Betty stirred slightly as sunlight made it through the curtains and fell right on her face. She groaned a little, muttering something intelligible as she instinctively tried to roll over to escape the light. She was still mostly asleep, so for a brief instant she didn't realize what was it was as she felt something warm against her bare back.

But it only took a moment for her to realize it. Her eyes snapped open, a horrified expression twisting her features as memories of the previous night suddenly came back to her mind like an avalanche. Every instant, every touch, everything she had felt flooded her mind, filling her with unspeakable dread. Her whole body shook with revulsion at the memory, her throat suddenly feeling terribly dry. No, she tried to tell herself, it couldn't have happened. It just couldn't. It had to be some twisted nightmare, it couldn't have really happened – she couldn't have lost her mind like that!

That frail hope was shattered as Sheldon shifted a little in his sleep, and her horror grew as she realized without a shadow of doubt that he was sleeping next to her, his chest against her back, his face nestled in her hair. It took a few moments for the realization to sink in her mind, and a few more instants for her to realize that the warm weight around her waist was her brother's left arm. It hadn't been a nightmare: nothing of what had happened had been a nightmare. It was much worse – it was real. She had slept with her brother.

NO!

She could almost feel something in her mind snapping just one instant before she gave a strangled cry and instinctively scrambled off the bed, her mind blurred, struggling to not scream. Her legs were shaking too much for her to stand, and she fell on the ground heavily. She saw the bathrobe she had been wearing the previous night in a heap on the ground, and she immediately grabbed it to shield herself from his sight.

A little too late for that.

Betty desperately shook her head as she shakily put the bathrobe over her shoulders and wrapped it around herself, not even trying to get up from the floor. She didn't want to – all she wanted was curling up in a tight ball, close her eyes and then wake up to find out nothing had been real.

"Wha…?"

She winced and looked up to see that Sheldon was stirring – she had probably hit without even realizing it when she had broken free from his grasp. He blinked a couple of times before sitting up, groggily rubbing his eyes. He glanced around, probably to see what had it been to wake him up so roughly, and he suddenly froze as he finally saw Betty on the ground, her bathrobe protectively folded around herself, a horrified expression on her terribly pale face. They stared at each other for a few moments, both of them unable to speak, and Betty could see a look of horror that matched her own forming on her brother's face as his mind seemed to finally clear enough for him to remember what had happened, what they had done.

"No," Sheldon heard himself whispering, his widened eyes still fixed on her as if hoping she could tell him that nothing had truly happened, that it had only been his imagination – but her expression was enough to tell him that it was a vain hope. "No," he repeated, this time sounding almost desperate "we haven't…we can't…!" he stuttered, unable to speak coherently. He shook his head with a strangled noise of disgust before turning away from her – he couldn't stand looking at her: they way she kept wordlessly staring at him…it felt like she was accusing him, and the thought drove him insane.

His only hand gripped the sheets so tightly that his knuckles nearly turned white. He glanced down, and he shuddered as he saw a small bloodstain on the white sheets – Betty's blood.

Looks like you were her first.

He shut his eyes to not see it. "No," he repeated weakly as if saying that over and over could change anything "no, no, no…" his voice faded, leaving him unable to utter a single word, a horrible sense of disgust and guilt gripping his throat, making him feel like he was about to choke.

Betty opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn't say anything. She felt like her brain had frozen, keeping her from really feeling anything but disgust and shame. She closed her mouth without speaking and finally got back on her feet, her legs still shaking. Sheldon didn't raise his head or turn to look at her as she numbly staggered out of the room and into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

It costed her a terrible effort making herself look into the mirror, and when she finally managed to she could barely recognize herself. She was so terribly pale that one could barely tell she was alive, and her face was twisted in a terrible mixture of shame, horror, disgust and guilt.

You at least have the decency to feel bad now that the damage has been done!

She bit her lower lip, suddenly feeling an intense sense of loathing for the face staring back at her from the mirror – for herself. What in the world has she been thinking? Why hadn't she stopped it? Why hadn't she even tried? She knew it was insane, she knew it was wrong, she had known in since…since…and why hadn't it hurt? It had been her first time, it was supposed to hurt! I should have hurt! It should have hurt her enough to make her come to her senses before…before…

Even if it hurt, it would have been too late already.

A sudden, violent wave of nausea surged through her. She grasped the sink for support, her knees terribly weak, and she dry retched in the sink a few times, her eyes watering, her throat raw. She took a few deep breaths before she finally managed to take a few steps back. She leant against the wall for support, her eyes tightly shut to not see her reflection in the mirror – she didn't want to see it anymore. Not now, not ever.

