A/N: Writing like this is like peeling partially dry paint off of metal or chewing the dirt out of your fingernails. In the end, you don't care what the message is. You just care about the cleansing feeling. That is what makes this – in most ways – not an artistic literature. It makes it some kind of therapeutic tool. So if you decide not to read this, or get offended or whatever you want to call it, that's ok.

…

I'm really just doing this for myself. :D

x

I have entered the realm of sleep, of peace, and of serenity. This realm does not block the insecurity of this world - the instability of the mind, but it traps it. The uneasy feelings of the waking world become a dim unit that floats outside of what appears to be the big picture – the enlightening, mindfucking picture that might just be some kind of answer for me: The world, or the seen and felt and perceived world is all only visible from the eye that we can comprehend.

What I view is a world of pain, of my illness, of all the stupid crap that's going on, and now, in this enlightenment, (or temporary enlightenment, if such a thing exists) I can see what I desire. It may be sinful by social standards, but in the end, what could it matter?

This is the realm of sleep, but not REM. When you wake up, your perception becomes clearer.

I wake up to the sound of thunderous water. Namine is taking another bath. The illness creeps into every crevice of your body until you can deny it no more, (or at least this is my theory) and until then you can do nothing but try to wash a bit of it away.

I wonder how our heating and water bill is doing, in this cold month of January.

I sit up in bed. What do I do? I'm not awake enough to feel whether I'm sick or not. I do feel unclean, physically. This is Tuesday.

Somehow, following the guidelines of a late morning and tracing the contours of cranial awakening, I have led myself – probably but some impulse – to the bathroom door.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Knock first. My knuckles hit the wood three times.

At first, moment silent.

"I'm in here," Namine calls from inside, quietly.

What am I supposed to say? Why the hell did I even knock?

"… I know,"

Moment silent. A minute passes. She probably thinks I've left. Or not. She's not moving. The water sounds still.

"… The door's unlocked," she says, ever so quietly from behind the door.

Ok. My heart is beating too fast. I take a deep breath, and reach carefully for the handle. I turn, and slowly open the door.

I don't look at her. I concentrate on the sink. I'm not going to look at her. Not unless she asks me to.

She doesn't speak. I mean, what could she possibly say? I place my fist to my mouth.

"Good… good morning," I mutter.

I hear water splatter. She's not getting out; she's simply sloshing an arm or a leg from out of the surface, to grab a bar of soap or to shift positions or something…

"I got a lot of sleep last night," I begin, nervously, "I dunno. Probably too much. Sleeping after being sick is weird, too. Not exactly scary, but…" my vision drifts to the mirror over the sink and I get a momentary glimpse of pale, naked simplicity. "It's…" I try to recover, "It's just…"

"Roxas,"

"Yes." I say a little too quickly, unable to avert my eyes from what's reflected in the mirror.

"Shut up." She says bluntly, "Turn around."

And so I do, and seriously look at her, but carefully. I'm not going to do some kind of perverted staring thing, if I possibly can avoid it. Just observe. This is natural. This is a simple, human body.

Oh, no it's NOT! Am I fucking crazy?! This is an attractive, naked woman. It's not simple, not to me. Even if it theoretically is just hunks of flesh and alluring colors and amazing convictions, it's still a completely, arousing, naked person.

Whatever kind of bizarre or intimidating or absurd body functions that are occurring within, and even outside of me - I don't care. Whatever. Just focus on keeping your hands at your sides and not looking too strained.

"I don't know what to say." I ultimately admit.

"Please say something good," She says, nervously, moving into a sinuous and aesthetically stimulating sitting position.

"You look beautiful." I say, without feeling the creepiness of the remark until moments later, when she looks away from me, her eyebrows furrowed together in embarrassment. "What I mean is, healthy." She then turns to frown at me. "Well, what the heck am I supposed to say?! I'm just speaking the truth."

"I figured you were creative enough." She states, frankly.

"How am I supposed to be perfectly reasonable about responses and words and compliments when I'm looking at you, like this?" I ask in a frustrated voice, frustrated in every way.

She then stands up. Her slender, pink body rises slowly, and somewhat gracefully. She steps out of the tub, her eyes never off of mine. It's indescribably difficult to focus on her solemn face, and not anything else in front of me… red and dripping.

"I think you realize at this point that we can't run away." She states firmly.

"Yeah, I do." I mutter, still struggling with my eyes.

