Hey guys.

I felt like writing another story, on something COMPLETELY different in theme. I don't know what anyone will think, or if it'll be a dangerous thing to write about, but I know by real life stories that this has happened. It's just a matter if you are comfortable with it or not? Is it too weird to write about? I'll let you decide if you would be wanting more on this.

This is basically a prologue of their earlier years (if it can even be called that), but next chapter, it will settle more into the beginning of the story where they are adults.

Am I Wrong?

Prologue

(ANA POV)

I was around eight years old when my parents announced they wanted to adopt a new addition for the family. Someone that I could have as a brother or sister so that I wouldn't feel so upset and lonely about being an only child.

That was where Christian came in; My parents hadn't told me much about why they chose to adopt him, just that he had been in a foster care home previously that hadn't been working out.

Apparently he had a track record for being disobedient, rebellious and troubled, though I hadn't thought or understood much of it at the time.

I've never really considered Christian to be a real brother, seeing as we weren't blood related and we never truly became close until about three years later, when I was eleven and he turned fifteen.

I can still remember vividly the time he came home with my parents and we met for the first time.

He was tall, lanky and awkward, standing by the front door warily with his arms crossed over his chest, with light brown hair that wouldn't seem to allow itself to be tamed. At first, we kept our distance and he could sometimes be mean to me by sending looks my way that seemed judgmental and critical. He wouldn't talk to me at all, least of all bother to get to know me. It seemed like he had really hated me and despised me in some way in the beginning.

Then, things started to change.

He came home from school one day with a split lip, obviously from a fight with another boy at school. I had helped him with applying antiseptic lotion on his bloody lip as we hid out in the bathroom from Mom and Dad. I crossed my heart and hoped to die, swore on my very own life, that I wouldn't tell Mom and Dad how he truly got his cut lip. Even to this day, Mom and Dad still don't know the true story on how he really got the sore lip. They still mistakenly believe he had bit it by accident while chewing on something.

I guess Christian had realized I could be someone he could trust, and things started changing ever since that time. We opened up to each other more, and we'd literally talk each other's ears off about random stuff.

When I told him about a few girls at school that had been spreading rumors around about me, he was actually the first person to stand up for me and call the girl's bitches right to their face. No one had ever really bothered to stand up for me before, especially not a guy.

Everything changed even more for us when I started high school as a junior and he was in senior year. He heard a guy in his year saying that he thought I was hot and that he'd like to do some really rude stuff to me, and it had really set Christian off.

Christian and I were walking through the parking lot - he insisted we walk home together- when the guy whistled loudly at me and called me a few rude names while crassly cupping himself through his jeans. I'll never forget how dangerous Christian looked; He looked like a pure predator, ready to kill.

They got into a fight- right before my very own eyes. It was bloody and intense, and most of all frightening; the first ever serious fight I'd seen between two guys. Christian had punched him across the face while shoving him to the ground, and the guy managed to tackle him down with him on the ground, so that they were just rolling around, hitting each other. A teacher had to break up them up and it resulted in both of them being suspended for an entire week.

Mom and Dad were so angry when they came to pick us up.

I remember Christian had said, eyes wet and furious, cheek grazed, that he was saying rude things about me and that no one should say rude things about me unless they want to get their ass pummeled by him. It was the first time I think I fully acknowledged that Christian could be very protective of me. He really didn't seem to care about getting suspended for an entire week at all; He was stubbornly insisting that it was the right thing to do and that he was defending me.

It seemed all he cared about. Not the fact that he had been suspended, or that he was in trouble with Mom and Dad. All that mattered to him was that he had defended me, and that I was feeling okay.

I didn't think I could get over how violent and ugly the fight had been, though. It took me about three weeks to get over it, to stop seeing it play over and over in my mind to the point where I would have nightmares just stressing about Christian.

Things changed again, when I got my first period at sixteen. I was a late bloomer, and other girls my age had already developed breasts and experienced their first period and all of that.

My body seemed to change in ways I wasn't prepared for. And it seemed, neither was he prepared.

Nature had made my chest fill out, and I grew taller. We only had one bathroom in the house, so we'd have to share when getting ready for school in the morning. I had only just gotten out of the shower and had my hair wrapped up in a towel while I dried myself off hastily with another towel, when Christian had pounded a fist against the door.

"Are you finished yet, Ana? I have to pee."

We had used the bathroom at the same time all the time anyway when younger, thinking nothing was strange about doing that at all. I had let him in, purposefully avoiding looking in his direction while he unbuckled his jeans and used the toilet.

It was when he was running water in the basin and washing his hands that I caught his reflection in the mirror and the way his gray eyes roamed down the damp towel curiously. Then he had realized I caught him looking and he quickly averted his eyes before rushing out of the bathroom without a word. The way he had looked at me, the different gleam to his eyes, the strange expression, it had startled me and refused to leave me ever since.

