's hard to escape the conclusion that this is all a... I don't know, a game to her.

I narrow my eyes, but the amused look on her face makes me a little uneasy. I've always been the elder sibling, but lately it seems like Slava thinks she's just...

Better than me.

There's a part of me that wants to deny it with all possible strength. I don't even know why I care so much, but I do.

"You know what, Slava? Fine," I say, with a tone of finality. "You want the remote? Come and get it."

I realise the immediate impact my words have. Slava's grin widens, and I feel my heart beating in my chest. I don't even know for sure what it is that I'm suggesting, but somehow, I don't think it's entirely about who actually gets to use the remote.

The next thing I know, the world is upside down.

Slava has pounced, tackling me to the floor. I flail and squirm, trying to find purchase somewhere, to figure out what's going on. Absurdly, my remote is still clutched in my right hand. I try to put it out of reach, while Slava clambers up to try and snatch it.

She tries to stand, but I won't let her. We're a tangled mess on the floor, rolling and jockeying for control over the stupid remote. It might even look humorous, seen from the outside, but to me, it's anything but. I still have control of the remote... but I also feel the weight of my sister's body pressing down on me. I suddenly realise that this is an unusual amount of physical contact, which makes me feel awkward.

But I'm snapped back to the reality of our fight, as she stretches one arm, trying to snatch the remote from my fingers. We tumble and roll around on the floor, each clumsily trying to gain the upper hand. We're no fighters, I'm sure anyone could tell, but our movements become more frantic as we both try to win.

I'm panting from the exertion, and at a disadvantage from having to keep one hand on the remote. But even accounting for that, I'm having trouble bucking Slava off. She's using her smaller frame to her advantage, twisting and turning in ways that I can't keep up with.

I feel my insecurities bite again, as I realise that my younger sister is a little stronger than I figured, but I push those thoughts aside with denial and desperation. I need to focus on winning. I won't let my little sister best me, show me up so easily. So I put on a burst of strength, at last unseating Slava, the remote still safely in my hand.

"Alright," I say, panting and trying to catch my breath as I begin to stand up. "Have you had eno-"

Slava tackles me again, arms wrapping around my waist, driving my breath out of me as I once again hit the ground. Slava is on me in a flash, her body landing against mine -- which leaves me breathless once more. By the time I get my bearings again, her weight is pinning me down.

She's sitting on my chest, a a triumphant grin on her face... and the remote is safely clutched in her right hand.

"Gotcha!" Slava exclaims, and I immediately reach towards her with my hands. But Slava is quick. In one fluid motion, she launches the remote towards the couch, and then her hands slam against mine in mid-air.

Our fingers intertwine, and a tug of war begins. I can't seem to overcome Slava's strength, though, no matter how much my muscles strain. Gravity is with her, but even so, I cringe internally as she slowly, inexorably begins to push my hands towards the ground.

I grimace as Slava's grip on my hands gets stronger and stronger, her arms flexing as she exerts all her strength. My own arms start to tremble as I try to resist, but it's no use. I can feel my hands slowly but surely being pushed closer and closer downward. Somehow, my messed-up brain conjures up a whole load of symbolism tied to that image.

Downfall. Resistance being overcome. Bending.

Why am I thinking these thoughts? What do they even mean?

When at last my hands hit the floor, they do so with a thud that makes me shiver. The look of triumph on Slava's face is unforgettable, as she switches her grip from my hands to my wrists. My cheeks growing red with embarrassment.

I try to muster the strength to lift my arms again, but they're firmly secure in Slava's grip. Her weight on my chest is making my breathing laboured. "Oh no no no," Slava says, "you're not going anywhere. Not so high and mighty now, are you, big sis?"

At that, she sits forward, further pinning my arms under her knees, now looming over me. In fact, her face is almost straight up above mine, and framed by her jeans on either side of my face, as her knees pin me to the floor.

Uh...

This position is... uncomfortably suggestive. If she scuttled forward just a bit more, she could practically sit on my face. I hate my brain for coming up with that thought. We're sisters, for God's sake! I wish I could just unnotice the suggestive symbolism of her position, but I just... I can't.

I give up trying to lift my arms, and just lie there, a whirlwind of confused emotions going through me. I... I legitimately can't believe my little sister has just overpowered me. Doesn't Slava realize how this looks? How utterly inappropriate it is for siblings to be tangled up like this, her practically straddling my face? Surely she must?

I don't know what's going through her head, but she's clearly thinking about something. Her brown hair looks disheveled, as no doubt does mine, and there's a spark in her eyes I don't remember seeing before. We're both panting, looking into each other's eyes, and for a moment, neither of us knows what to say. This was just supposed to be a wrestling match for the remote, but now... it feels like so much more.

The two of us look at each other, the silence between us thick with tension and meaning. We're both unsure of what just happened, but we both sense that something important has shifted between us, even if we're not sure what. The silence stretches on, and on, and on.