"Look at whatever you want, Roxas." She says in an impatient tone. "We should give up."

"I don't know what you mean," I mutter absent-mindedly, allowing myself to take advantage of this whole situation, leaving everything to my eyes with my hands firmly at my sides.

"You know exactly what I mean." She spits, irritated. I soak up the words, 'give up.'

Wait. Oh, God.

"No, Namine," I plead, quickly grasping onto her shoulders, "We'll lose our minds. We can't. We're not going to."

"Do we have any other logical choice?" She asks gravely.

"What exactly is your choice?"

"Idiot, I want to end it all before we can take it too seriously! Just get it over with, y'know? Then we'll be done. And we won't have to worry."

"That's retarded." I mumble, feeling my face turn even redder.

Something strange happens, again. Namine takes her hand and strokes my right cheek, then, slowly, firmly presses her body onto mine. Immediately my breathing hastens.

"Relax," she breathes into my chest.

"Fuck you, Namine." I groan, as she presses herself harder into me, "This is… disgusting."

She pulls hard on the fabric on the back of my shirt.

"It's too freaking late, Roxas." She sighs miserably.

"We're going too far." I moan, feeling myself inadvertently press my midsection against her in physical need.

Moment silent, just electricity. And heat. So much of it is wasted in this house.

"You're right." She states suddenly, jumping away from me, "Too fast. We can't." She takes a step towards the door, and audibly swallows. "Not ever."

What the hell? This is all too sudden for me, Namine. I support myself a little on the sink-counter, shuddering, achingly wishing away my erection. My breathing kind of returns to normal.

"Not today." I finally groan.

She looks at me with a very, very sad expression on her face.

"What are you going to do now?" she asks.

"It's too cold downstairs. It's a lot colder today than yesterday."

"Stay up here," she implores, quietly.

"… Okay."

Her eyes linger on mine for another moment, and I can see my own hopeless pain and dissatisfaction reflected in deep, rich blue. She then turns, and opens the door, and walks into my bedroom. Wait, wait. What are you doing in there?

I stride after her, and I see her in front of the full-length mirror across from my bed, against the closet. She stands completely still, and thoughtfully eyes her naked body, slowly beginning to frown. She then turns to look at me, her eyebrows slightly furrowed together. I can feel my face turn numb. This room is even warmer than the bathroom. I guess the heating system is better in here.

I close the door behind me. What the hell am I doing? What did I just say to her? We're not doing anything. I walk to the lamp next to my bed and switch it on, and I find that my eyes never leave her and her body. I then shut the blinds, so the only light in this room is artificial, and I continue to gaze solemnly at Namine the prospect of so much beauty that could enter my life - if I would let it tonight - but then also pain.

Namine leaves the room for a moment but comes back; adjusting the elastic of a pair of panties she had left in the bathroom, now snugly hugging her soft, pale hips. Without even glancing at me, she heads towards the dresser next to the window, takes out a large black hoodie. I sit on the bed, to watch what I could honestly describe as an incredibly sexy spectacle. It's strange, how something like that works. This girl - this beautiful girl in my bedroom, silently putting on my clothing… it's something that I've had access to in the past, but decided against it. Just… why did it have to be Namine? Why? Why did God do this to us, so abruptly? Something about this whole thing is very wrong – not that we'll be able to end it, though.

She walks towards me, and I keep my mouth shut. My hands are balled up against the bed on either side of me. She looks at me dimly, and words come out of her mouth that I can't hear. All I can really hear is my own tense breathing.

"What did you say?" I ask in an uneven voice.

"I said, lie down. On the bed."

I don't ask, I just obey, I suppose. I lie down lengthwise on the bed and curse inwardly that I still have an erection. Namine moves onto the bed with her knees, and then straddles me. It's absolutely impossible to breathe normally, in this position. The phrase that keeps rolling over in my head, practically crying is: Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.

"Roxas," she says quietly, but I don't answer. My stomach isn't tight, it's just melted. The tight areas of my body are elsewhere. "Roxas," she says again at my glazed-over expression.

"Yes,"

"I'm going to kiss you."

"… Alright,"

"I'm going to kiss you, and I want you to close your eyes and let your mind do whatever. I don't care what you think about. You can even think about another girl, if that's what happens."

"I would never do that."

"I want you to tell me, when I finish, what happened in your mind. Whatever it may be. And don't lie to me."

