"What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way
What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you
What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way
What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you"

You're gonna need a few packets of biscuits for this one, fill the kettle too!

It's been a few weeks since I came home, and things did not improve in the slightest! I've just got home, it's raining, my hair is soaked, I'm sitting here trying to relax in my pjs and dressing gown and read a damn book and I still can't get him off my mind! I couldn't even focus enough to properly care for the fish; they kept dying on me! No matter what I tried to do to improve their care they kept dying!

As much as I was working on that therapy I still couldn't stop myself from having sexual fantasies about Chris. When I had first bought my vibrator years ago I had deliberately got a small one so I didn't tear my hymen, but I'm so damn worried now that I'm going to go in too hard with it, only wishing it was my brother. My hymen was only to be broken by the right person, not by my vibrator and absolutely not by my repulsive mind!

I had avoided him like the plague, too. I didn't talk to him, I didn't make eye contact, I didn't make his coffee anymore, I barely even cooked for him! I couldn't stand being near him! Every time he came within metres of me I could smell him, his gorgeous natural scent.

You hate it when he uses his toiletries; it masks him too much.

I never asked for your input.

Smell him while he's sleeping.

Get lost.

Chris didn't help the situation either. He cared less about how he looked or dressed and often spent his spare time in the apartment lazing about in just his sweatpants. Just. His. Sweatpants. I always told myself to keep away from guys who meticulously shaved all of their body hair but…

Show him you love him

Smell him. Show him.

Something happened that...really creeped me out. Sometimes he'll shout out in his sleep, but I've never gone in to check on him. Not since he held his combat knife to my throat when I shook him from a nightmare. On a few occasions I've found him sleepwalking, muttering stuff. Sometimes I could make out him saying "Kijuju". Sometimes he was in my room, still asleep, just standing there, seemingly staring at me. Except he wasn't. Because he was asleep. He even woke me up on two occasions, telling me I was going to be late for school.

That isn't what creeped me out though. A couple of nights ago he got incredibly drunk, so SOOOOO drunk, probably more than I've ever seen. I had been doing overtime and only got home at 10pm that night; I only saw the six empty bottles of vodka that sat empty on the kitchen counter. They were not there that morning, I know that for a fact.

He had passed out on the couch, another empty bottle lay between his shoulder and the cushions, and I left him there and went straight to bed. I had lain there for a while, listening to Queen and fighting my urges, but I couldn't stop them. I...I did what I needed to do. I sorted myself out. Thinking of Chris. As I listened to Queen. I lay there for a few minutes, waiting for my heart rate to return to normal, and I knew that I had moaned quietly as I orgasmed, though not loud enough for me to hear over the music. As I rolled on to my side to go to sleep I just managed to catch my door being closed. Wondering if it was just a trick of the light I had got up to check that I had closed it properly and felt something underfoot as I placed my feet at my bedside. Something...gelatinous? I had hopped over to my light to inspect the sticky clear-white substance slowly dripping off my foot...what was it?

Show him again.

I never showed him in the first place!

Again and again.

No, I don't…

Again.

"Fucking go away!" I shouted into the apartment, grabbing my hair and throwing myself into the couch cushions. What the fuck was it with this voice?! I could never comprehend how people could hear voices but now I know. And it was my own voice I could hear, one I couldn't control, as if there was another one of me in the basement of my brain with the lights turned off, lurking and leering at me in the dark. What the hell?! Why me?!

My phone buzzed next to me, and Barry's name came up on the screen. I blew a few breaths and lay across the cushion in a more comfortable manner. I brushed my hair past my ear and answered the call.

"Hi Barry."

"Hey, Claire, listen. I'm going to give you a heads up. Chris stormed out after I confronted him about his recent issues."

"Is he on his way home?" I asked.

"I think so. But I think he might be pissed with you for telling me about all of this." Barry reiterated to me. I shuffled and folded my feet over themselves.

"He didn't react well, then?"

"Definitely not, Claire. I told him you're worried but he, well, he said you don't know what you're talking about and he denies there's anything wrong."

I held my face in my palm. Why can't Chris see all of this? Why?!