I look into Slava's eyes.

She looks into mine.

I can't help but feel a strange... thrill at having lost to my younger sister. At being in this position, with the weight of her knees on my arms, her body looming large above me, and the mockery playing in her smile.

What the fuck is wrong with me? This is my sister. Slava, who I've known my whole life. I try to laugh it off, to come up with a joke that will make light of the situation. But the joke dies in my throat before I can even voice it, replaced by a heavy silence.

She's just had a similar thought, I can tell. We, uh... probably both feel, on some level, that this is awkward. I'm trying really hard to focus on her face, and not on the fact that she's sitting so far forward, her legs on either side of my face. That's... no, I don't even want to think about it.

Slava's grip on my wrists releases. She wordlessly stands up, the remote clutched firmly in her hand, and refuses to look at me at all. The awkwardness is so thick you could slice it with a knife.

She heads back to the couch and changes the channel, leaving me lying here, confused and bewildered. It's like my mind is stuck in gear. I'm not sure how we got here, how we lost control of this situation.

At last, I too muster the will to get back up on my feet. I scrupulously avoid looking at Slava, although from my peripheral vision I can tell she's absorbed by whatever she's watching on TV. Or pretending to be absorbed. Either way is fine with me.

Refuge, at last! I close my bedroom door behind me, flinging myself on the bed with a sigh. The adrenaline rush from the fight is still coursing through me... but so are the awkwardness, the embarrassment... and that final strange thrill at losing.

I try to cleanse my mind, to think on other things, but all I can do is replay the sensations over and over: Slava's weight on me, my hands hitting the ground, her knees mercilessly pinning my arms to the floor. Why does my heart beat faster when I think about that? Why does it feel so heady? Why do I keep revisiting this fresh memory, over and over and over?

It's as if a switch has been flipped in my brain. But the truly scary part is... I don't know what that switch does.

***

As the days pass, the insane pull of this thrill begins to subside. I find myself slowly being able to concentrate on other things again, although studying is still harder than usual. I feel like something's missing from my life, a strange emptiness with no name. I'm... not sure if I want to find out what it is.

With the initial awkwardness fading, however, Slava seems to bask in her physical victory over me. She's more confident than ever, a radiant smile permanently affixed on her face. She misses no opportunity to rub salt in the wound, and it seems to amuse her to no end.

"What's up, big sis? Why the long face? Upset you got your ass handed to you?"

I should talk back, I really should. I definitely shouldn't just take it in silence while reliving the memory of being pinned. That would be inviting danger, after all. I have empirical confirmation of that, because every time I fail to talk back, Slava's grin grows a little wider, a little hungrier.

One day after uni, I come back home later than usual. My mind is on other things for once, and I whistle at the end of a long and tiring day, looking forward to just being able to crash on the couch and relax.

But as soon as I enter the living room, I see Slava sitting on the couch, with the remote in her hand, absorbed by one of the nature documentaries she loves to watch. As I take in the sight, my heart drops.

Her feet are on the couch, and somehow, my mind immediately zeroes in on them. What a better symbol that she owns the couch? She gets to relax in full, enjoying the living room all to herself, because she's kicked my ass. Everyone knows there's no clearer sign of victory than putting your feet up on something.

She's wearing the same jeans she had during our fight. Her legs are crossed, seemingly emphasising the muscles that beat me last time. Her socked foot is bobbing up and down, casually, confidently. She looks pensive and reflective, as she is absorbed in the show.

I breathe deep, trying to calm the sudden and inexplicable acceleration of my heartbeat. That's when Slava notices my presence.

"Oh, hey sis, welcome back!" She says. Then, her welcoming smile is replaced by a mischievous one. She raises the remote, firmly held in her left hand, her eyes never leaving mine.

"Looking for this?"

For a second, it's like the earth gives way underneath me. I feel adrenaline pumping into my limbs, and my heart beating faster. I could ask for a rematch. I could tackle her, grab the damn remote myself. I could restore my pride and my place in this household.

Of course, I could also lose again...

Just like that, I find myself once more teetering on the brink of an addictive abyss, whose nature is unclear to me. Perhaps that is the nature of the abyss, I suppose. You can only see what it looks like when you dive in.

But I won't do that.

I can feel my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. I lower my head and slink away, back to my room. It makes me look weak and defeated... but it allows me to hold on to my sense of self.

Even if Slava's amused laughter follows me all the way to my room.

***

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the conversation that's to come.

My hands shake slightly as I head towards the living room, where Slava lounges on the couch, remote in hand. I try to quell my nerves, to remind myself of why I'm doing this. It's to reclaim my pride, to show Slava that I'm not a pushover.

But is it, really?

Because if that's true, if all I want is just some payback, why didn't I take the opportunity for a rematch the last time I had one?

