You and I go hard at each other like we're going to war.
You and I go rough, we keep throwing things and slamming the door.
You and I get so damn dysfunctional, we stopped keeping score.
You and I get sick, yeah, I know that we can't do this no more.
It's four in the morning. The world should be silent, full of sleepers dreaming beautiful things. Instead, they are wide awake, hot and sweaty between his sheets. The door is locked and their parents are on the other side of the house but he remains paranoid. She doesn't care – never has– but he does. He knows that it's wrong; just because they are not biologically related doesn't mean they're not siblings.
The thoughts of how dirty and wrong they are together are torn from his mind as she moans. He quickly brings his mouth to hers, biting her hard to keep her quiet. She digs her nails into his bare back, down across his ribs. His breath deserts out of him, harsh and cruel. He digs his hands into her soft flesh, bruising her body as she scratches his.
"Harder," she snaps.
He obeys, but isn't sure whether or not it's because they like it or because it might hurt her. She orgasms again, keeping her noises low and guttural though he's heard her be loud when they've been alone and all of her sounds both grates on his ears and excites him. She bites him hard, blood appearing on him immediately. The action angers him, and he doesn't care that they're dirty, disgusting and wrong, he just drives into her, watching her head smash against the wall.
Yeah, but baby there you go again, there you go again, making me love you.
Yeah, I stopped using my head, using my head, let it all go.
Got you stuck on my body, on my body, like a tattoo.
And now I'm feeling stupid, feeling stupid, crawling back to you.
"No," he says when she comes to his room. Their parents are gone for the weekend, and she's taken full advantage of their absence by walking around nude. He concentrates solely on the magazine in his hands, trying not to glance at the woman in his doorway.
"Toby," she growls, her voice musky and sensual. He's hard and she knows it; knows exactly what she does to him.
"We can't," he tells her again, his voice tight. He walks away from her (it's the fourth time he's done this since they started and she's always brought him back to her) and he's not going back, no matter how beautiful her breasts are, or how much he wants her.
"But we can," she urges. "It's not wrong, you know that."
"It is. Our parents are married."
"That doesn't matter." She's leaning against her doorframe so he can see the outline of her legs but not between them, where she's buried her own hand.
"It does." He stands up and she's looking at him expectantly. Her free hand is reaching for his zipper. He doesn't look her in the eye as he closes his bedroom door in her face. He leans against it and hears her walk away, her bare feet making sharp sucking sounds as she moves across the hardwood floors.
He's frozen for what feels like an eternity but knows it can't be more than five minutes. He's trying willpower, he's trying freeing himself but it isn't working. She's under his skin, on his skin, suckering him into something so awful and addictive but the pain of walking away is nothing compared to the pain of not having her wrapped around him, hot skin to hot skin. He throws the door open so brutally he's sure there's a dent in the wall.
He's after her quickly, slipping into her room. She's on her bed, hand working between her legs, attempting to give her the pleasure he was trying to deny her. He shoves her hand away, pushing his face between her soaking thighs and he listens to her scream.
So I cross my heart and I hope to die
That I'll only stay with you one more night
And I know I said it a million times
But I'll only stay with you one more night
She has fallen asleep next to him. She never has before and he doesn't know what to think of it. It almost feels like a relationship, like love instead of lust. There is nothing romantic with them and there never will be. He doesn't know what they're doing, or why they are, but they're stuck in this fuck and then ignore each other routine. He doesn't like the routine preferring to end it instead of turning into something more. He lays there and stares up at the ceiling, feeling her bare skin against him, the rising and falling of her chest as she breathes and he says it aloud.
"This is it. No more. You are done with her and this immoral relationship."
This time he means it, so help him God.
Try to tell you "no" but my body keeps on telling you "yes".
Try to tell you to "stop", but your lipstick got me so out of breath.
I'll be waking up in the morning, probably hating myself.
And I'll be waking up, feeling satisfied but guilty as hell.
It's been two weeks since he has been with her and he's proud of himself. She's tried and tried but he's resisted (he's still not entirely sure how, but he has). It's another weekend where their parents, oblivious to the fact they have teenagers to look after, have disappeared for the weekend. He knows that the next two days will be his test but he's also confident he will pass. He's not letting her have any control over him, and as he falls asleep, he's sure he can do it.
He's always been a heavy sleeper so it doesn't surprise him that he doesn't wake up until her voice rings in the air.
"What the hell?" He demands, pulling on his bound wrists and ankles. He is completely nude. She's standing over him, grinning like the cat that ate the canary.