"I told him that he needed help and that's when he left the room. Honestly? I knew he had a temper anyway, but I've never seen him like this."

"I'll try to say something to him when he gets back, Barry. Thanks for letting me know." I uttered down the phone, desperately trying to keep that throat lump there and out of my words.

"Claire, listen. If he's in a rage or something when he gets home, don't hesitate to call me, don't feel like you can't get away from it, I'm here and I'm sure Moira would be too. Don't let him walk all over you, okay?"

"Will do, Barry. Thanks. I'll let you know how it goes. Wish me luck!" I tried to add some chirpiness to my voice, but I'm not convinced Barry bought it. I heard him sighed heavily down the phone.

"Alright, Claire, stay safe, keep me posted. See ya."

"Bye."

Great.

I don't need Chris in a bad mood. Not again. I can't. My chest seized...no...what was this?

He hates you.

You're worth nothing to him.

He hates you.

I rose from my seat, but I didn't, I didn't move, something else moved me, I walked to the kitchen against my will, I grabbed the fillet knife and sat on the floor and...

He hates you.

He never wanted a sister.

He loathes you.

What was I doing? Why was I sitting on the kitchen tiles grasping a fillet knife until my knuckles turned blue? Why was I crying? Why did I harbour nothing but hatred and disgust in myself? Why was I filled to the fleshy brim of my being with dread?

Show him again.

Please...

He loves to hate you.

He doesn't hate me.

You're useless.

My thighs became hot and I cursed. But...That's not heat from my gross obsession over Chris. No. I looked down and gasped in horror. I had scored my thighs with the knife, my blood slowly seeping in tiny droplets just below the hem of my pj shorts. When did I do that?

He loves to hate you.

He doesn't hate me.

He hates to love you.

Blood lazily oozed from my wrists and I stared, fascinated and horrified that the knife had again grazed my pale skin. The air kissed at the wounds, stinging and burning. I continued to gaze in a trance at my red lifestream thinly trickling down my wrists, down my legs.

Useless.

Worthless.

Pathetic.

I snapped from my dream-like state, slammed the fillet knife back into the block (I made a mental note to clean it later) and darted into the bathroom, pulling the first aid box from the sink cupboard. I ripped open the antiseptic wipes and wiped down my wounds on my arms and legs, the meagre adrenaline already ceasing to numb the pain.

It hurt.

Pathetic little Redfield girl.

The slender scores on my skin almost immediately stopped bleeding, I guess the lazy Redfield blood was something to be thankful for, after all.

Poor little Redfield child.

I began to cry again, right there on the cold bathroom floor, alone with nothing but my own stupid little gremlin sneering at me.

I'm losing my shit over a fucking mini me stuck in my head and Chris is livid with me again. I needed to get my head together before he came ho…

And that was a key being inserted into the front door's lock.

Shit.

I slammed the lid down; fuck the packaging and lid clasp, and threw it back into storage. I ran back out of the bathroom as I heard the key leave the lock. Falling to the couch I draped my dressing gown around myself, shielding my cuts from any other eyes, grabbed my book and opened it to the page I was at, just as Chris strolled in. Hopefully he won't notice I accidentally opened it upside down.

His heavy footsteps echoed on the laminate wood and the panelled walls as he rounded the corner from the hallway, and I could almost feel his stare scorching me from across the other side of the couch.

"When are you going to stop talking about me behind my back?" Chris shouted at me as he flopped onto the other side of the couch. I didn't even think, I just spoke. Almost didn't think.

Tell him you're weak.

"When are you going to stop lying to everyone?" I hissed back at him, making damn sure my eyes swiftly met his, making him know I wasn't weak. Not weak. He looked more tired than myself as he threw a hand up at me.

"I'm not lying, you are!" He answered back.

You're weak.

"You're everybody's fool, Chris! You're telling everyone that everything is fine! You're making out that your this...fucking perfect human being and making me out to be a sucker! Can you not find yourself lost in your lies?!" I shoved my bookmark into my still upside down book and tossed it aside.

"I know perfectly where I am and where I stand, Claire, don't fucking tell people shit!" Chris gritted his teeth at me.

