A.N: Uh, okay. I'm not entirely sure where this came from, I wrote it entirely on a whim. I'm dedicating this to the fabulous WhenLighteningStrikes. The latest fic from this author (Like Today Never Happened) was the one that inspired me to do this (amazing story. amazing writer. seriously)....I don't know what to say about this one, since I wrote it in one sitting and it was so rushed, so again, you guys be the judge.
Thin Walls
I heard you last night, Derek. The walls are thinner than you think.
Did you enjoy it? Did it make you feel powerful, make you feel good about yourself? I know for a fact that it was the first time you dared to bring a girl home after a date. Then again, it was ideal: Mom and George away for the weekend, the younger sibs at sleepovers…and me, supposedly at Emily's for movie night.
Too bad Emily had a family thing at the last minute. No, I was all alone at home that night. Until you and what's-her-name arrived, that is.
Bet you didn't count on me being there, did you?
You didn't even know I was home—you were too carried away with your latest blonde bimbo (It always has to be a blonde for you. Always. I wonder why.), too excited by the prospect of doing it with her in your own room and getting away with it. If you'd only given my slightly-open door a single glance, only strained your ears to hear the Mozart playing in my room…
But no. You didn't. And because of that, you're not the only person living in this house who knows what you did.
She was loud, that girl of yours—then again, you never seemed to go for the discreet type. I could hear all sorts of sounds—moaning, gasping, giggling, creaking bed—and god, I felt sick to my stomach. Headphones couldn't drown out all the noise you two made that night, and even if it did, it still couldn't shake off the fact that you were screwing someone in the next room, just a wall away from me.
It also couldn't shake off the fact that it hurt so damn much, I could hardly breathe properly.
Don't ask me why I felt like that. Even I don't know. Or maybe I do know, but I just don't want to admit it to anyone else, myself included. Regardless, I felt what I felt, and the whole thing was just too disturbing, too disgusting—and I knew that, come morning, you wouldn't be the only one trying to scrub this whole night away from your mind.
Unfortunately for me, I don't think I'll ever be able to forget this. You, on the other hand, will probably be able to. After all, you've had some practice, right? You've done it before, haven't you?
The seconds passed. There was no stopping you. The pain got worse, and this was unlike anything you've ever done to me before. Every jab, prank, and insult you've done couldn't even compare to a fraction of that twisting pain I felt at that moment. A part of me even thought that you were aware that I was there the whole time-- that you did notice that I was home but went ahead with it anyway, because you knew I'd be able to hear at least a bit of it, and that it was going to disgust me, scathe me.
You've always wanted to hurt me, haven't you? Well, congratulations. You've finally done it.
It was only getting worse. I decided to leave—I'd go anywhere, just as long as I could escape this whole thing. I figured you wouldn't notice me leave, anyway; you didn't even notice me when you arrived. I got my purse and coat, and my hand was on the doorknob when the gasps became louder, more urgent. And then, I heard it—your voice was husky and raw, but I could hear it clearly (I told you the walls were thin.)
You said my name as you went over the edge.
My hand froze on the doorknob, and I swear, I won't ever forget that moment. You were in your room, fucking some girl whose name and face you'd probably forget tomorrow, and as you reached the brink of satisfaction, you chose to say my name. Casey. You chose to say your stepsister's name, the very same stepsister that you've professed to hate ever since you first met.
Does it haunt you now, Derek? Was it a mistake, something you said as you were caught up in the moment?
Or have you done it before?
Something tells me that you have. And a lot of things became clear to me that night, one of them why I felt like that (Then again, I guess it's always been there). I've always known more about you, more than any of your girlfriends do. I know what lies beyond that smirk and façade that you've built up. After all, with you, I've always been on high alert—you never know when you might find out something about your opponent that has blackmail potential.
And so I know, I just know, that last night wasn't the first time you've done something like that. You've said my name before (and I don't even want to think about how that must feel for the girl you're with.)
Is it messed up to feel something like…hope replacing the disgust? Hope that maybe, just maybe, you might be feeling (Because yes, contrary to popular belief, I do know you have feelings) that same strange, twisted, painful yet exhilarating emotion I've been feeling lately.
I've come a long way from the Casey you first met, haven't I? For one thing, the old Casey would've never used the F word, even in her mind. And she wouldn't be having these sort of feelings for her stepbrother either. (How that happened is another story entirely.)
You stumble into the kitchen late the next morning. What's-her-name is long gone by now. I'm still finishing up with my breakfast, and when you wander inside, I freeze for a moment. You look exhausted as you fix your cereal and make your way towards the counter, where I'm at.
Our eyes meet. You realize that, yes, Derek. I know.
The look in your eyes changes. I realize that you meant it.
We don't say a word though. We just continue eating.
Later, we'll go our separate ways. You'll move on to another girl and do the same thing all over again, and I'll be stuck with the memory, because now, I can't forget it, even if I wanted to. We'll both keep it as a reminder of what we both can't have. Maybe someday, we might be able to…but not right now.
For today, we'll let the walls—however thin they might be--separate us.