Bon appétit, mon frère.
I wiped my eyes as I touched my parents' names on the marble, reading the lyrics to Who Wants To Live Forever by Queen, the song we played at their funeral. How has it been eighteen years already? Eighteen years since Chris held me and comforted me after he gave me the devastating news that our parents were never returning home. Eighteen years since a hole was torn in my heart, since half of my family was ripped tragically and cruelly from my life. I was just a month away from turning twelve years old. What kind of hand had we been dealt to lose our parents so young?
"Eighteen years and I still miss them so much…" I wept. I expected Chris to respond, but he didn't. All I heard was him taking a long drink from his gym bottle that he had decided to bring along with him.
"Crazy, right? Feels a lot longer than that." he finally replied. I heard him rummage in his pocket before finally lighting up a cigarette, the metal zippo clacking closed.
"I never got the chance to say goodbye to them. To Mom. I thought we all would be by her side when her time was up. We had her last weeks ripped away from us."
"No one could've predicted it, Claire. We can be forgiven for thinking we would've got a real opportunity to say goodbye to her." He replied in a monotone voice. He had been like this for some time now. This dull, droning person I called my brother. Why though?
"Do you think they thought of us as they died? Do you think we were the last thing to go through their heads?" I asked Chris. I liked to think they had done, but from the bare details I had been told they had died pretty much instantaneously. They wouldn't really have had much time to think.
"Honestly, sis? I couldn't tell you." came Chris' reply. I sighed a shaky breath. Every year he could make an effort to comfort me today, to hold and hug me, to kiss my cheeks and brush my tears. But this year was different. He made no effort.
"Chris? Are you ok? I feel you've been acting differently again," I coughed and shook my head, "Ignore me. Sorry. Of course. It'll be your anti-depressants. I'm glad you've stopped drinking now, after all you shouldn't mix alcohol and head meds. I can't wait to have my big brother back. I'm really looking forward to it." I got up and hugged him, but he barely returned the gesture. Thunder rolled in the distance and I heard him gulp. Any loud bangs or thunder would surely trigger his PTSD.
We'd better go home. I need to keep him distracted.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror, occasionally passing my eyes to Chris' reflection as he performed a karate kata across the foam mats in the basement gym. After all these years he had kept his thick training gi, and with every punch the sleeves made a crisp snap, every kick snapped the pant hem in the air. His faded black belt swayed with each technique, the three gold threaded stripes on the tips of the belt catching the light ever so gently. His freshly trimmed hair glistened with sweat, beads slowly trickling down his face and under his collar.
To hell with it. He may be my brother, but I had pleasured myself far too many times over him, I wasn't afraid to tell myself that he was damn hot when he was practising karate. I had begun to crave the sight of him just in his sweatpants in the apartment. Sometimes to the point of convincing him that it was too humid for him to wear a shirt. I continued to watch his every move in the mirror, and I shuffled on my knees awkwardly, wondering how his sweat would feel on my skin, how his body would feel sweetly brushing against my own, how it would taste if I pressed my lips to his neck. How his hands would feel silkily sliding down my sides, past my thighs...No. Come on, Claire. Stop this.
I looked at my wrist and rubbed the pinkish yellow bruise that wrapped around the ulna bone, before tugging my own gi sleeve over it. I glanced over my reflection's other shoulder and saw Dave pacing on the treadmill, occasionally casting his sight at me.
He knew. He most certainly knew.. He almost never came down here, but ever since he watched back the surveillance footage of Chris slapping me in the elevator he had been down here doing some half assed workout every time we were down here together. Maybe as part of his security job he was keeping an eye on the well being of the residents, ie; me. He looked at me again, and I took my eyes away, rubbing the other pale pink bruise on my neck before pulling the collar around it.
A kiai, or shout, from Chris pulled me away from my mental meandering, and I swiveled around on my knees to watch him finish the last few techniques of Kushanku. With a stone cold demeanor he resumed the starting stance; feet slightly apart, his thumbs, index and middle fingers forming a diamond in front of his waist, and bowed out.