I thought he had looked almost appreciative and like he thought I was attractive. I'd seen other guys at school look at other girls like that- both curiously and admiringly- and I was caught off-guard that he would look at me like that, because he never had before and it was strange, like he thought of me as something more than his non-biologically related sibling.

It kind of had made me feel extremely happy and pleased, the way he had looked at me lingeringly in the towel. Like he didn't think I was this grotesque cretin or anything like that.

It was probably wrong to feel that way, pleased that he had looked at me like that. But I couldn't help it, it was just how I felt at the time.

Another time, I had woken in the middle of the night, with a sudden intense urge to use the bathroom. Half-asleep, I had rushed into the bathroom, barely taking notice of the fact that his bedroom door was half-way open. It was when I had padded my way back out the bathroom that I had heard the funny noises from in his room. I knew Christian sometimes had nightmares about something, and I could hear him breathing funny, in a fast and rapid way. I had just assumed that he was having another one of his nightmares so I thought nothing of sneaking towards his room and peering in through the crack in his door.

It was reasonably dark in his room, but I saw his shadow. He wasn't in his bed, he was standing by the window. I thought maybe he was just simply sleepwalking, but when I clicked on the light and it illuminated everything, it occurred to me then just how severely wrong I was in my assumptions.

I'll never forget the way he looked at me, in wide-eyed shock and embarrassment. He hadn't expected me to come into his room to check and see what was up with him. He was just wearing his white long johns, and a hand was down the front of him underneath his pants. His face was bathed in a light sheen of sweat and he was breathless. His hand seemed to stop moving rapidly the instance I turned on the light and he glanced behind his shoulder. He looked so embarrassed and like he would have preferred nothing more than to run and hide away from me.

"Ana, what the fuck?" He had whispered in shock, removing his hand from his pants. "What are you doing in here?"

I was shell-shocked, with not knowing what to say. I had no idea what was going on at the time, being sixteen. I'd never heard of anyone doing this type of stuff.

"I... I thought you were having another nightmare so I came in to check on you?" I spluttered, realizing he was everything all at once; Mortified, embarrassed. Enraged.

"Well, next time, stay the fuck out of my room!" He hissed at me, shaking from head to toe. I was left speechless and confused when he grabbed me by the forearm, pushing me out of his room. "And knock beforehand if you are going to come in here!"

It felt as though my heart had split into two as he slammed his door shut directly in front of my face. He had never forbid me from entering his room before. It really had stung like hell.

The next morning, his entire demeanor had changed. He couldn't seem to look me directly in the eye and he told me that I might as well just walk to school by myself from that point onward. I felt as though he was punishing me; punishing me for something I never even knew I did wrong in the first place. It had really affected me in a profound way, how distant he had become with me after that incident. Maybe even too profoundly.

I couldn't understand why I felt so cut up about it. We had never really been ones to care about personal boundaries and whatnot ever before. Sometimes he'd come into my room without knocking, sitting on my bed with me, laying around, helping me out with my homework and stuff I had trouble figuring out, because he was older and he knew more about it all than I did.

Sometimes we'd play around, where he'd tickle me incessantly on my bed, tickling me so much that I would almost pee myself while I flayed about, Christian above me on all fours while I shook around, laughing hysterically and begging him to stop. He'd tickle me below my armpits, under my gut, my feet, and there was nothing weird or strange about that. It was just something we did and enjoyed, and sometimes he'd even undo my bra strap when he shoved his hand under my shirt, really pissing me off because he knew it would really shit me. We'd even laugh so hard we both could hardly talk; we were that flushed and exhausted by it all.

But after me walking into his bedroom like that, it all had dramatically stopped.

We no longer played around like two foolish kids; He wouldn't even come into my room anymore, no less. He refused to help me out with my homework and he'd look annoyed with me just simply because I was in the same room as him.

When everyone at school started getting their first boyfriends, experiencing dating, I thought I was about the only one that hadn't. I hardly even so much as looked at boys. I didn't notice their cuteness like other girls, I didn't feel interested in them at all. Yet, the strangest thing was, the only guy I seemed to find remotely cute was Christian. He'd smile in a certain way at my parents, and the clothes he wore... I'd sometimes catch myself thinking they look extremely good on him.

I went through a phase of stressing about it, wondering whether there was something fundamentally wrong with me. Do I just not like boys? Was I a lesbian? Really, after a bit of soul searching, I knew for sure I wasn't a lesbian. I didn't like other girls, but I didn't like any guys at school either. Christian seemed to be the only one I liked enough, to feel he was really cute and attractive.

I think I realized what was wrong, when I was about seventeen. The reason I didn't seem interested in other guys, was because of how I felt. Because of how I truly felt about Christian. Spending all that time together with him, it occurred to me that I trust and know no one more than I do Christian. He really gets me, we know each other, and he's the only one I feel most comfortable with.

But how can you pretty much grow up with someone, only to learn that you love them?

So, what do you think? Should I consider continuing or is the subject matter annoying/strange? The story will start where Ana is at college and she hasn't seen Christian in awhile, as he's out of college and doing his own thing in life. Does it seem interesting?