"I thought we'd try something new," she says, as if he hasn't ended it, like she's still in control.
"Jenna, this isn't happening anymore. There is no 'we'." He pulls at his restraints but she's done a good job – too good of a job. There is no give to them at all, and the material is already chafing his skin.
"You keep saying that," she runs her hand across his bare torso and he feels his body react, no matter how he wills it not too, "but then parts of you contradict that." She grabs him and he groans.
"Jenna." He's ashamed to say he's out of breath when her name crosses his lips. "Please."
"Please what?" She taunts, gripping him, her hand beginning to pleasure him, before suddenly stopping.
His eyes, which had been drifting shut, jack-knife open. She has moved next to his head, and she bends down, giving him a good eyeful of what lies beneath her tight tank-top. "Please what?" She repeats in a seductive whisper, breath tickling across his ear and cheek. He turns his head away, the only thing he could do right now, the only thing that was within his control.
"Please don't."
She lashes out, gripping his chin. Her long, bright red nails dig into his face. His neck cracks as she drags his head around, forcing him to look her in the eyes. "I don't think you understand. You are mine. You do not get to walk away from me."
He's never wanted to hit a woman before but it's very tempting to hit her.
He sets his jaw as she drops her hand. She takes a step back from the bed, pulling off her tank top and her tight pajama shorts. He doesn't take a moment to appreciate her form, nor does he remember any of the times he's palmed her breasts before, or how he's entered her before. He simply stares, gaze blank.
"Don't look so unenthusiastic," she orders, stepping onto the bed and towering above him as she did so. "You know you're going to like it."
He's not and he's quite sure she knows it too. She doesn't care, though, she never has. It's always been about her and what she wants. She straddles his groin and he tries not to vomit as she cries out in ecstasy.
Yeah, but baby there you go again, there you go again, making me love you.
(Making me love)
Yeah, I stopped using my head, using my head, let it all go.
(I let it all go)
Got you stuck on my body, on my body, like a tattoo.
(Like a tattoo, yeah)
And now I'm feeling stupid, feeling stupid, crawling back to you.
"Get off of me!" He screams, hating the helpless feeling that is consuming him. He can't believe that she can do this to him, mess him up in the head this badly. He can't believe that she, this tiny girl who he could break with one hand, is the one that controls him.
She pulls her arm back and slaps him across the face. They are out in the garage and she has him pinned in the corner, cowering. "You listen to me and me alone! You are for me and me alone!"
He whimpers, sick, unsure of what else he can do.
So I cross my heart and I hope to die
(Yeah)
That I'll only stay with you one more night
(Oh)
And I know I said it a million times
(Yeah)
But I'll only stay with you one more night
(Yeah)
She's mocking him, her words becoming ever vindictive and cruel, especially as she notices the scars crossing his wrists now, scars because of her.
"Weak, pathetic, useless excuse of a man," she sneers, placing his hands between her legs, forcing his lips to hers.
He has lost all willpower. He cannot fight against her. She is a force of nature and he can't possibly keep his footing. He does what she wants, simply because it's easier to see her smiling and getting her way than it is to have her snarling and destroying whatever is in her path.
He keeps repeating in his mind the same words. It's all he can think when he's forced to touch her like this: it's only one more night; the last night.
Yeah, baby, give me one more night
Yeah, baby, give me one more night (whoa, yeah)
Yeah, baby, give me one more night (oh, yeah, yeah)
It's the first time she's threatening to tell. He decides to stop playing the scared victim and fight back. Her words are much more haunting than his shout of 'it's done!'
"Oh yes," she purrs, a hunter in her own right. "Just imagine the look on Mommy and Daddy's face when they find out where their renegade son has done to their pretty daughter."
"This has been all you!" He argues.
"They don't know that!" She counters, eyes flashing. "For all they know you raped me." She smiles primly, having found the perfect words.
"Rape?" The word is foreign and tastes disgusting in his mouth because he knows that it's what she's done to him. He's never wanted to use those words in relation to himself, maybe because he's a man and that can't happen to men, but it happened to him. It's the only way to describe just what she has done.
"I didn't know how to tell you, Mom," she sobs, taking on a fake tone. "He was my brother and I knew you were happy but I can't take it anymore. It's killing me. I feel awful and sick and I'm so, so sorry."
"You wouldn't," he gasps.
"I would," she scowls, tears stopping immediately. "And they're going to believe me over you. Who wouldn't with your history?"
He grits his teeth tightly, knowing she's right. Once again he's helpless, utterly defenseless against her words.
