Unnatural Thirsts

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Author's Note

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I put this in Incest/Taboo because it fits the main relationship. That being said, I wrote this for the Halloween 2018 contest and it could also have fit in Nonhuman or even Erotic Horror. You may be a bit shocked if you came here expecting my standard fare (dramatic taboo romance).

It's still got drama and taboo romance, but there's an odd family and blood and death, too. Caveat Lector.

Your ratings, favorites, feedback, and comments are always appreciated.

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My First Message To You

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I got to thinking one day while you were out. What if something happened to me? I know you'd be fine, I'm not so self-important as to think you need me to survive. Honestly, given the differences between us, I just think it's likely that you're going to outlive me, probably by decades if not longer. I just wanted you to have something that you could read to remind yourself of me from time to time, if you were so inclined.

No matter what the future brings, please remember that I love you.

With Love,

Your Brother

Oct 29th, 20xx

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Eyes and Hunger

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You were always a cuddly thing. You probably wouldn't want to be thought of that way, but really its impossible for me to start without saying it. One of my earliest memories of you is you in your crib, crying. Even then you were skinny, with huge eyes.

I went over to you, I had to have been four, while you were twelve months. I'd been napping and your crying had woken me up. I assumed you were hungry and was going to go get mom, but you stopped crying as soon as you saw me. You stood up, held out your arms and made that grabby-hands motion that all babies do.

I knew, unerringly, that you wanted me to come over. So I did. You gave me an awkward hug through the bars, so I guess I figured out that you just wanted someone to cuddle with. I knew how to open the crib door, so I did. And I got in with you and lay down and you cuddled with me and that was that. We finished our naps until mom found us. She was surprised but not upset.

From then on I ended up napping with you fairly often. When you were old enough to get your own bed, you found me. It didn't always happen, but usually a few times a week I woke up to you cuddling up to my back. I never complained and mom never really separated us.

I think she understood that we were different, even then, and that we needed different things than most kids.

* * *

Any story about us has to start with our family.

I loved visiting our mother's parents, but they were strange too, and never seemed to be living in the same place. Grandfather kept ravens as pets and grandmother would brush leaves and ivy from her hair every morning at dawn. They told the most wonderful stories, however, and always as if they were there. I know that you met them and they loved you, but that may be too early for you to remember. They've since passed on but I don't think they ever died.

So, unsurprisingly, mom is special, but I think you knew that already. All you need to do to prove it is look in the mirror and see how her fae beauty mixed with your father's predatory sensuality to make something wonderful and unique. Which of course is to say nothing of our mother's kindness, strength, and intelligence. And naturally special women like her attract special men.

I doubt mom ever told you the details, but I think she really loved my dad. It broke her heart when he lost his ability to cope with his gift, and started to drink. He turned abusive. I guess he hit her once while she was pregnant with me and she took off before he had a chance to do anything worse. I've never missed him.

Your father came along when I was about three. I don't remember much of him, but my recollection is that he was tall with soulful eyes, like yours. I do remember that I was very shy around him. This worried mom because I was usually outgoing and she asked me about it over breakfast once.

"Why don't you ever talk to William?"

"Because he's scary," was my response. This really concerned her, especially after what happened with my father.

"Did...did he hurt you? Or frighten you?"

I just shook my head. She was confused so she kept asking questions.

"Do you like him?"

"Yeah. He's nice, I like him."

"Well then why do you call him scary?"

"Because he is. He's scary like Mr. Lee. But I like him, and he loves you a lot."

She just chuckled and ruffled my hair. Mr. Lee was what called every single character that Christopher Lee played in the old Hammer Films that we watched together. She told me that was when she knew that I had my father's gift, because even she hadn't figured out your father completely yet.