Weak.

I'm not weak.

Show him.

"Do you know what this is doing to me?! You're my brother! I don't have anyone else! Stop for a hot moment to think about how I feel! Do you seriously think I want to see you poison yourself with alcohol on a daily basis?! " I surprised myself with my own outpour of anger, even my voice had begun to shake, and I became all too aware of the maddening shock on his face.

I had raised my voice a lot to him in recent times, but I hadn't raised my voice like that to him since he locked me in the closet all those years ago. Oh God, I had awoken the monster in him, hadn't I? I turned my attention, and my eyes, to a pattern in the rug.

Weak.

You can't even look at him.

"I'm a grown fucking adult and so are you, or at least you're supposed to be! I don't have a problem! And now people are out talking shit, and staring at me when they don't think I'm looking! All because YOU think there's something up! Shit always did fucking revolve around you didn't it?! The fucking perfect princess! All the fucking time!" He grabbed his smokes, walked over to the balcony door and threw it open, the cool, rainy air pushing its way in, and I heard the familiar metallic click of his zippo as he lit up.

That hurt.

His words hurt.

It cut deeper than anything I had ever experienced. Deeper than any emotional trauma I had ever dealt with. Not even my parents' accident had stung like that. I had Chris to treat the sting back then. Even as a rebellious teenager, Chris had never said anything so harsh to me.

Fucking perfect princess?

Everything revolves around me?

Was that what he was bringing up? My teenage past self? Because I thought something was up? How does he not realise? How can he NOT realise?! I lifted my hand to my face, carefully hiding my wrist from him, and touched the fresh tears that once again dampened my cheeks. I quietly gasped in the air that suffocated me with the thick, gut wrenching tension that hung there, only the grandmother clock ticking without care to my right gave any semblance of a soothing tune to the room.

"What the fuck has happened to my big brother…?" I whispered. I gulped once, maybe twice, and looked over my shoulder at Chris. He stared out to the city, inhaling his cigarette heavily as the glow of the tobacco travelled rapidly towards his nose. He's so distant to me...a human on the opposite shore of another continent several time zones apart...is he my brother? I don't know if I recognise him. That slouched posture? That's not my brother. The aloofness? Not my brother. The...the EVERYTHING that is with him right now? That is not my brother.

Show him.

I stood up, my knees trembling with...fear? Of what? I walked around the couch and touched his back delicately, but he flinched as if I was made of fire. As if my hand burned through his shirt, through his skin and ignited the moisture in his lungs. I almost felt him move forward to get away from me.

"I'd say I love you, Chris, but I'm finding it increasingly difficult right now. You're like a totally different person. You've changed so much in the last month." I whimpered accidentally and immediately breathed it in as I tried to pinch my fingers onto his shirt.

"Claire. Move away from me." He said coldly. The ice in his words was powerful and dense, cold and dark enough to extinguish the flame in my palm. It wasn't a request. It was an order.

"Chris…"

"Before I fucking cave your skull in. Go away. Now." He spat. He didn't turn to me, he didn't even twitch. He continued to smoke and stare and not be my brother.

He hates to love you.

He loves to hate you.

I let my hand slip softly from his back, the flame snuffed out by the smothering glacial blizzard of his threat, and I lowered my head.

He has a nice, tight ass.

He's my brother. Stop.

Not the brother you know.

"I'm sorry for being a shit sister." I breathed. An apology, not for being in his way, not for wanting him to be ok, but for my own dark thoughts. I couldn't cry here. Not around him. He'd laugh at me. I know it. I turned on my heels and quickly made for my room.

I closed my door as gently as I could despite the anguished sorrow and rage foaming inside me, but my mind had other ideas. I reached for the first thing within arm's length, my dressing table stool, and threw it at my closet doorway, a scream escaping my quivering lips.

"FUCK!"

I punched my bedroom door, but not impulsively enough to punch with my bad hand; I wasn't going to go through that again, even if I no longer wore the dressing.

Why can't he see WHY CAN'T HE SEE?! Everyone else can! I can! Why can't he see how much he has changed?! Why can't he see he's not ok?! Why can't he see how much he's drinking?! Why can't he s...