"Nice work, Chris, but your open hand strikes looked a little sloppy. That's not like you," I lightly scolded him, "Your stances looked a little off, too." He glared at me as he sipped from his bottle, and gestured his head to the mats. I looked back at him, unmoving, and he gestured again, his eyes becoming sharper, like hot piercing blades. I stood up and began to walk to the mats, half expecting him to demand that I perform Kushanku myself. I took to the edge of what we coined "the kata box" and bowed to begin the kata.
"What the fuck are you doing? Here, Claire!" Chris barked at me, pointing a finger to the floor in front of him. He took another gulp of his bottle before sealing it and tossing it over to his bag. He shoved an open hand into my chest as I approached, and stared coldly at me.
"Kumite." He said. I looked over at our bags.
"Ok, I'll go get our pads…"
"No pads." He ordered.
"But Chris, we always spar with our pads." I protested.
"No fucking pads, Claire!" He shouted at my face. I caught a glimpse of Dave slowing the treadmill down as he watched us, and I sighed, backing up a few paces. I bowed to him to begin the sparring bout, but a round kick to my ribs forced the air out of my lungs, and I immediately felt immense pain spread through my torso, like a thousand needles had penetrated me. Chris locked in my already bruised wrist and swept my leg with the force of a truck, slamming me down onto my side. The pain only grew. It hurt to breathe and it hurt to move.
"Chris, I think my ribs are cracked." I gasped. He dropped his knee forcefully to my ribs and I sucked my teeth hard, until the air entering my mouth was cold and my gums stung. I wanted to scream but I didn't want him to see me scream. He grabbed my wrist again and twisted it against my chest, shoving his face to my own.
"Don't EVER fucking correct me on my katas, Claire Redfield!" He gritted through his teeth. I looked up at his face and saw. Saw the dark void in his eyes, empty of any emotion or remorse or care.
This wasn't sparring.
This was punishment.
He wanted to punish me for pointing out his mistakes. He crunched his knee harder into my ribs and I heard another grinding sound, another fire ripping and licking at the muscle between the bones. He pulled me to my feet by the arm and proceeded to take another kick at me. I reeled from the impact against my already fucked up ribs, my eyes burned from the tears that I held intentionally behind my eyelids, not through sorrow but from the pain.
"You wanted to talk, right? Fucking talk about that moment in the storage unit? Now let's fucking talk!" He hissed into my ear.
"But...we already talked, Chris…" I uttered.
It's true. We had talked. We had put it all down to our current mental states and our respective longing for each others' comfort. We had established that weeks ago. We had hugged and we had gone out for a lovely meal and laughed and joked and reminisced and promised each other we'd pull through. We had gone to watch a movie at the theatre the next day, we had sat in the hot tub and talked about our future. We had been the close siblings we had always been. The cord of rope that wrapped together to create a strong and vigorous bond that was difficult to snap. It had been nice.
We had cared. HE had cared. But now? Now I'm not sure. Now the rope had loosened and frayed and had disintegrated into fibrous dust before my eyes. I suspected that he's maybe on the wrong kind of medication. The first two weeks he was fine; I had had my brother back. Two weeks is how long it can take for medication to begin working. Yes. He was on the wrong meds. There can't be another explanation.
He held my wrist and flung me away from him, to the edge of our kata box.
"Kushanku." He ordered.
"I can't, not with my ribs…" I began.
"KUSHANKU! NOW!" He roared. I groaned through the pain and obeyed without another word. I bowed and assumed the beginning stance, and I made the big mistake of holding my breath to ease the pain. I lifted my hands upwards past my face and circled them either side back down, touching my fingertips, palms upward. Just this alone was killing me. The pain would kill me before I could get through this kata, I just knew it. I met Chris' eyes and silently begged for him to call it off, but he simply glared at me and waited for the first technique. Oh no...what was the first technique again? Oh shit. Chris was visibly becoming angry that I was hesitating, more angry than he already was. Fuck, what was it?! Oh.
I stepped my left foot to the side and performed an open hand strike, before bringing my foot back in and doing the same to the right side. Just the gentle placement of my foot sent spikes through my torso. I slowly breathed out and straightened up to the front, holding my left arm across my chest and my right hand holding a fist at my waist. Fuck! It hurt…
"Yame. Stop." Chris said sharply. I remained where I was as he approached me, and he ripped my front arm away from my chest. He pulled me down and sent his knee crashing into my face, and I could instantly feel the blood beginning to pour from my nose as light spots scattered about in my sight. He let go and I fell to the floor, finally crying from the agony, my tears diluting the blood pouring over my lips.
