All participants in sexual situations are over the age of 18. Not meant to be anyone living or dead.
Have you ever walked into a room and seen somebody that you instinctively hate? When that person meets your eyes you can see that she hates you as much as you hate her? Such a visceral hate that you wouldn't piss on her if she was on fire? Well, that's how I hate Roberta.
Alas, she's my twin sister! I don't know if we came out of our mother fighting but wouldn't doubt it. Maybe she did something to me in the womb that started it. I don't remember any single incident from our early years that could be called the cause of this hatred.
Pre-school years we just couldn't get along. I'd damage her dolls, she'd tell our parents and I'd get a licking. I'd retaliate and so would she. It quickly escalated to fists and feet. By the time we reached seventh grade both of us had our share of black eyes, split lips and all kinds of bruises. No matter what our loving and patient parents tried, nothing stopped it. They even took us to see a child psychologist. Didn't help.
In the seventh grade I got a big growth spurt. Shot up to almost six foot tall and broad shoulders. She remained well under five feet. Then our parents laid down the law: "Robert, you are way bigger than Roberta and very capable of really hurting her. If you do then we will send you to juvenile hall and you will never be allowed home. Do you understand?"
I could only nod my head and fight back tears. I loved my parents as much as I hated Roberta.
That ended our physical confrontations. She couldn't start it either as I was big enough to grind her face in the dirt while not doing any permanent damage.
Thus the verbal and psychological warfare escalated. We knew, however, that getting too loud resulted in our being punished. Often that punishment resulted in us being forced to study together in the same room. I could feel the hate radiating from her and, I'm sure, she could feel it from me.
Of course, the punishments got stiffer as we got older: No TV, internet, games, etc.
In high school we tried our best to make the other's life miserable. She spread the rumor that I had a tiny dick and came too quickly. I let out that she was a slut with herpes and genital warts. It made for a difficult social life for me and for her. By our high school senior year, I was 6'4" and 220 pounds, starting tight end for 4 years. Enough guys (communal showers, remember), and girls, had seen my dick so the tiny dick rumor lost its impact. Even though she was now a firm 5 foot, 100 pound woman, she had great difficulty overcoming the STD label I hung on her. Objectively, she was a fox with nice tits and a firm ass but to me she was just a pain in the ass and I loathed her.
All though school, we made it a practice to not have the same classes together. Mostly worked. I doubt that in our four years of high school we exchanged more than a dozen words in school.
Not a lot more words spoken at home, for that matter, except bitter accusations and recriminations.
Somehow, we managed to graduate. Graduation ceremonies called for everyone to come up on stage, one by one, to accept our diplomas. We were arranged alphabetically. That meant we had to sit together and she came up on stage immediately after me. This was a potential time bomb. Our parents solved it by saying "If either of you does anything to disrupt the ceremony he or she will be allowed home for one hour to pack a suitcase. There won't be any reprieve and the person will be disowned permanently. Do you both understand?"
Of course, we had to agree. We had previously been told that a graduation open house would be joint or there wouldn't be one. We went without. She went to her parties and I went to mine.
I had a partial scholarship to play football on the west coast. She had a partial scholarship to go to school on the east coast. That was almost enough separation.
All through our college years, we tried to arrange visiting home when the other wasn't coming. Mostly worked although we were forced to spend Christmas together. I managed to miss Thanksgiving since football season wasn't over.
During the entire four years I never once asked how she was doing or what she was studying. Needless to say, we never communicated with each other. Our long-suffering parents attended our graduations. I received a degree in economics. Didn't know or care what she got hers in.
I became a private detective but quickly evolved into starting my own security firm. Didn't know what she did but hoped she was working on the street corner as a whore.
One cold December night two and a half years after our college graduations, our parent's old furnace developed a leak in the heat exchanger. It filled the house with carbon monoxide. They never woke up. After a couple of days of no activity at the house, the neighbors got the police to open the door where they were found in their bed.
The family lawyer notified us. We flew in to take care of funeral arrangement and all that goes with their departure from this world.
When I walked into the house, the first thing I saw was Roberta crying on the sofa. If I would have had the least amount of character, I would have held her in my arms to share our grief. I couldn't take those ten steps. I nodded my head to her, my eyes fill with my own grief. I suppose she could have made the same ten steps but she likewise didn't.
We managed to sit together at the funeral and at graveside but there was still a wall between us. We somehow managed to pick out a few things of our parent's things that we each wanted. Surprisingly, little conflict. I took dad's old double barrel shotgun and one of two albums of photos. Roberta took the other album and a few of mom's things. We called Goodwill to get the rest. Called a real estate company to sell the house. Had the lawyer set things so all we had to do was OK any sale.
