Too Far Gone

So, this was not going to happen. I spent quite a lot of time and energy saying, "This is not going to happen. I'm not doing it!" And yet, despite all my efforts, this is now happening. I hate this story so so much. Writing it comes from a dark place in me that I don't like visiting. But I love it! I love it so so much more! Because that place has ice cream. And, enough people have contacted me to inform me that they have penguins of their own, and were going to do things, bad things. So, to please them, and save the penguins, this is now happening. Now, let us continue on down this twisted and dark road, meadering down lanes and avenues, bearing witness to events so beautiful we dare not name them, for fear of diminishing them. Also, hamsters cosplaying as anime characters. Think on that.

----Shaide

*****

--Adrian--

I missed this. God I missed this. I didn't even realize how much I had missed it until I didn't have it. Until she was three hours away, ensconced in this little room, and leaving me all by myself. Sure, the lovemaking was beyond excellent, and quelled a deep-seated need, but the intimacy satisfied so much more. Having her, in my arms, her body against mine, feeling her smooth skin against mine, her breath on my chest. I laid there, my eyes closed, just enjoying the feel of her, next to me, against me, with me.

God I missed this.

Still, no matter how much I may will it so, we couldn't lay here forever. Eventually, people would be coming home, asking questions, uncomfortable questions. Like "why are you fucking your sister?" Yeah, I don't think either of us are quite ready to answer that. Well, I was. It was a simple answer for me. Because I love her. Which would lead to other questions and statements and actions. All of which I was prepared for.

"Adrian, I know you're not sleeping."

I smiled, still not opening my eyes, "you can't prove it."

"Are you really trying to fall back on existentialism again?"

"I love that you know that."

"Well, I can tell." Her hand slid down my stomach and began caressing my balls. Morning wood was already evident, but now I had even more reason to be a full-mast. "You don't dream of things this nice."

Mmmm. She ran her fingernails gently up my shaft and gripped me, right beneath my head. Her thumb played with the head of my cock. My eyes stayed closed, but no longer in feigned sleep, now I was enjoying, and enduring, the tortuous pleasure of Alice at play. It wasn't long before my cock offered up its precum, lubricating her little thumb as it glided around me. I could feel her eyes on me, watching me, daring me to open my own.

She began stroking me, gently, slowly. A few strokes, then playing with my head, then her fingernails gliding down and fondling my balls, then back to stroking, circling, stoking, fondling. I pulled her closer to me in one arm, while my other gripped the sheets as she playfully manipulated me closer and closer to an edge I was more than happy to jump over.

"Come on, Adrian, tell me you're still dreaming, tell me dreams are this good." Her tongue played with my nipple for a moment before she lightly bit me. I could feel my body tightening up, preparing itself, and she could feel it too. "That's right Adrian, give it up, give me everything. You know you want to."

And I did. I couldn't help myself. Her touch, her voice, the feel of her, everything she was doing to me. I came hard. Under her sheets, all over her hand, all over myself. Stream after wonderfully released stream shot out of my cock.

My breathing was labored as I finally opened my eyes to look at her. She smiled at me as she licked my cum from her fingers. I pulled her onto me, not even thinking of the sticky mess I was making. I loved the feel of her, the weight of her, the way her hair fell around us. "Morning," I said.

She lightly kissed my lips. "Morning."

--Alice--

I had laid there for at least half an hour before Adrian had started stirring. 30 minutes of picturing that moment. My little brother. The look in his eyes. Disdain, hatred? I wasn't even sure what all she had seen in him. I just knew it wasn't anything good. Years of distance and absence did not bode well for how Bryce would treat our little secret.

Every word I had read in his journals flashed before me. All that anger, it was enough to drive a person insane. And, now, he had power over us. Real power. Power to hurt. And, according to his own words, he liked hurting people.

God, this was stupid. This was soooo stupid. We knew better. I knew better. They had never slept together under their parent's roof. Sure, a few make-out sessions here and there. I smiled despite myself, maybe more than a few. Some heavy petting. But we didn't get really physical until I was safely off at college. And now, the first time we had actually had sex in our own home... Bryce.

I bowed her head over the bowl of cereal. I was too anxious to eat. Bryce's door had been closed when we came out of the room. I had no idea if he was home or not, I had been too scared to knock.