"Your open hand strikes looked a little sloppy, and your stances looked a little off, too." He snarled at me, every word dripping with venom. I turned my eyes toward Dave, but he wasn't there, the treadmill no longer operating. Chris pulled his bag to his shoulder and drank deeply from the bottle, staggering backward just a little as he tipped it up above his face. Without looking at me he walked out of the gym, leaving me alone to bleed and cry.
Why was this happening? He had become a monster AGAIN. He was so much worse this time. This time his actions spoke far louder than his words ever did. I carefully sat up and pinched my nose.
I have another meeting with Anna tomorrow. I already had the bruises on my neck and wrist. I had gone to cry in the bathroom and accidentally left last night's dinner cooking, burning it. Chris had pulled me around the apartment by the wrist before slamming me into a wall, squeezing his hand around my throat, threatening to strangle me if I ever burnt dinner again. Now I have a busted rib and nose to try to explain as well.
A tissue being placed against my streaming nose scared me, and a hand against my back stopped me from moving backward.
"I'm sorry, Claire." My brother whispered. He had come back in with a huge bunch of tissues tucked into his gi.
He's not sorry.
The mini Claire-gremlin is back? My morning dose of weed had run out, it seemed.
"I know you're sorry, Chris." I sobbed. He caressed the bruise on my neck with his fingers and sighed inwardly to himself. "Speak to someone, your medication isn't right for you."
"I think I realise that. I'll speak to my therapist." He replied, but his eyes wandered, like he didn't believe his own words. I watched him as he wiped my nose and pinched the cartilage himself. Something wasn't right, that's for damn sure. "Claire? Promise me something. Promise me you won't go to the hospital."
"Why don't you want me to go?" I asked.
"Because if anyone finds out what I've done to you I'm going to get arrested for assault."
"Why would I tell anyone?" I questioned. Truth is, I wouldn't, because I also didn't want him to be arrested.
"Because someone is going to ask about your bruises."
"I'll hide them. I'll wear long sleeves and a fancy scarf if I need to."
"No, tell people we were practising locks and throws. It's easier that way rather than trying to hide them." Chris retorted.
"I can just wear long sle…"
"Everyone knows you don't wear long sleeves when it's warm, Claire. You certainly don't wear scarves. Don't arouse suspicion that way." Chris snapped, and I became silent.
Let him hurt you.
"I'll promise not to tell anyone if you promise to ask about your meds." I stated. His eyes briefly flicked from my nose to my own eyes, and then back to my nose. He didn't answer. "Chris. Promise." Again. Not a word. "We always made promises, Chris. What's so bad about this one?"
"Nothing, there's nothing bad about it." He answered bluntly. He replaced the bloody tissues under my nose with another bunch.
"Then promise me. I just want you back. I don't like this violent brother."
"I'm not violent." He snapped.
"You literally just kicked me and put your knee to my face, Chris."
He grabbed the front of my gi and pulled me to his face, the material pressing firmly against my ribs as he yanked the collar forward, and I gasped. His breath smelled...strange? I couldn't put my finger on it.
"We were sparring, Claire. Were we not." It wasn't even a question. He was making me convince myself that we were sparring. That I just didn't block any of his attacks and took the hits.
"WERE WE NOT, CLAIRE." He growled. I swallowed some of the blood that had ran down my throat and nodded.
You were sparring, and you failed to block his attacks. Simple as.
"We were sparring." I agreed.
"Good. That's a good girl."
I watched him hard. How did he go from violent, to apologetic, to uncharacteristically nasty in the space of five minutes? What the fuck was happening to him? Did the thunder on the way home mess him up? I tried to preoccupy his mind as we walked back, was it not enough? Am I a bad sister for not helping my brother?
"Am I a bad sister?" I asked quietly, studying his face.
Yes.
No response. I closed my eyes.
"I'm sorry, Chris."
"Am I a good brother, Claire?" I looked back up to his face, and he tracked my nose with his hand and the tissues as I lifted my head. I tried to read his eyes, but again, I saw nothing. Nothing but blank pages to read from. Was he?