Betty stayed still for a few minutes, unmoving, unthinking, until she felt like she could try walking without her knees giving in. Still avoiding with all her might to look at the mirror, she turned on the shower and stepped inside. The water was so hot that it burned her skin raw, but she didn't care – never in her life she had felt so filthy. Her trembling fingers reached for the soap.

There is no amount of soap that could make you any less filthy. Do you even realize what you have done? You slept with your brother! Your own brother!

Betty desperately shook her head.

It wasn't my fault! I wasn't thinking! I didn't know what I was doing! I…I…

That's a lame excuse if I ever heard one.

He manipulated me! I wasn't thinking clearly – he took advantage of it! It's his fault!

It's not true. You gave yourself over.

"He started it! It was him!" she suddenly sobbed, slamming her fists again the back wall of the shower and leaning her forehead against the cold surface "it was him…!"

But you gave in – you let him! You could have stopped him, and you didn't!

Another sob wracked her chest. "No!" she nearly cried out, her knees abruptly buckling. She fell on the bottom of the tub, the heated steam still burning her skin, a fit of violent sobs making her whole frame shake.

How are you going to look at your mother again? How are you going to look at yourself again?

Betty shut her eyes tightly, desperately refusing to let herself think about it. She couldn't bring herself to think what could happen should anyone ever find out what she and Sheldon had done, and she wasn't sure she would ever be able to face her mother or…anyone ever again. Her sobs eventually turned into whimpers, her throat raw, and she hugged herself, rubbing her arms almost frantically in a desperate attempt to make the feeling of his skin on hers go away.

But there was no use: she still felt his touch on her, his heartbeats against hers, his skin, his scent. She still felt him inside her, and it was driving her insane – she didn't know if it would ever go away.

Betty couldn't tell how much time she had stayed in the shower, but it has surely been a long while, for she was eventually snapped from her anguished thoughts by a sudden splash of cold water that felt icy against her now reddened, burning skin – she had ran out of hot water. She let out a groan before numbly getting up, reaching to turn off the water. She had cried for so long that her eyes burned, her nose was stuffed, her throat hurt and she felt awfully light-headed.

Good, she thought as she stepped out of the shower and grabbed her bathrobe, wrapping it tightly around herself. At least she would be able to only focus on the physical discomfort. Her mind felt completely numb for now, and she needed it to be numb: she was afraid she wouldn't be able to keep whatever was left of her sanity otherwise.

She hesitated in front of the door. She didn't want to get out of there: the mere thought of facing her brother again filled her with dread…still, she couldn't stay in there forever. She could avoid him and get out – it didn't matter where she went, but she had to stay away from there…then again, all her clothes were in their room, which meant she was going to have to meet him much sooner that she would have wished. But maybe he wouldn't be home, she thought almost desperately, turning the handle and stepping out. Maybe he had left.

But she was wrong, of course. He was still in their room, and if it wasn't for the fact he had hastily clothed himself she would have thought he had barely moved at all the whole time: he was still sitting on the edge of the bed, his blank gaze staring down without really seeing anything, and he was terribly pale, chewing his lower lip bloody. He looked miserable, and for the briefest moment Betty almost felt something close to empathy to him, then she shook her head almost furiously. He was the one to blame, she reminded herself – everything that had happened had been his fault! All his fault!

She gritted her teeth, folding her arms around herself as if to further shield herself from his gaze. "What are you doing still here?" she hissed, and she was relieved beyond belief to find out that her rage against him outweighed the disgust she felt for herself: reminding herself he was the one to blame made her feel infinitely better. It made her feel less guilty.

Sheldon recoiled as he hear her voice and instinctively turned to face her, and he seemed taken aback to see how furious she looked, even though her reddened eyes were enough to tell him she had been crying. He felt his stomach clenching. "I…" he tried to think of something, anything he could say, but he still couldn't think of anything. He turned his glance away, hanging his head, resting his hand over his eyes.

For a brief moment Betty's rage almost vanished, but something in his pose suddenly reminded her of how he looked after the…accident months before, when her brother had an erection over her, and she suddenly felt even more furious. That was the proof – it had been his fault! All his fault! He probably had been planning to manipulate her as he had for months! And now what was he expecting, to pass as some kind of victim by behaving like a beaten dog? As if!