I had never lied to Adrian before, not really. A white lie every now and then, but never anything serious. But, and I knew this in the deepest parts of me, I could not tell him the whole truth about what had happened this morning. Bryce, slipping his finger into me, tasting me, the quiet threat in his eyes.

I couldn't tell Adrian that the reason for this mornings little play was because I didn't want him to see my face, see the fear behind my eyes. I wasn't ready for this, for her family to know about them. There was no telling what Mom and Dad would do. And, now, that decision was no longer in her hands. Would Bryce keep their secret? Why? He had no reason to. They had never given him a reason to. That was the key. Getting close to Bryce was no longer just a goal. It wasn't an option. It was a necessity. An absolute. It had to happen.

Adrian came behind her, wrapping her in his arms and kissing her cheek. "Any for me?"

"Sit down Adrian. We need to talk." He was sexy, wearing only a pair of silk pajama bottoms. The way the fabric moved with him.

"Something wrong," he asked as he sat across from me.

Funny, I thought to myself. Our parents aren't even here, its just us, and we still gravitate to the same seats we've sat in since we were children. "I think you should make a better attempt at being a big brother to Bryce."

"And where did this come from suddenly." Defensive.

"It's not just you. We both need to. We haven't been very involved with him. Hell, he's almost a stranger to me."

"That's you, Ali. I know Bryce. And I know that Bryce does NOT like me. At all." Still defensive, but there was something else underneath it.

"Look, eventually we'll have to tell the family about us, and Bryce could very well be the tipping point for us. He could help. And, even if he can't, at least he could be one less person we loose in our lives."

Adrian's hands knotted up in front of him, his thumbs twittering nervously. "Ali, you don't get it. I can't. He hates me. Like, really hates me. Maybe you can close the distance, but I already fucked that up."

"What? How? When?" Shit! For all the effort I was putting in, Bryce didn't make closing the distance easy. I was hoping some male-bonding with Adrian might succeed where I had been failing miserably.

"Let's just say Bryce is not a forgiving person, okay?"

"Adrian." I didn't want to tell him. I really didn't. I had no idea how he would react, but I needed him to understand how important this was, not just to me, but to us, to our future. "He knows." I remembered my dinner a few night ago with Virginia. I remembered the look on her face when I brought Bryce up. I remembered the fear in her eyes.

It didn't even compare to what I saw in Adrian's.

--Bryce--

God I was pissed. No, beyond pissed. I didn't even have words for this shit. I sat on my bed, looking a the collection of journals sitting in my backpack. I had to get rid of them. I knew this would happen. I knew better than to keep them. I never should have written them. I knew I had to get rid of them. But I just couldn't make myself do it.

God damn it! If it wasn't for that little, nosy bitch sticking her nose where it didn't belong! I knew what needed to be done, but I didn't want to do it. I had so much of myself in them! Those books were me! My life was in their pages.

And that was the problem. My life was in there. And she had read them. And I didn't even know how much she had read. The bitch. I already had so little to call my own, and she had to take just that much more didn't she. And it hurt all the more because I knew better! I should have never written them. I laid back on the bed.

Fuck!

I smiled to myself though. 'She paid for it, at least,' I thought. The look on her face, the fear in her eyes. Yeah, she was paying for it right now even. It was something I understood. Fear has its own price, it taxes a person's soul. And she had fear now. Sure, 2.0 may have a few of my secrets, but I had one of hers now too. I wonder what Adonis would think if he knew that I knew what she tasted like. I turned my head, allowing my eyes to fall on my backpack yet again. And I wasn't sure we had gotten a fair trade.

Sentimentality. That was the problem. It wasn't like I sat around reading my old journals, but I just put so much of myself into them. It was another thing they had stolen from me. My secrets were no longer mine. Those pieces of my soul.

I grabbed my phone and sent a text to Lynn. "Come and get me."

I thought Adonis had learned his lesson about stealing from me.

--Adrian--

Fuck.

Yeah, that was definitely the right word. Fuck. Just...Fuck. That's what I was, after all. Completely fucked.