Yes.
"Yeah, you're a good brother." I whispered, and he nodded in response. He pulled my hand up to hold the tissues and lifted my other arm over his neck, slowly standing me up. I flinched at the shooting pain in my side, and he stopped, allowing me to overcome it. He grabbed my own bag and slowly walked us out of the room, both of us silent.
The elevator was out, and we had to take the stairs. With each step I screamed internally; fucking hell why did we live on the top floor? We got to the third floor where Dave was still in his gym clothes, speaking to the maintenance man about the elevator. I could see him watching us out of the corner of my eye, and I just caught him shaking his head disapprovingly as we began up the next flight of stairs.
Back in the apartment I had excused myself to go shower, however Chris had decided he wanted to sit on the other side of the wall as I washed. All I wanted to do was cry, but I couldn't bear to shed any more tears around him. What was the point? He had lacked sympathy for me for weeks, even when he apologised for hitting me I knew he didn't mean it. I knew the tone of voice he used if he was remorseful, and that wasn't it. He couldn't give a fuck about me. Why did PTSD have to take my fucking brother from me?!
I breathed slowly as I checked over my ribs, delicately running a finger over them. The purple bruise that had rapidly formed outlined what little muscle definition I had. I almost definitely need to go see the doctor about this.
You promised Chris you'd keep your mouth shut.
But this could be serious! I can't just leave it!
You're going to break your promise to your brother?
He'd rather I'd be fine than risk suffering worse.
He couldn't give a flying fuck about you.
I know he still does, though.
He doesn't and you're too scared to admit it.
He's my brother, he's always going to care about me.
Then why did he assault you?
We were sparring!
Keep telling yourself that, pathetic Redfield girl.
I looked over my other bruises; the one on my wrist, one on my thigh from another kick a couple of days ago, a brown bruise on my belly from a punch after I called him an asshole, a friction burn on my foot when he twisted his heel into it. A burn on my hand from him putting out a cigarette on me, shiny and glistening in the light of the bathroom. A large scratch from when he tried to grab my arm and missed.
But he can't help it. It's not abuse if he can't help himself. I need to help him. I need to support his recovery. Whatever happens to me is just collateral damage. I'm second to him, I always will be. Who the hell am I in comparison? I'm no one, and I'm nobody without him. I'm only significant because of him. I love him. He's my brother and I love him as a sister should.
And the rest.
I turned to grab the shampoo and...there was no one there peering around the wall, I just imagined it.
Jesus Christ how many times was I going to try and fail at playing simple songs on Chris' guitar? I only wish I could play the riff to Headlong by Queen, what a gorgeous song! At least I managed a bit of Enter Sandman by Metallica, though almost definitely out of tune. I laughed at my pathetic attempts, but Chris was completely void of humour. Thunder still crashed in the distance and rain still poured as I placed his guitar back on its stand in his room.
I stepped back out and looked at him. What a miserable sight. He just slouched there, staring off into nothing. He hasn't talked, he hasn't smiled, nothing. I dared to press into him, grimacing at the ache in my side. I pulled his arm around me, but he immediately took it back. I sat up and looked at him worriedly.
"Chris? What's wrong?" I asked. He didn't look at me as he sipped the water from his gym bottle. Feeling parched myself, I took it off him and took a small sip. I froze as the liquid burned my tongue. Water doesn't do that. I unscrewed the lid and sniffed. Vodka. My heart plummeted to the soles of my feet, a shocking wave of dread hit me as hard as a freight train. Is this what had been in his bottle the whole time? At the cemetery? In the gym? Was he in a perpetual state of drunkenness?! I twisted the lid back on and threw it. I felt the raw, unadulterated fury boiling up within me like hot molten magma bubbles and churns violently inside a volcano.
"I knew it! I fucking knew it! How fucking long, Chris?!" He said nothing, he didn't even acknowledge my words and I grabbed his shirt. "How fucking long have you been drinking vodka behind my back, or right under my nose?! How fucking long have you lied to me?!"
Again, nothing. I shoved him back into the seat and slapped him.
Oh my God I just slapped my brother.
Fuck it, he deserves it.