He hates to love you.

"Fuck fuck fuck FUCK!" I slapped my hand against the wall by the door frame, the skin on my palm tingling and wiggling from the impact. Tears flowed over my lips

...Why can't he see how much I love him as his little sister?

Not the brother you know.

...Why can't he see how much he means to me?

"Fucking asshole!" I yelled.

I cursed and swore and dropped profanities swifter than a whore drops her pants, repeatedly punching the nearest thing to me as I staggered around my room.

He had slapped me the other week, and now he had threatened to really hurt me. Did...did he mean it? I didn't want to tempt fate. I didn't want to push him. He punched a goddamn boulder in a volcano, he was more than capable of doing severe damage to me if he so pleased. He was definitely capable of smashing my head in with just one punch. The slap was enough, enough that knocked me off my feet. I wasn't going to find out what a punch to my head was going to do to me. And would he have regretted it? Would he have shown remorse?

I stripped down to my bare skin, shut the light off and climbed into bed. Maybe I just needed to sleep, maybe things will be better in the morning.

You crave his anger.

…

You crave HIM.

I grasped my fingers around the top of my headboard and took a deep breath. I wasn't bowing down to this. It didn't matter how much I throbbed down there, I wasn't going to do it. Not this time.

Show him.

This persistent voice...it's not right…

Neither is lusting your brother.

No, it's not.

You crave him.

I pushed the images of Chris' naked body away, away from my mind's eye. I closed my eyes and controlled my breathing. I thought of something else. I didn't care what, as long as it wasn't him.

You lust for him.

My door burst open slamming and bouncing off my laundry basket, and in the moonlight I could see Chris standing in the doorway...or at least attempting to stand. He closed the door behind him and approached the bed. I heard a snarl leave his throat, and he threw the sheets off me in one clean movement. I drew my arms and legs in as the chill in the air enveloped me, remembering I had gone to bed naked.

He lunged at me and held his hand around my throat, tightening his grip with each second that passed, and Jesus Christ I couldn't tell if he was trying to strangle me or awaken new things in me. He held me against the mattress as he climbed on top of me, his face against my ear, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes on his breath.

He pushed my leg to the side with his leg, and whispered something menacingly to me, his breath hot on my earlobe. I couldn't hear what he whispered. I jerked my leg back only for him to harshly force it away again and pin it with his shin.

"Don't trying to fucking fight it, Claire," he growled, "You're the one who fucking wanted this, I'm just punishing you for it, you disgusting little bitch."

I closed the gap with my other leg, and was rewarded with Chris' nails digging painfully into my thigh as he ripped my legs back open.

"Stop fighting, bitch, or I'll fucking cave your skull in."

I pushed my hands against his shoulders as silent hot tears rolled off my face to my pillow, but he grabbed both of my hands with just one of his own and held them above my head, twisting my wrists.

"Show me." He hissed at me. I shook my head frantically as my face contorted in fear and misery, I couldn't move. He had all of my limbs pinned. I couldn't move.

Chris pressed against me, and I could feel him positioning himself to me.

"No Chris…" I choked, my voice barely squeezing past his hand. He pressed his lips to my ear.

"Oh but Claire, my sweet sister, isn't this what you wanted?" he murmured sarcastically, and he slowly pushed himself inside of me, slowly, slowly.

It burned. It tore. It stung.

This wasn't what I wanted. I never wanted any of this!

He kept on pushing in, further in, and I uttered a weak cry of pain against his fingers as he continued to force himself into me. He stretched me, more than I had ever done to myself. Still he stretched me and filled me with his girth, and he only stopped when he had completely entered me; the pain was too much to bear.

"Chris..please...no…"

He growled at me again and lifted his face to mine, his cold empty eyes stared into my own, and he smirked and I screamed pitifully and he silenced me with an agonising thrust and…

My eyes flew open, but Chris wasn't there. Instead of him, only my own arm lay across me, and I looked down to where it led to, to where my hand sat. Of course, it sat on my clit, and I was once again knuckle deep in myself.