"… Ok."

"And don't be embarrassed."

"I'll try."

She puts her hand on my cheek for a moment, and at first all I can think of was the immense love I had for her. This underlying, deep endearment below all of the sick feelings and pain.

Then she leans forward, and kisses me at first very simply, very sisterly. The whole family thing suddenly comes into my head. My eyes are closed, and the first thing I can think of when she makes contact is my parents. My house. My childhood.

The kiss deepens. My lips don't move at all, but hers paint a strange, uncomfortable and awkward picture for me. She fumbles with her mouth and accidently licks my teeth. I'm thinking, and seeing my sister. Our adolescence. Early-teen years. The day Namine came home, with a fever that made her vomit too, for once, instead of only me; she turned so red. Like blood… That was the day that she started menstruating. Suddenly all I can think of is blood.

Once upon a time – during the most frustrating days of my illnesses when I actually had hope of recovery – I stumbled upon that ancient and dangerous practice of bleeding out an illness. I went into the kitchen and took a cooking-knife, and led the cut from the bend in my elbow to the middle of my fore-arm. It bled profusely, all over my clothes and the floor and sunk into the creases in the hardwood.

I probably would have passed out if Namine hadn't walked home late from middle school just then while our parents were out. She looked at this scene in the kitchen once and immediately was in tears, and efficiently cleaned everything up with a wet towel.

And once, later, when Namine had entered high school and started dating a few boys, I was asked to gather up all of the sheets in the house for my mother to wash outside with one of those old-fashioned metal things that look like cheese graters, because apparently the weather was good for that kind of thing. I started with Namine's room, which she was still asleep in. I was frustrated with the fact that I was being asked to do chores while she was still sleeping at some late hour in the morning, so I shoved her on the shoulder to wake her up. She didn't move, but made this kind of weary, groaning noise.

"I'm gonna pull you out of this bed if you don't wake up," I remember saying.

She didn't answer, so I made an attempt to shake her awake again, and then irritably tore away all the sheets and the comforter.

At this point in my life, (I must have been like, fifteen or sixteen) I think seeing my sister in only a t-shirt and underwear may have been perturbing, but that wasn't what made me moan in uneasiness when I lifted up all that fabric.

It was like she was sleeping on an ordinary red mattress sheet, with only a few white stains. Except that Namine's mattress sheet was white, and she was lying uncomfortably and practically unconsciously in this huge excess of blood.

It was weird, because I knew pretty much what all that meant. Being aware of sexual organs in family is weird. I shifted her over, and I saw underwear that was supposed to be some kind of light blue stained a striking red.

"Namine, seriously, you're bleeding everywhere." I groaned hoarsely, desperately shaking her.

She never really woke up, unless you count the tiny little pathetic noises she occasionally made, and so I carefully lifted her up, bridal style, and anxiously called for my mother who was doing something in the kitchen.

My mother quickly took her from me, and led her limp body into the bathroom and ran some warm water, where apparently she was revived.

My sister was taken care of and cleaned and was then drinking iced-tea in the backyard while my mother did the laundry, but I still stood in the hallway between her bedroom and the bathroom, shaking in fear. I looked down at my arms and hands, which were stained with a considerable amount of blood. I could smell it; that stinging, metal scent. How disgusting, I thought, and quickly washed it off in the bedroom.

I tried not to think of all the blood all over that sheet. My parents ended up having to buy another mattress in the end, which was unnerving. I remember vomiting a lot in that time period.

… And so, my sister is kissing me even deeper, and I can feel her crotch grind against my stomach, and all I can think of is her. Bleeding. Childhood. Family. Suddenly a sea of blood. The smell of sweat, and of metal. Strangely, all of the memories of our school life, and our conflicts and opposing recognition and the informalities of domesticity wash over me like a sea of blood. And it stains like blood, too.

Namine tangles her hands in my hair, and pushes her midsection further against mine and licks my neck and slides a hand down my stomach to my waistline. I can hear a bizarre, throaty groan come out of me. How incredibly strange and confusing – these memories and yet all of this stimulation.

"Please say my name," she says, pulling up my shirt and beginning to kiss my stomach.

"Namine," I kind of say, it sounds more like a strangled whimper. I can feel her breath on my stomach and suddenly my hips move upward a little, in a weird, animalistic rocking motion. Oh my god, this is frightening. What's going on? So much inner conflict. The pleads in my mind, saying, Don't do this. Don't do this to your sister. Don't do this to yourself. The harsh demands that say, I want this. This can be mine. Touch me. God, let her touch me.