"Answer me, dammit! You fucking lied to me! How much alcohol is in this apartment?!" I shrieked at him. I hurried to the bottle and drained the contents. I needed to help him. Get rid of the alcohol. Get it away from him. I hate vodka, it burned and, ugh, fucking disgusting. I gagged as I swallowed the last drop and proceeded to throw up in the kitchen sink. Nothing but liquid; I barely ate these days, the only thing solid in the sink was the foamy remnants of the Pill that I had just taken.
"If you knew it was going to make you sick then why did you bother?" Chris mumbled from the couch. I shot a glare to the back of his head from the kitchen, hoping he could feel my eyes burning through that thick fucking skull of his.
"I'm trying to save you from yourself! And now I need to restart my fucking pills again for the month because I only just fucking took one! It's there in the fucking sink!" I shouted at him, never taking my eyes from the back of his head.
"Why try to save me, Claire? I'm a lost cause. I don't need your fucking help."
That stung to hear. He wasn't a lost cause, no way. Oh my God what has happened to him? How far has he spiralled?
"You were doing so fucking well, Chris! You were healing! Why did you relapse?! Why did you start drinking again?! Oh fuck and you're mixing it with your meds, Chris! Why won't you let me help you?! Why won't you let me?! Listen to me!" I approached him again and shoved him once more.
To say I regretted shoving him again is a huge understatement, as he grabbed my wrist and twisted it. I was a passenger in this, I had to follow the movement, or I'd have to explain all of my injuries plus a broken wrist and arm. He pressed my arm to my back and slammed me down, my forehead cracking loudly against the floorboards. He immediately loosened his grip and I felt him slump to one side. I pushed him off my back and slapped him once more. Fucking prick.
"Fuck this, I'm taking you to bed, Christopher Redfield! You're done!" I snarled at him. I poured a glass of cold water in the kitchen and set it on his bedside table. When he finally screws his head BACK on he can have a fucking drink that isn't alcohol. I tried to pull him to his feet, but he had become half a dead weight of an alcohol and medication infusion, and I pretty much dragged him across the floor.
I got him as far as his door before he shoved me into the frame, my eye socket heating rapidly from the pain, and just like when he kneed me in the face more yellow spots appeared. I let go of him and stumbled into his room, just a little, and he again twisted my arm behind my back, my knuckles digging into my spine. I twisted to look at him and saw more emptiness, more of that cold, lonely and miserable pit that he was struggling so much to clamber out of.
Oh Claaaaaiiiire, remember this?
Please don't let this be real.
You want this to be real, Claire.
No...it can't be…
You've wanted this for so long.
No!
I tried to loosen his grip with a quick twist of my body, but Chris reacted by punching me in the temple. My eyesight was fucked. I couldn't see shit from the blotches in my eyes, and he punched me in the head over and over. I opened my mouth to beg him to stop, but my voice had abandoned my body.
It's all playing out exactly as you know it to, Claire.
No, please…
Claire, you know what's coming, right?
No…
Oh you'll find out exactly what's coming soon, if you know what I mean.
Please! NO!
I tripped on the edge of Chris' bed as he plumelled me in the back with his fist. Over and over. Again and again. He grabbed my waist and pulled at my shorts.
No! Oh my God no this is the nightmare! No! No no no no Chris please STOP PLEASE!
"Chris, no! I'm your sister!" I pleaded.
Weak attempt.
"Chris! Chris no please, don't do this!" I begged again, my voice frantic.
"Shut the fuck up." Chris responded coldly. The labs of Umbrella's Antarctic Base could provide more warmth than his voice.
I scrunched my eyes closed and let out a pitiful cry. I knew what was going to happen. And I knew I was powerless to stop it. Powerless to escape. I tried to move away once more, hoping and silently praying that I could defy my nightmare, but Chris grabbed my legs and pulled me towards him where he stood at the edge of the bed. He yanked my shorts beyond my feet and they disappeared into the darkness of the room.
Stop fighting it, Claire, you want this.
I had to get out, I had to. Nightmares aren't real. I'll wake up soon enough and I'll cry like I normally do, I'll cool down with a shower like I normally do and go back to sleep like I normally do. That's what happens after my nightmares, right? I need to wake up. Wake up, Claire!