"Now," she says, unzipping her hoodie and biting her lip coyly, "gonna fuck me or not?"
Yeah, but baby there you go again, there you go again making me love you.
Yeah, I stopped using my head, using my head, let it all go.
Got you stuck on my body, on my body like a tattoo.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Neither of them knows it yet but this is the last time they'll ever do this. She's biting and scratching him and he's taking the opportunity to hurt her back. It's a petty victory, as she thrives off of the pain.
"YES!" She screams as he bites her nipples and digs into her ribs. "YES, RIGHT THERE!"
It's not often she encourages him and he finds it discourages him. One of the things that keeps him going is the hope that she's growing less enchanted with their lust with every time they have sex. He knows it's a false hope, that she likes having him to control – it has nothing to do with the sex.
Angered by the thoughts the he is her puppet (no matter how true they are) he bites her until she bleeds.
So I cross my heart and I hope to die
(Oh oh oh oh, oh oh oh oh)
That I'll only stay with you one more night
(Oh oh oh oh oh oh)
And I know I said it a million times
(Oh, I said it a million times)
But I'll only stay with you one more night
(Yeah, baby give me one more night)
He's leaving. He knows that he might not be going to the best of places, and certainly nobody is seeing him in a good light now but he doesn't care. When his father packed his bags and threw him on the bus to reform school, it was all he could do not to cry tears of relief.
He is free.
He is free forever.
He will never have to touch her again. He will never have her touch him again. For all he knows, he will never have to see her again. And the thought makes him smile like he hasn't in so long. Soon the hickeys will fade from his chest and neck; the scratches will disappear from his ribs and back. Soon he won't be able to hear her manipulative voice ringing in his ears; feel her hot breath panting against him.
Soon she'll be gone completely and he'll be able to find himself again.
So I cross my heart and I hope to die (yeah, yeah)
That I'll only stay with you one more night (yeah, yeah)
And I know I said it a million times (yeah, yeah)
But I'll only stay with you one more night (yeah, yeah)
He's headed back there again; back to the same house, the same bedroom, with the same three people living there. The only thing different is him. He will not let himself stoop so low and he definitely will not fall into her dirty trap. He will admit that he's nervous about seeing her again only because so much has changed. He is definitely not the same person he was when he was kicked out and she's not going to be the same either.
He finds it hard to believe that she's no longer manipulative and angry though.
He walks through the door and his father greets him with an awkward handshake. His stepmother looks like she just swallowed something extremely sour and is watching him with a pinched expression. She barely acknowledges his presence but then again, he doesn't acknowledge hers.
She isn't present but he knows that she's in the house.
"We will be back by nine o'clock," his father informs him.
He turns around suddenly, noticing that his parents are ready to leave.
"No funny business," his stepmother sternly warns. "We're trusting her with you."
He wants to laugh at the irony. She has never needed protecting from him. He just nods and agrees that he'll be nice to her and that he'll stay out of her way.
No sooner have his parents walked out the door than she has yelled for him. "Toby! I'm in my room."
He breaks out in chills. She sounds the same. He walks down the hallway, dropping his bag by his bedroom door. He peers in the door to her room and she is sitting there in the dark, her huge sunglasses that he's never seen before on her face. He knows she can't see any more but when she turns her head to look at him, he'll swear she's seeing into his soul again.
"Welcome back." He notices she still wears the same lipstick.
"Hi."
"I've missed you."
He doesn't know how to respond to this. He certainly hasn't missed her. Not much about her has changed. She may have developed a little more and her hair is different (and there's the sunglasses) but she still projects the same feel. Only now the waves of confidence and lust rolling off of her don't frighten him.
"Aren't you going to show me how much you missed me?" Her voice is attempting a sultry tone but he doesn't know how he could have ever found it appealing. She repositions herself in her chair, opening her body up to him, but he turns away.
"I didn't miss you," he confesses before walking away.
She yells his name after him but he refuses to turn around. He's no longer her puppet, her sex toy. He's become someone new and he'll find someone good for him. He'll get his life back on track and someday their time together will be a fuzzy memory. But as he lies in the bed she had once tied him to before forcing herself on him, the memories come back and he remembers how she felt against him. He feels disgusted and he's never been more thankful that he was sent away.
His 'one more night' has come and gone and there will never be another night.
"Toby?" she calls his name and he hears the sucking of her bare feet on the hardwood floor.
I don't know, whatever.
The song is 'One More Night' by Maroon 5. I don't own anything recognizable. Thank you to my lovely betas: foreversky. R&r loves!
~TLL~