Her lips move to mine again, and I can feel her slowing everything down. That's ok. Like we agreed, not tonight. This was a freaky experience.

I am disturbed. I open my eyes. Her lips are redder, her face is redder, and her eyes are dimmer. But… it scares me. And then, the angry, painful message that I'm getting from other parts of my lower body, "Why the hell did you stop?!" My midsection says, "This is repulsive. It makes you sick. You can't do this." My groin says, "Shut up, just shut up. It doesn't matter. Kiss her again. If you have to, restrain her. This situation belongs to you."

And somehow, the thought runs through my head: The blood is on your hands. This could be my entire fault. I don't want that, but more importantly, I'm getting these realizations in waves that my sister, my tiny younger sister, is on top of me, I have an immense erection, and my shirt is up and now we have to deal with that. I feel gross. I feel guilty and I feel really, really unclean.

"How do you feel?" she asks in a low, husky voice.

"Dirty,"

That may have not been the best way to describe it. She frowns, and pulls down my shirt a little.

"Tell me, what went through your head?" she whispers.

What, exactly. I lift up a hand to confirm that the blood is gone. The blood is not on my hands. This bed is clean. We're still – externally – cleansed.

"I don't want to say." I mutter uneasily.

"Really sexual?" she asks a little nervously.

Sexual? Well, yeah. What is a good answer for what just happened?

"Physically and mentally, the whole thing was a big, Freudian mess." That about sums it up.

"Was it bad?"

No.

"Of course it was."

Is this my mindset? Think the dirtiest things, and then blurt out whatever seems right? She frowns, probably in frustration.

"Well, I tried." She mumbles.

"No," I retort, sitting up a little and grasping her shoulders, "It wasn't bad, it was-"

And then I need to vomit, again.

Namine kneels behind me, as I lean and shake over the toilet. She puts a consoling hand on my back, when it seems like I'm finished. I brush my teeth weakly over the sink, and she sits on the countertop, just watching me, sadly. I lean over against the faux-marble. Trying to focus on the rejuvenation of my spirit, which is often drained relentlessly in both sexual situations and while vomiting. She pulls me softly into her arms and I just stand there. My face against her chest. It's just not sexual anymore, at least not now.

Ha. I just lied.

"Do you still want this?" she says in almost a whisper, into my hair. I sigh.

"I'm not going to do anything you aren't comfortable with."

"You know what I'm comfortable with."

I pull her closer to me.

"You might be comfortable with too much."

"What are we gonna do when-"

"Don't say it."

"When our-"

"Namine, shut up." I groan, "They won't be back for like, a week and a half. We don't have to think about it."

She places a hand on my face and forces me to look in a pair of eyes that may have been more serious and grave than I've ever seen them before. They're dangerous.

"Roxas, listen to me. We are not going to forget or deny the fact that we are completely and utterly brother and sister," she says, and I shudder a little. "You're not stupid, I know that. So don't act like it and pretend Mom and Dad aren't around. 'Cause what we're doing here is real, more real than anything we've ever done with other people."

"I don't know if I can…" I whisper hopelessly.

"Pull yourself together, Roxas," she urges, and a few tears drip down from her face, "You can't forget. Because I never will, and it's scary." She pulls me close to her again. "It's really fucking scary."

I can't forget, huh? It seems like that's what every part of my body wants me to do. Forget everything, drop it all, become something that you never were.

Can I keep myself together?

Why did our parents leave us here alone?

It's so unfair. I love you, Namine, and I dreadfully want you, but you make me ill.

"I want to test the situation," she says finally, "I want to make sure that we can control ourselves."

"And how is that?"

"We're going to sleep in the same bed, but we're not going to…" her voice trails off.

"That doesn't sound so-" But then I think. And yes, that sounds really difficult.

"What time is it?" she asks.

There's a little analog clock in one of the cabinets in here, and it says '4:00pm.'

"Later then," she says quietly, and leans towards me, "Kiss me."

And so I do. I place my hands on her hips and I do what can be considered a make-out. Tongues and everything. Thank God I brushed my teeth. I should probably stop, just in case somehow this illness is contagious.

Wow, that's stupid. Of course it is.

How else would we be in this situation?