Mom was usually careful but your father moved fast. What do I mean by that? Within a few months mom sat down with me and told me that I was going to have a little brother or sister in seven months. She tried to be happy but she was also sad inside. Not about you. Your father disappeared as soon as he heard that mom was pregnant with you. She just assumed that she had misjudged him, and that he was just another untrustworthy man unwilling to take responsibility for his child. She was wrong, but we wouldn't find that out for a long time.

I ended up spending a lot of time with our grandparents at the end of mom's pregnancy, because of complications. I'm not trying to make you feel guilty, its just a part of your story. They made sure that I was ready for the responsibilities of being a big brother. For all the sickness mom had while she carried you, you came along just fine, much more quickly and easily than my birth. Mom said that you were ready to see the world.

I wasn't really sure about having a new sibling, but I loved you from the first moment I saw you. Its corny, I know, and I don't mean it in a weird way. I just felt that you were really special and that it was my job to keep you safe. I remember this very clearly, even though I was so young.

So, we grew up together. We got along most of the time, we fought some of the time. I grew up tall like my father and you grew up thin like yours.

When I was about twelve, mom started running out of money. She never told us, but I knew. So I offered to start babysitting you. She was understandably worried about me taking care of a nine year old, but I wasn't. You were always observing with your big eyes, and sure you were incredibly curious and that got you into trouble, but you weren't bad. And of course, even though you could be whisper quiet, you couldn't ever sneak up on me, although I might have pretended you could once or twice. It was easy keeping you out of trouble. All I had to do was pay attention to you, answer your questions, and let you hang out with me if I went outside.

Time passed. Your grades were better than mine and my teachers were always telling mom that I was "distracted" in class, but that I did well on homework. Mom understood, and there wasn't much she could do about it, but she kept me off of any drugs, because my problem wasn't ADHD.

I'm not going to really talk much about my problems, because you've always had the greater burden.

Mom tried to keep it from me. I'm not really sure why, except maybe to keep me from worrying and maybe out of respect for your privacy. You were always very sensitive of your differences from other people, and you were always concerned about what mom and I thought about you. You never really had to worry, however.

I know that you started to get sick when you were ten. I heard you throwing up and night and I could see your revulsion at a lot of the food you were given. You grew paler and thinner, and you were already a skinny child. I saw the dead squirrel in the living room before mom could get rid of it, desiccated and oddly without any bad smell, but I didn't understand how it got there.

Mom, being wise, started going to the old butcher's shop a few blocks away, telling them that she was making some old German family recipes. She'd wake you up at midnight and tell you it was time to drink one of your "special shakes". Then you'd go to the kitchen for about twenty minutes, and come back to your bed, or sometimes to cuddle with me in mine. You stopped getting sick. You grew like a weed and your eyes were bright. This is when your hair changed from dark brown to a deep glossy black. You didn't like it at first and said it made your pale skin look ugly. I laughed and you looked up at me, surprised.

"You look like a movie star, you dork," was all I said.

"No I don't, I look hideous."

"Are you really complaining about having the most beautiful hair I've seen? And yeah, you're pale, but its, like, perfect."

"Perfect?" you said, skeptically.

"Perfect."

You were still doubtful, but you accepted my word for the time being. I like to remember this conversation because of how vain you are now about your long hair and flawless skin. It's actually kind of adorable.

Time passed. You turned thirteen and got the tablet you really wanted, the one with the stylus so you could draw with it. It was really amazing seeing your eyes light up when you opened it.

The "shakes" stopped being enough soon after . This time you kept it from mom, afraid of what you might have to do to survive. I don't know what your fear was, exactly, but I think most of them involved you being separated from your family, the only people that truly understood you. You got in trouble later but I don't think you should have.

I didn't figure it out at first. It took me a few times.

I woke up to you cuddling with me in bed, as normal. I went back to sleep, a deep, dreamless void. I woke up and felt a little lightheaded. Mom noticed.

"Are you ok?"

"Uh, yeah. I think I'm a little sick or something, but I'm ok."