"How could you?" she asked, her voice trembling with rage "why did you do this to me? Why me?" she had to pause and swallow, trying to not start crying again.

"What?" he blurted out, his eyes widening as he stared at her – what was she saying? Why was she talking as if he had made her or something? He stared at her furious face, and the sense of guilt and shame suddenly turned into rage – she had no right to be enraged to him! No right! It hadn't been his fault – nothing would have happened if only…if only… "It wasn't my fault!" he shouted, jumping on his feet, his only hand clenching in a tight fist "I didn't want things to get this far! I didn't know, I didn't think, I…I…" he stopped, unable to speak, and for a moment he felt like he would choke on his own fury and disgust.

"You started it!" she screamed, tears threatening to fill her eyes again "nothing would have happened if only you didn't…you…you grabbed me! I was leaving, and you pulled me back! How can you say it wasn't your fault?"

"It's not like I made you!" he retorted. He refused to take all the blame of what had happened! He refused to! He was out of his mind, he wasn't thinking – she should have stopped him! She should have made him snap out of it! "You complied! You didn't even try to stop me! Why didn't you even try?"

Betty gritted his teeth at the thought, feeling once again horribly guilty. It was true, she hadn't even tried to stop him, still… "I was confused," she said "I couldn't think clearly, and…and…you took advantage of it! You manipulated me!"

"NO!" he roared, slamming his fist against the wall with enough strength to nearly break his knuckles, but he didn't even register the pain that shot through his arm. "You can't blame it on me! You can't!" he sounded almost desperate now, the guilt and shame and disgust getting so unbearable that they made him feel physically sick, and he clung to his rage as if it was the only thing that allowed him to keep his sanity.

But she didn't notice the despair in his voice, or she chose not to. All that mattered was clinging to the certainty that it hadn't been her fault, that she wasn't the one to blame. "Stay away!" she screamed as he took a step forward "don't come any closer to me! Don't you dare!"

Sheldon immediately froze, startled to hear hatred in her voice other than the disgust and the guilt, then he narrowed his eyes. "I have no intention to – I don't want to see you ever again in my life!" he snarled furiously.

Betty took a deep breath, trying to calm down, and when she spoke again her voice was as cold as ice. "Fine, looks like we both agree on something for once," she said icily "get out of my sight, Sheldon – I don't want to have anything to do with you anymore."

He stared at her only for a moment before scowling. "Fine," he snapped, marching past her "I'll be glad to!"

"And know this," Betty said aloud, making him stop on the doorway "the only thing keeping me from giving you what you deserve is that mom would be devastated to find out…" she paused and took a deep breath before speaking again "I'll carry it to the grave – you better do the same."

"Scared someone might find out you're not as innocent as you want to seem, baby sister?" he said tauntingly, inwardly shuddering at the thought of what could happen should anyone find out what they had done.

She turned abruptly, glaring absolute death to him. "Don't even try to call me like that anymore," she growled "I'm not you baby sister! I just wish I wasn't you sister at all, I wish you never existed! You disgust me, Sheldon – I refuse to have anything to do with you!"

Sheldon scoffed. "I'm the older brother – I call you whatever the hell I want," he said coldly before leaving, slamming the door shut behind him.

Betty stood still for a few moments, listening as he stomped downstairs, then she turned away from the door with a grimace. Her gaze fell on the on the lower bunk of the bed, and she felt a pang of disgust that made her stomach turn as she saw the small stain of blood on the crumpled sheets – her blood. She lowered her gaze to the floor, a horrible sense of loss pervading her, and she finally allowed herself to break down again.

Minutes and hours seemed to be passing agonizingly slowly, Sheldon mused as he shifted a little to find a more comfortable position on the couch. He unwillingly turned to glance at the clock – it was barely afternoon now, but he could have sworn he had spent years laying on that couch, unmoving, blankly staring ahead and refusing to think about anything at all. He hadn't seen Betty the whole time, so he assumed she was still locked in their room…or, better yet, that was what he would have assumed if he had brought himself to actually think about his sister or anything related to her.

But he didn't want to think: he didn't want to deal with the disgust and guilt that pervaded him any time he let his thoughts drift back to what had happened, and he felt simply too drained for rage. He felt numb, and he had never welcomed numbness that much before.

His numbness, however, was shattered by a yapping noise. Sheldon glanced down to see Mimi trying to climb on the couch as well, whining, trying to lick his face. "Hi there," he muttered, his voice a little hoarse. He reached down to pull her on the couch next to him. Mimi waved her tail for a few moments, then she seemed to realize he was not in the mood, for she fell quiet and curled against him, nuzzling under his chin with a soft whine.