The reading of the will took place. Our parents left us off with a few hundred thousand dollars each. There was one part the lawyer insisted we listen to. "It was always our lifelong dream that the two of you would reconcile your differences and become brother and sister. If you two are still as you were, then we consider ourselves failures as parents. We only hope that one day you two will realize what you have in each other."
I took this hard, as Roberta probably did. We had loved our parents but there wasn't any way to put aside our 24 years of hate and distrust.
When we walked out the door, I glance briefly at her. Then got on with my life.
I never heard from her after we signed the papers selling the house. I wishfully imagined her a street whore but gave it no further thought.
My company picked up important clients needing our security services. Since some of the contracts became more hazardous (think middle-east), I started to hire more ex-SEALS, Special Forces, Marines and Rangers. Tough men who knew how to handle themselves and protect their responsibilities. We grew into nine figures.
Six years after my parent's deaths, my receptionist informed me "Mr. Hubbard, there's a Bobby Winston with an appointment to see you."
"OK, show him in."
"Show her in, you mean."
The door opened and Roberta stepped in!
"What the fuck are you doing here?" was all I could manage.
She didn't smile, only started to cry. "Hello, Robert."
"Why are you here?"
Her face was lined. It looked like the tears were following gullies. Her green eyes were swimming in tears, as well. She looked a lot older than our 31 years. At first she couldn't say anything. She just hung her head and cried, fingers wrapping around each other.
"Again, why are you here?"
"Can I sit down? I'll explain."
Against my better judgement, I let her sit instead of having her thrown out.
"Robert, although this kills me, I don't have any place else to turn to. I don't want to be here anymore than you want me to."
I didn't say anything, simply looking at her to continue.
"I got married to Calvin Winston shortly after our parents passed. We have a daughter, Carrie, who is now three." At this point she dug into her purse and handed me picture of a cure toddler. Blonde hair, green eyes, like her mother.
"Shortly after Carrie was born Calvin started gambling, and losing heavily. He quickly went through all of our savings, mortgaged the house, and lost everything. We were on the run from his bookies and other creditors. We ended up here in Atlanta where he figured we wouldn't be known. He continued gambling and finally went to a loan shark and got a 100 thousand loan. No clue how he did but he could be very charming when he wanted. He lost that, too. He jumped off the 33
rd
floor of an office building."
So far, it looked like a happy ending as my sister was now broke and probably homeless.
"Now the loan shark is after me to pay back the 100 thousand, plus interest. The interest is 10 thousand a week. I have nothing left. Carrie's at the sitter and I don't have enough money to pay her.
"The loan shark says that I will pay. That I will do it on my back."
I thought of what that means and was happy that my dream of her becoming a street whore was coming true. "Well, at fifty dollars a pop and twenty a night, will only take you about three months to pay it back.
She turned bright red and I swear I could see steam coming out of her collar. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, you fucking bastard? Seeing me reduced to that!
Take a look at that picture of Carrie again. What would become of her? At best, she would end up in the foster system. At worst she could become a part of the human trafficking underworld.
You'd be happy to see me like that but what did Carrie ever do to you? Like it or not, she's your flesh and blood. Are you happy for her to waste her life like that? What would mom and dad say?"
I felt like I had run into a brick wall! Shit! I didn't care about her, did I? She was right. Carrie was a complete innocent and as much as I hated her mother, I couldn't throw her to the wolves.
"As much as I hate to say it, you're right: I can't let Carrie go through this.
Who is this loan shark and what exactly does he want?"
The spine seen to go out of here and she slumped in the chair. "His name is Simon. He has Calvin's marker and says I own him three weeks of interest. I have to pay him this evening. I think he's also going to want a sample."
"Call him and arrange the meeting. Tell him to bring the marker and you'll bring the principal and the interest. Tell him you're also bringing your brother to ensure there aren't any misunderstandings.
Where is Carrie? I'll send somebody over to make sure nothing happens."
She calls the shark from my office and sets up a meeting at four in sleazy bar.
I have the receptionist take her to the executive lounge until we are ready to go. In the remaining two hours I get things rolling. First, I call Jim Simpson, head of security details. Tell him what, when where and how things need to be done.
He calls a few people and says they know this shark. He enjoys hurting people that don't pay but enjoys the money more. Jim thinks the shark will take the money and vigorish and cut off any further problems - once we explain things to him. Jim set us a security detail and gets me the money: 100 thousand plus 30 thousand. Gives me an extra 10 thousand in case. Carrot-stick.
There's a nagging thought that she is simply playing me. Thirty years of mistrust is hard to overcome.