I was moving around just fine so she didn't worry. I ate a huge breakfast and drank a ton of OJ and by the time school was over I felt normal.

The second time I didn't figure it out but I should have. I woke up to you crawling into my bed. You had kind of a guilty look but I just assumed it was because you'd woken me up. The next day you were gone before I got up. Mom came in and told me to get up in her hassled-mother voice. I had slept through my alarm and mom had to get us off to school before she went to work.

I stood up fast, not wanting to make things worse. I remember feeling really awful and weak and then I was looking up from the floor and mom was worried but you were beside yourself. You were bawling your eyes out and that was scarier to me than how I felt. If mom hadn't been so worried about me then I'm sure that she would have puzzled it out.

I ended up at the hospital. I had a lot of tests and shots and questions. You were out in the waiting room but I could feel your guilt from there. Mom didn't want to leave me alone but eventually she took you home and promised to be back early in the morning.

She came back and she tried to be nice but she was so mad. You were guilty and sad and I knew that you had fought, but I couldn't tell about what. I was diagnosed with "Nonspecific Anemic Disorder" and sent home with iron pills and special shots.

I got home and stayed home from school for a week, which was awesome. All I did was play PS2 and read. Things got back to normal for a few weeks, but then you got a little sicker. I noticed immediately and was worried. I began to put things together, remembering that you were very pale the night before I got really sick, and then the day after you were healthy with a flush on your cheek.

I woke up to mom asking you in kind of a loud voice what was wrong and why you had stopped. I remember looking at the clock and seeing that it was two-thirty in the morning. I had a really bad feeling so I ran downstairs. Mom had a bite mark on her outstretched arm, the pinprick marks of your teeth already closing. You looked up at me, your pallor almost greenish, you were so sick. Then your expression turned to fear, and you vomited blood all over the kitchen floor. Mom panicked. Normally I probably would have too but I finally understood everything clearly.

Your dad was like Mr. Lee, so you were too.

"Why can't you keep it down?" mom said, with a bit of an edge to her voice. She was worried about you and I had just seen what I wasn't supposed to and she was afraid that her family was falling apart.

"I don't know!" you yelled through sobs. You were afraid of dying but even more than that, getting kicked out by mom or being hated by me. "It just tastes awful. It's like drinking my own!"

"Well you can't just keep taking from your brother!" mom shouted. This was the first time her reserve had cracked in front of me, and I could feel hopelessness radiate off of her like a fever.

"Yes she can," I said, for once the least emotional person in the room.

"No," you said, before even mom could open her mouth, "I can't. I put you in the hospital."

"Because you drank too much. You just need to take a little less. And I have iron pills and shots. And I think I can eat more meat and stuff. Can you control yourself a little better?"

You thought for a moment, and then nodded.

"I'm sorry. You just tasted too good. I wanted more and I had too much. The second time I thought I killed you."

Then you cried and you hugged me and got blood all over my PJs but I didn't care.

"See mom, she can just wake me up when she needs some and I'll stay awake and I'll tell her if I start feeling bad. And you'll stop, right?"

Mom nodded, desperate for a solution. We all got cleaned up and changed clothes while mom cleaned the floor, and then you drank just what you needed from me and stopped right when I asked you too. The small wounds on my arm healed in minutes. Thats how things worked for a long time.

We were close before that, but this was different. It was intimate, but not sexual, at first. It was simply a connection between us that hadn't existed before. I got to the point when I could tell that you were getting too hungry before you knew it, and I didn't need to tell you if you were taking too much. Once every three weeks, like clockwork, we had this special, strange moment, and then you cuddled into my back and I went to sleep. I think mom was really proud of both of us because we really solved the problem without her.