For the first time after what felt like years, Sheldon smiled a little. His hand reached to scratch the small dog's head. "I'll get you a snack in a minute, alright?" he muttered. Mimi licked his face, and his weak smile widened a little. "Good girl," he muttered.

"Sheldon? Are you alright?"

He recoiled and turned to see his mother had gotten back home and was standing a few feet from him, looking at him worriedly – he hadn't even heard her getting back, he mused as Mimi jumped off the couch to welcome her back. "Sure," he said a little weakly, forcing himself to not turn his gaze away from her with some effort "I'm fine. Just…tired," he added, realizing it didn't happen every day that his mother found him lying on the couch like an old man taking an afternoon nap. It had never happened, really.

Theresa frowned a little as she approached. "You're a little pale," she said, reaching to put a hand on his forehead "and you're cold," she added, looking at him closer.

Sheldon bit his lower lip – numb as he was, he hadn't even realized how…cold he was: his skin felt icy. He shrugged as if it was nothing. "I don't feel that well, really, but it's nothing worrying. It could be something I ate," he lied, barely daring to look up at her "maybe it was the fast food I went to yesterday. I'll be fine."

His mother sighed and shook her head. "You should know better than eating that rubbish," she said, the nurse in her kicking in "you know it can upset your stomach."

Sheldon swallowed. "It won't happen again," he said uncomfortably – for some reason, his mother's worries about him made him feel even guiltier and disgusted of himself. What would his mother think of him, of them, if she only knew…? "Mom?" he called out somewhat uncertainly, his voice unusually weak.

"Yes?"

"I…what would you think if I told you I did something I shouldn't have done?" he asked awkwardly, a part of his mind screaming for him to shut his mouth before he blurted everything out, but he ignored it. As much as he dreaded the mere idea she could find out what had happened the previous night, there was a part of him that longed to know she wouldn't look at him in disgust, no matter what he – they – had done.

The expression on her mother's face grew even more concerned. "Something you shouldn't have done?" she repeated.

"It was nothing illegal or something," Sheldon quickly reassured her, but he felt like he had just swallowed ice as he realized that what he and Betty had done most likely was illegal. A victimless crime, maybe, but still a crime. "Really, it isn't. I'm not in trouble. It's just…" he paused, unable to speak and mentally cursing himself for starting to speak in the first place.

Theresa frowned as she noticed how trouble her son looked, then her expression softened as she sat on the couch next to him, a hand reaching out to stroke his hair as she always did to calm him down when he was a kid and as she had done later, when he had lost his hand. "You can tell me, I'll listen."

Sheldon closed his eyes, leaning his head on his mother's lap – it was comforting beyond words, and he didn't even care about how utterly pathetic he had to seem right now, like a little child with a scratched knee seeking for comfort by his mother. No one was looking after all.

"Sheldon?" his mother called out, bringing him back to reality – she was still waiting for him to tell her what was wrong, and he knew he would never be able to tell her what had really happened. He shut his eyes, thinking back of what Betty had said that morning.

I'll carry it to the grave – you better do the same.

He hesitated; maybe his mother wouldn't be disgusted of him if he told her, maybe she wouldn't love him any less…but he knew he'd never be able to stand her gaze again. Still, he had begun speaking and he had to at least say something. "I…" he hesitated "if I told you I did something…that everyone thinks is wrong…?" he paused and swallowed, unable to go on.

"Oh," was all Theresa said before falling silent. Her hand stopped stroking his hair, and for a moment Sheldon felt terrified – what if she had guessed…?

"Mom?" he called, almost fearing the answer.

His mother blinked and glanced down at him again, then she smiled a little as her hand resumed stroking his hair. "I understand," she said softly "I supposed I should have guessed before."

He stiffened – had she really understood what had happened? Had she heard them the previous night? "You do…?" was all he managed to utter, his throat tightening.

"Yes – but I want you to know I don't think there is anything wrong with you. If anyone says otherwise, don't listen to them. There is nothing wrong with it."

Now it was Sheldon's turn to be confused – he honestly doubted she would have reacted that calmly if she really had guessed what it was that bothered him. "Uh?"

"If that's how you feel, it's fine with me – you don't have to worry. I don't care who you're with just as long as I know you're be happy. You know I'll always be by your side, don't you?"

…wait.

"Mom?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not gay."