Once more, I see myself teetering on the edge of a dark, bottomless pit, and I don't know what's waiting for me down there. The abyss is calling me. In whispers, it promises me that there is a deep and meaningful answer about myself, if only I dare dive down, and get to the other side.

I stand in proximity of the entrance to the living room, my heart pounding in my chest. I have been thinking about this moment all week, replaying the events of the first fight over and over again in my head. Especially how it ended, and what came after.

Slava's cocky, arrogant behaviour and endless verbal jabs in the home are beginning to get to me. The memory of her body subduing mine seems to become more vivid with time, not less. I have once more lost my ability to focus on my studies and hobbies. No, enough, whatever this weird addiction is, it has to end.

One way or another.

I take a deep breath, then cross the threshold. I find Slava lounging on the couch, flicking through channels.

"Hey sis," I say, trying to sound casual.

"Oh, look who's decided to crawl out of her room," she says, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.

I steel myself, trying to ignore the flush of embarrassment that wells up inside of me. "I was thinking... about last time," I say, struggling to get the words out. "And I was thinking that maybe we could... go again."

Slava raises an eyebrow. "Go again? You mean, like a rematch?" she asks, sounding amused. "You really want me to mop the floor with you again?"

"I want to win."

"Well, I'm game," Slava says, shrugging. "But on one condition. We have to make this interesting..."

I ball my hands into fists, trying to suppress a shiver at her words. I can see the gears turning in her head, always thinking, always planning, seeking new ways to exploit my insecurities. Maybe even widen them.

But why would she want to do that?

"Oh, I know!" Slava says, in a theatrical show of having had a brilliant idea. "The loser has to do all the house chores for a month."

For a second, I balk. For a heartbeat, I almost give up on this entire plan as hopelessly misguided and stupid. I don't know what game Slava is playing, I don't know what game I'm playing, or what it is I actually want. All I know is that, should I lose, the idea of spending an entire month doing all the chores, constantly at Slava's beck and call, it straight-up terrifies me. And it excites me.

It calls to me.

"Agreed," I say, before I can think straight enough to back out. "But you better watch out, little sister. I'm not going to go down without a fight."

Slava just smiles, a smug look on her face. "We'll see about that, big sister."

***

The anticipation is enough to make my body twitch. My heart won't stay still, and my neurons keep firing. It's going to happen again. Win or lose, I'm going to entangle myself with Slava once again. I'm going to feel her body against mine. And the stakes, well... the stakes...

Slava looks so confident and sure of herself, and why not? But I'm determined to prove to her - and to myself - that I'm not the pushover she thinks I am. I'm sure that's all there is to my agitated emotional state, yes. The desire to prove myself, and nothing more.

We circle each other warily, both of us trying to gauge the other's strength and weaknesses. I try to get a sense of her movements, looking for any tells or patterns that I can exploit. Meanwhile, Slava is doing the same, her eyes locked onto mine, trying to read my intentions.

Once again, we're no fighters. We have no idea what we're doing, truly -- but at the end of the day, this isn't about martial prowess. It's about...

What? The remote? Pride? An unspoken hierarchy in the house?

Or the call of the abyss?

I don't know, yet, but in a way, it doesn't matter now. First comes the fight.

The first move is mine. I lunge forward, trying to catch her off guard, but she's quick. She sidesteps my attack, and counters by trying to grab my arm. I'm able to duck under her reach, and grab her arm. I try to take her down, but she's too strong, and she twists out of my grasp.

We circle the room, studying each other. I think about tackling her, but back out at the last second. She tries to grab me, but I dodge. Our first fight began with a playful tussle, before it morphed into something more, but this... this is a much more measured thing. We're both watching our steps, too anxious about making a mistake, too focused on winning.

It's only a matter of time before one of us missteps, and when it happens, the other will be ready to pounce. Sweat starts to bead on my forehead. I'm not sure who will come out on top, but I know one thing for certain.

I've never felt so alive.

At last, as if by unspoken agreement, we reach an inflection point. Both Slava and I throw hesitation to the wind, and charge one another -- with the clumsiness of amateurs, but also the determination of wanting to win.

There is no clear outcome to our mutual tackle. We both end up on the ground, frantically trying to outmaneuver each other. Our limbs tangle, and I find myself on top -- there it is, the thrill I've been seeking so desperately. Feeling Slava's body squirm and struggle beneath mine is...

Not a particularly sisterly thought.

Slava topples me, and we start rolling like crazy, each only able to stay atop for a few seconds before positions reset. It's dizzying, and it's making my head spin, to the point that I'm beginning to lose my bearings.

The mistake does not go unexploited.

This time, when she's on top, Slava wraps her legs around my waist, before rolling sideways. I feel her hands fumbling at my shoulder, trying to drag me towards her, to secure my neck between her arms. I know I have only seconds to break free, and I use them well.