I'm making it seem simple though, and it wasn't. You've always been pretty and you grew up gorgeous. I may be biased but I've heard plenty of my friends say it, too. And as we grew up together, I started to feel a lot more strongly about you in ways that I wasn't familiar with. I didn't have crushes on other girls because I had a crush on you, blended with platonic feelings and the urge to protect you. As you grew older it grew stronger and more complex, deeper and sexual. I didn't pine after you exactly. I dated. I had sex with "appropriate" partners. I just never connected deeply with anyone. Eventually I accepted that I wouldn't just get over you, and I resolved to conceal it from you, because you had enough to worry about without having a weird obsessive big brother.

And that's how our little family worked for a long time. It didn't really change again until I was twenty-one and you were eighteen.

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Night Call

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Mom was working that night, although she'd just gotten her "big promotion" so she was working far less hours. But you already knew that mom was lying, and I wish you'd told me. Neither of you could, and objectively it was the right thing to do, but it still hurt, you know?

Anyway, mom was working, and I was studying which was pretty normal. You had become the most natural goth girl of all time, and were embraced for your kindness, cleverness, and beauty. That and you were the master of coordinating black vintage clothing with heavy makeup. Mom thought it was too much but I thought you looked amazing. You didn't spend as much time with me, but I knew that you'd pull away some point and I accepted it as part of life. We still talked pretty frequently, in any case.

So, I was knee deep in music theory when my phone rang. I saw it was your number and I figured you needed a ride because maybe you'd had too much to drink. In a way, that was correct.

"Can...can you come pick me up?"

The fear and shame in your voice set off every one of my older brother red flags. I didn't even question what you wanted, I just got your address and drove out at a speed that neither you nor mom would have approved of.

I didn't need to find the right apartment number because I could hear the shouting from outside. I didn't knock but just went in. I saw your friends look at me gratefully, hopefully. They were basically good people and I could tell that one of them had been trying to talk this dickhead down while his friends laughed drunkenly or just sat there in shock at the anger he was displaying.

He had a douchey haircut and badly coordinated clothing. His neck had a bite mark, ragged and red and seeping. And most importantly, he had your thin arm in a vice grip and was shaking you while he screamed profanities at you. He called you a twisted little cunt and something in me snapped just a little bit, although I didn't show it. It was plain to me what had happened. We really should have seen this coming.

You'd gone out to party and have fun. You met a boy you thought was hot. You started getting physical and in the heat of the moment, you bit him. Rather than go with it and probably have the time of his life, he fought you, pulling away, tearing at the wound so it wouldn't heal fast like it normally would.

"And who the fuck are you?" he shouted at me. But I ignored him, searching you for a sign of injury, serious or otherwise. You weren't being passive though. You were trying to pull free from him but he was just too big and you hadn't really learned to apply yourself to such things yet.

"I'm her brother. Let her go." I said, calmly.

"Not yet. Not until this little psycho bitch apologizes. And she can apologize on her fucking knees. With her mouth or her ass, I don't care. She fucking bit me!"

"Yeah. Sometimes people bite each other during sex. You'd know that if you'd ever made a woman cum before."

He was shocked, because lets face it I may be tall but I definitely looked like an emo kid. You were shocked because I was always a peacemaker, finding common ground. His friends were shocked and just laughed, which made him even more mad. In his rage he let your arm go, which is what I wanted him to do.

Before now, I'd always just pulled in feelings and thoughts. Absorbed them like a sponge and used this understanding to my selfish advantage and to help others. I was a mostly good kid I guess. When I heard what he called you something changed inside me. I don't know how describe it. In that moment I knew with absolute certainty that I could force my thoughts and feelings into other people.

And then I saw the bruises on your face, the exposed part of your midriff, and your arm. He hit me while I was distracted but I honestly didn't feel it, I was so angry. I'm a lover, not a fighter, and I went down hard, but even as I did so he had lost control of the situation. One of your friends screamed, another was holding you back because you really didn't like that he'd done that, and his friends were cheering him on. I just sat there and stared at him. I filled him with fear, and then when he was full, I pumped more into him. He was like a water balloon, ready to pop. I stood up, slowly, calmly.