Was it a dream? Had I dreamt it and fingered myself in my sleep? Good God, Claire, what are you doing to yourself?!

I pulled my fingers out, and rubbed them against each other. They were wrinkled and pruny and moist...I had been like that for a while, it seemed.

I slowly sat up, naked under my sheets, and listened. I heard nothing, just the faint tick of the clock on my wall. I grabbed my phone and checked the time; sometime after midnight. I looked to the ceiling and exhaled, feeling my throat.

You lust for him.

It was different to my other nightmares; they had all occurred in Chris' room. It seemed so real that I wasn't sure if it had actually happened. Chris would never...no matter how drunk he got.

I peeled the sheets off my sweat and pulled a vest top and panties from my closet. I needed a glass of water. As I pulled the strap over my shoulder I heard the bathroom door bang, followed by a metallic clatter.

What the…?

I wiped my fingers on the underside of my panties and went to investigate, opening my door and stepping into the moonlit apartment. The bathroom light seeped into the room, and I could see...oh no...don't tell me that's a trail of blood?!

Chris?

I hurried to the bathroom and my jaw fell open at the sight. Chris sat on the floor next to the first aid box, clasping an absorbent pad to his wrist, his blood trickling down off his elbow.

"Oh my God, what have you done?!" I gasped. I dove down and snatched his arm, lifting it above his head level as I pushed his hand away to press down on the wound that soaked the pad.

"What the fuck did you do, Chris?!" I demanded. He didn't look at me. He didn't speak. We sat there in silence as I stared at his blood running over my fingers. After a while he tried to tug his arm back, but I fought him.

"Claire, just leave me. I deserve this." He mumbled, his voice hollow. An empty bottomless pit of a vocalisation.

"No, Chris, I'm not leaving you." I thought of the nightmare, of him...ugh..raping me...and I squinted my eyes, trying to stop the tears. I looked at his face. No. Of course he wasn't capable of that.

"I made a promise I couldn't keep. I promised you wouldn't get hurt after Antarctica. I can see what you've done. I've failed you, Claire." Chris sobbed. Fuck. When was the last time I saw him cry? Our parents' funeral?

Show him.

"We'll talk about it once the bleeding has stopped." I said. I don't know how well I masked my own emotions between my breaths. I leant over and grabbed more pads, teasing the first pad away and daring to look at what he had done. I shivered. He has cleanly cut his wrist. I sighed and applied the second pad as my tears betrayed me.

"The bleeding has slowed but it hasn't stopped. You might need to go to the hospital."

He shook his head.

"No, I'm not going."

I could feel myself getting angry with him. Him and his fucking stubborness!

"I'm a first aider, Chris, not a medical expert! If I can't stop it then I'm taking you to the hospital."

"Then just leave it, it's what I deser…"

You lust for him.

"It's not what you fucking deserve, Christopher Redfield! Now shut the fuck up! Just...just...shut up…" I cried. He cried. What a fucking pair we are. He's fucking wallowing and I'm borderline horny. What a fucking pair.

As pathetic as each other.

We're not pathetic.

Pathetic Redfield children.

"It's not deep enough for proper stitches, but it's going to need steri-strips." I remarked, and I washed my hands (shouldn't be touching him with my own juices) and set to work on the wound.

"Claire…" Chris whispered.

"Not another word." I snapped. He touched my jaw, cupping it with his hand, and he rubbed his thumb on my earlobe.

Oh, he's touching you, Claire.

"Help me, I need you. Help me. Please."

He touched you and he NEEEEEDS you.

I finished with the dressing, and moved to him, running one hand through the hair on the back of his head, the other placed on his shoulder blade as I reached around his neck.

He was broken.

He knew it.

He finally knew it.

And he needed me now.

Show him.

"In here somewhere is the strongest person I know, physically and mentally," I stroked his hair and pressed my forehead against his, "In here is the man who shaped me to be the woman I am today. In here is my fucking brother; my awesome, caring and incredible big brother. And I want him back. I need him in my life. I've never known a life without him. I'm not starting now."

I moved to kiss him on the cheek, but, unfortunately, he thought the same, and we accidentally kissed on the lips. Oh no. Oh no no no no I didn't need this on my mind too!