It was no secret that Bryce and I didn't get along. We never did. I remember when he was a baby. I hated him then and he's since returned the favor. Mom and Dad argued all the time. Dad had even moved out for a few months. And Bryce. God knows he was the most angry baby to ever be born on God's green Earth. Bryce was born with a frown and a sharp tooth.

He had this mean, piercing cry. More of a wail, really. Most babies start crying when they want something or they're scared or hungry, and its just this annoying cry until you give them what they want. Not Bryce. He just shouted his angry wails at you. Just mean, little burst of "Wahhh! Wahhh!" He would shout at me and mom and dad. Alice was the only member of the family who was spared his wrath. When she was around, he was as peaceful as could be. And, just like that, I lost my little sister to Baby Brunson, the Tyrant known as Bryce.

Dad's attitude toward the Baby Bryce was a bit contagious. He never held him, never sang to him, never fed him. In fact, Dad did everything he could to pretend Bryce didn't exist. I tried my best to emulate that attitude. Unfortunately, Dad didn't have to answer to Mom the way I did. So my success rate was about 40%.

If only I had let it end there.

I nursed those feelings though. Bryce was the reason I had almost lost my father. Bryce was the reason my sister and best friend was stolen from me. Bryce was the reason I had to go to school and leave my family behind. For every little childish thing that went wrong in my minuscule life, I had a scapegoat. Bryce was the reason... .

It was the reaction of a child. But it had become embedded in me. I played mean tricks on him. I didn't look out for him. I didn't even consider him to be my brother. When people would ask me about him, I use to pretend I didn't know who he was. I saw him, growing up, coasting along behind me and Alice, riding our achievements. He was a parasite.

It was senior year when I made my biggest mistake.

I found them. His journals. I had lost one of my music CD's and had gotten it in my mind that Bryce had stolen it. I was searching his room. He use to have a dresser drawer that had a fake bottom. It wasn't very well made, but for a kid it was pretty good. That's where I found it. That stupid journal.

I took it back to my room and read it, cover to cover. No, I did more than read it; I felt it. I felt every mean-spirited thing I had ever done to him. He didn't even mention half of them, but I felt each and every one, a thousand times. I felt every slight and dismissal. I felt our father's absence in his life. I felt our mother's lack of acknowledgment of his pain. I felt. I went to take it back to him.

He was sitting on his bed, bent over, his head in his hands. He was crying. "Bryce?" I held the journal in my hands out to him.

He looked up and snatched it from me. He stared at it for a long moment, finding the security that it was there, in his hands. He looked up at me, and I missed it. I've spent years regretting that. I had about two seconds where I could have said something, done something, before he closed the door on me forever. And I missed it. Half a moment could have changed everything we were, everything we would have become. And I let it slide by.

Alice at least has an excuse. She just blissfully glides through life thinking everyone is doing just as well as she is. Not me though. No excuse. I played an active part in the hell that became my little brother's life. I knew all the spots, and, over the years, I hadn't hesitated to hit them over and over.

I missed the moment where I would have been able to say something or do something. I missed it, and it passed. It was gone. Bryce's eyes went hard. Even wet and red with tears, even as young as we both were, I could see the kind of hatred in them that I don't think either of us had ever experienced before.

He didn't say anything. He didn't have too. I backed out of his room, and closed the door myself. I only ever entered that room one time after that.

It was a year later. I was home from school. I had decided to check the dresser again, looking for his journal, looking for some way to heal the rift. Instead, I found a note. "I'll kill you". Three words. Simple and to the point. And so terrifying I almost pissed myself looking at it. It was the last time I had ever dared to enter that room.

That night, I woke up. I don't know why. There was no noise or light or anything. But something woke me up. And thank God. Bryce was standing there. There was knife in his hand. He was standing over me, looking at me. He knew I was awake. And he just stood there, that hard hatred never left his eyes. If anything, it had settled, built a farm, raised some chickens.

"You stole from me. You stole me from me." His voice was quiet, almost a whisper, like he wasn't even talking to me. I could feel his hands clenching on the knife, almost like they were wrapped around my throat. "It's almost worth it." Then, in less than an instant, he had that knife against my neck. I didn't move. There was something angry and primal and cold in him that told me I deserved this, that demanded my submission. "Don't worry. One day, you'll give me enough reason that I won't care anymore. I'll trade my forever for your right now."