Theresa blinked. "You're not?" she asked, sounding both surprised and relieved – she wasn't lying when she said she simply didn't care as long as he was happy, but she knew many people out there would have issues, and the thought of all the trouble her son could have to face because of them had obviously worried her.

"No!" Sheldon protested, looking up at her "what made you think I was anyway?"

She shrugged, smiling a little sheepishly. "Nothing, really, but you seemed so worried…well, I jumped to the wrong conclusion, I guess. "

"Yeah, definitely," Sheldon made a face, even though he couldn't help but think that it would have still been better if she was right – at least he would know he wasn't the only one, he would know there was nothing wrong with him, just like he knew there was nothing wrong with Jack. But sleeping with his own sister, his twin sister…it was just sickening, and immoral, and wrong, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know what could happen should anyone ever find out. He shuddered at the thought and instinctively hid his face in his mother's lap again, his eyes tightly shut. "Mom?" he called.

Theresa resumed stroking his hair. "Yes?"

Thank you for saying you wouldn't care.

"…nothing."

"Betty, aren't you feeling well?"

Betty winced as her mother spoke, snapping her from her troubled thoughts. She glanced up from her plate – she had been absentmindedly staring at her omelette for a while – to see Theresa worriedly looking at her. "I'm fine," she said, trying her best to fake a smile that didn't reach her eyes and forcing herself to not turn away from her mother's gaze. If she only knew…! She had to hold back a shudder at the thought, her stomach clenching. "I'm not very hungry, that's all."

"Maybe you're a little sick," her mother insisted "you look pale. Sheldon isn't feeling well either – did you eat in the same fast-food yesterday?" she inquired, a scolding note in her voice. Sheldon had told her he was still feeling unwell and had gone to sleep earlier without even dining, which could only mean he felt really unwell. How many times did she have to tell them they shouldn't eat that rubbish?

Betty nodded, relieved that she had been given a good excuse on a silver platter. She doubted she would be able to think of anything convincing, and the mere thought her mother could realize there was something wrong terrified her. "Yeah, I did," she shrugged "not a good idea, I know."

"Next time you could try to realize it before you eat that stuff," Theresa chided her, but she didn't seem really angry. She glanced at her daughter a little more closely and she noticed the dark rings under her eyes. "You better go to get some sleep. You look tired."

Betty barely managed to keep herself from shuddering at the thought of getting back in their room with her brother, and her grip on the fork tightened for a few instants before she could get a grip on herself. As she spoke again, however, her voice was perfectly calm despite the turmoil of emotions that she could feel boiling in her chest. "I have some stuff I study," she lied "I'll go to sleep after I' done."

Theresa seemed sceptical. "It doesn't seem the best moment to study to me," she pointed out "especially when you're not feeling well."

"Don't worry, it will only take a few minutes. Half an hour at most," she reassured her.

Of course, it wasn't true: it took her two hours to finally stop staring at the same page of her book, and she only did so because her mother had threatened to throw it from a window if she didn't put it down and just went to sleep.

Betty didn't allow herself to stop and think for one single instant as she got ready to go to bed: she was sure she would go insane if she did. She changed in some old pajamas – she usually wore a nightgown, but now she wanted more than anything to be shielded as much as she could from her brother's sight – and stood in front of the door of their room for what felt like an eternity without finding the courage to open it even though the lights were off and no sound came from inside. She couldn't bear looking at her brother again, she couldn't bear the thought of having to share the same room again…still, what choice did she have?

She drew in a deep breath and finally opened the door, trying to not make a sound. She relaxed just a little as she saw a lump under the sheets of the upper bunk: Sheldon was sleeping already, or he was pretending to – he looked a little too stiff for someone who's sleeping. Not that she really cared as long as she didn't have to speak to him: at least she could just pretend he wasn't even there. She closed the door and took a step forward, then she hesitated, her gaze fixed on the lower bunk.

For a moment before she could make herself stop thinking about what had happened there just the previous night she shuddered, her lips trembling just a little. She had changed the sheets, of course, but the very thought of having to lie down on that same mattress made her want to scream or run away, or both.

She eventually did neither – how could she explain to her mother her behaviour without her finding out what the reason was? – and she finally forced herself to lay down, her insides tied in a knot, trying with all her might to not let her thoughts drift to the previous night in that very same room, on that very same bed. She shut her eyes tightly, ignoring the sound of Sheldon's breathing, desperately wishing she were back in college and a thousand miles away from her twin.