You lust for him.

It was an accident!

Show him.

"Dammit Claire, are you trying to be all meaningful and I just ruined it again?" He laughed weakly at me, his first laugh in weeks, and my tears flowed once again, though from relief and delight.

"I can help you, Chris, but you need to help yourself too. I can't pull this off on my own. You've always been there for me when I needed you. Let it be my turn to be here for you now."

He pressed his nose into my neck as he wrapped his big arms around my torso, and his tears wet my skin. I felt pity for him; a big meathead of a man seeking comfort from his little sister?

No.

There was no shame in his action; he wanted me, he wanted me to be here with him, to comfort him, to hold him.

He wants you.

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Claire. I'm sorry, baby sis." He wailed, his voice breaking. In turn my heart was breaking at the sight and sound of my big brother spiralling into the dark. I hugged him tighter to me.

"It's not your fault, Chris. You've tried to be too strong for too long. I've been watching you slowly decline for years, I never would have thought it would come to this. Your most recent mission has tipped you over the edge." I carefully avoided mentioning Kijuju; I knew it was one of his trigger words.

"You're not a shit sister, Claire, I'm sorry I made you feel that way, I'm so sorry, I would never smash your skull in, I would never, ever hurt you. You know that, right?"

"I do know that, but admittedly you were being unpredictable, and I...I didn't want to tempt fate."

"I went back on everything I ever believed in, everything I've ever promised. I'm sorry. I don't deserve a sister like you." He mumbled at me, but I could feel him weighing down on me, and his words were choppy. He'd probably lost a decent amount of blood, and the alcohol that seemed to permanently live in his body wouldn't have helped. I nudged his head up to meet my gaze, and smiled at him when he faintly smiled. We were both smiling. For the first time in how long? Smiling together, at each other. No more fighting.

"I can't ask for the best big brother in the world. Because I already have him. You're broken, Chris, we both are at the moment, but broken things can be fixed. And I want to fix you. I want to fix us. Please, Chris, no more fighting," I glanced at the insides of my wrists, "no more self harming. We'll fix this. We're Redfields. We've fucking got this."

Both broken.

Both fucked up in the head in our own unique way.

But we're both strong. Together we're strong. Together we can move mountains (or boulders, in Chris' case), together we can conquer the oceans.

We stared hard into each other's eyes, our foreheads touching, our noses touching, our smiles shared between us.

We can fight this.

Because we're motherfucking Redfields.

"I move the stars for no one." I grinned as I poked Chris on his nose. He chuckled back.

I lay next to Chris on his bed, his bedroom even darker than mine, and I blinked into the pitch black as I softly held his hand.

We both had wanted to talk about what had happened, about his thought processes, about how he had finally come to realise that he was not as ok as he had thought. but poor Chris had practically passed out from all the excitement.

Ok, so it wasn't exciting but…

Show him.

Can you fucking not? Not in here, not when I'm lying right next to him!

You lust for him.

I gripped his hand tighter, half wanting to wake him up so his voice could drown out my inner voice. All I got was his soft snoring.

Show him.

I crawled my hand down my belly and thumbed the elastic of my panties, lifting Chris' hand to my navel.

Show him.

I moved his hand to meet my other hand at the elastic and…

NO!

Oh my God NO!

STOP.

I let go of his hand and it tapped against my hip bone before stopping by his side, and he rolled his head twice before settling back down. I drew my knees to my chest and rolled to face away from my brother, holding my breath as the tears flowed AGAIN.

Pathetic little girl.

Not pathetic.

I snuck my hand slowly, painfully slowly, back to my panties, and I twisted my neck to glance at my brother.

You lust for him.

...I lust for him...

The song for this chapter is Wicked Game by Chris Isaak.

Yeah, I feel this is probably my worst chapter to date, if I'm honest. It just seems a bit weak. BUT! Any content is better than no content, and we now move forward!

I'm sorry it was a mostly copy paste job from MIH's Everybody's Fool and Crash and Burn chapters, but I wanted to try and get Claire's side of them down as best as I could.