That night still haunts me. Every once in a while, I still wake up, scared, looking around my room for my fratricidal little brother. And now... Now he had Alice and my future in his hands.

He knew.

There was no bridging me and Bryce. There was no kiss and make up. No hugging it out. He hated me. He has every since then. In fact, hatred isn't even a strong enough word. I would probably have to ask Alice to figure out the right vocabulary for the depth of his abhorrence of me. And its not for lack of trying on my part. I sent him presents on his birthday, Christmas, even when I randomly came across something I thought he would like. I got an anime poster signed by his favorite voice actor once, she was a client of my firm. A week later, I got a box that was filled with ashes. I knew what those ashes use to be.

In the last five years, think I could count how many times he's actually said something to me without using all my fingers.

I took a deep sigh. I could here Bryce moving around in the back. I was tossing my old football from hand to hand as he rounded the corner. "Hey Bro. Wanna go toss the old pigskin around?"

He stopped and looked at me, like I had grown a third head. His backpack sounded heavy as he dropped it onto the carpet. "Do you think something has changed? That you fucking Alice means we'll be friends now?"

"Look, Bryce-" It came out of nowhere. His fist was suddenly inside my stomach. I fell, bent over, to my knees, the breath knocked out of me. I had no idea how strong he was.

"It hasn't. It never will." I looked up at him from down on my knees. He was right next to me, but he couldn't have been farther away. That was the scary part. He was looking right at me, and it was like he didn't even see me.

I bowed my head and gripped my stomach, waiting to catch my breathe, listening as I heard his footsteps on the soft carpet. The door closing behind him. I didn't know when. There was honestly no telling. But Bryce had our hearts in his hand. And no heart of his own.

We were fucked. And not in a fun way.

--Lynn--

I watched as he burned them. Bryce has called me for some weird shit, but this hardly seemed like something he needed me for. I hoped he wasn't just using me for a ride. He could have called Johnny Boy for that.

Then again, maybe that wasn't the kind of ride he wanted.

I smiled. He was burning some journals. I had stolen one of them. When we'd gotten out of the car, I half-assed, and wholeheartedly, rushed to the trunk and grabbed the backpack. A quick unzip and dip, and re-zip as I threw it to him. I'd read it later. I would take any chance to know him on a deeper level.

Bryce stood sentry over his little bonfire, ensuring that not even the corner of a letter would escape his great burning. The most devout soldier. The sentinel.

Personally, I liked it. Leaving old things behind. Who knew what would grow from those ashes. I smiled to myself at the thought. I knew. I would decide. He was the book, and I was the fire. Burning him. Remaking him. Forging him into a shape pleasing to me. Taking the ashes as fertilizer for the man. From him would grow a mighty oak, bearing daggers as its fruit. Deadly to any who wandered too close. Except for me.

I would bask in his protective shade. Delight in the coolness of him during the hottest season. I would water him and grow him during the driest season. Prune from him those branches that became useless or unwieldy. Like Alice. The Alice branch had to go.

The wind began to blow, playing its part, dedicating what was to oblivion, while stealing what few ashes of words it could. I didn't blame it. I had stolen a few from him too. Here was the knowledge I craved. I wanted to know. Here was a man who had it in him to shape the world. If only he was shaped to do so.

Most of it was gone now, dedicated to its own destruction. I walked up behind him and wrapped my arms around him. "You good?"

He stared into the dying embers for a few moments more, then, "Yeah. I'm good."

I felt his body relax against me. I savored the feel of him. It was the best. I smiled and kissed the back of his neck, tightening my grip on him. He was all mine.

Suddenly, he turned in my arms. He hand a hand on my ass, pulling me into him. His tongue was in my mouth, and, for more than a moment, I was distracted. His leg magically appeared between my own, tripping me, and I pulled us both down to the ground. I heard him laugh before his mouth found mine and his lips were on me. Smiling. Demanding. His hand was still on my ass, but the other had slid between my legs. He was under my skirt, pulling my panties to the side.

I pulled away from his lips. "Bry-" I was expecting a finger or two. Instead, he slid into me. Him. All of him. All the way. I can't deny that I wanted it. I was wet and slick and ready. And he took me. I didn't know when he had gotten his dick out. But I knew where it was now.