I squirmed away once more, but Chris flung himself forward over me, his hand firmly around the back of my neck, forcing my face into the mattress, fingers cruelly digging into my jugular. He peeled my panties away from my ass, and I erupted into a raging panic. I began kicking out at him, my cries of fear and fury muffled by the mattress as he released one leg of the leg hole, then the other. He said nothing and used his body weight to hold me down.
Get ready, Claire, this is what you want!
I felt his hand brush past my ass and I heard the rustling of cloth as he pulled his sweatpants down, and he kicked them away once they hit his feet. There was another rustle, and with that rustle, I discerned that this was real. My literal worst nightmare that had haunted and plagued me for months was inexplicably becoming reality.
I could hear the soft fleshy sound of Chris trying to harden himself and an almost inaudible moan rolled in his mouth.
I couldn't fight back.
I had spent my energy thrashing my legs, my body ached beyond belief from the sparring session earlier. I couldn't fight. I had no energy to fight anymore. Every muscle burned, my bruises and twisted joints hummed hotly.
Just let him do it.
I yelped almost silently into the mattress as I felt Chris push himself slowly into me, stretching me apart, tearing away my virginity.
My brother.
And his dick.
Inside of me.
"No, Chris, this isn't right…" I uttered, finally able to twist my face just a little from the mattress.
He began moving rhythmically, pushing himself further into me with each thrust, and he moaned aloud. My side and ribs twisted and burned with agony at every movement.
"Chris...please…"
"I don't care." He grunted, continuing his relentless and unforgiving assault, his dick slipping in and out of my vagina, grazing my clit with each entry.
Assault?
My own brother was RAPING me.
He had doted on me ever since I was a baby. He had taken me to the local playground countless times as a little girl. He had cleaned my grazed knees whenever I fell over. He had scared off any bullies who followed me home.
He had given up the last of his teenage years to care for me after the car crash. He had sacrificed nights out with friends, nightclubs, beer parties, HIS CAREER, to care for me.
He had stayed up drying my tears, he had gone hungry so I could eat, he had helped me complete my homework, he had helped me learn to drive a car and ride a motorbike.
He had gone from France to the South Pacific to Antarctica. For me. Because I was his little sister. Because I'm all he had left.
He had given up everything for me. I gave him nothing back.
Your virginity is enough of a price for him.
But it shouldn't be.
Show him.
"Oh my God this feels so good…" Chris whispered, and he pushed my vest up my back, running his free hand along my spine.
Show him.
My spine tingled as he caressed his fingers along the small of my back, and my nerve reflex forced my back to arch, my ass pushing into Chris' groin. He gasped and paused his assault, softly running his fingers from my spine to my sides.
Show him.
I lowered my head back down to the mattress, my mouth agape. I shouldn't have enjoyed how it felt when I pushed into him. It was just a natural reaction to my spine being brushed, I shouldn't have enjoyed it.
I was being raped, I shouldn't be enjoying it.
I was in bed with my brother, I SHOULD NOT be enjoying it.
Show him.
He straightened up and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it in the direction of his other clothes before pressing his bare chest against my back.
Show him.
He wrapped his arm around my chest and resumed thrusting into me, thrusting his girth hard and painfully into me, stroking my vagina with his gorgeous member like nothing has ever done before and…
Beginning to enjoy it now?
No, I couldn't. Could I? I twitched my ass back towards him, taking in his whole length.
He moaned in my ear.
I bit my lip.
Oh yes.
I began to cry. I was straight up being raped by the one person who should never be raping me and I was now CRAVING him. I wanted him so badly. I wanted him to fuck me. Hard. I wanted to hear him moan and cry out and enjoy me and DESTROY me.
I shivered and buried my face into the pit of my elbow and pushed harder against him, further offering my less-than-virgin self to him, an appetising meal on a silver platter.
Devour me, Chris. Take me.
His thrusts only warmed me more, each one more beautiful as the one before it, each one guiding me closer and closer to a moment a sister should never share with her brother.
Show him.
"Stop crying. This won't be the last time. This is too fucking good to only enjoy once." Chris breathed into my ear with malice.
He thought I was crying because of the rape.
No.
"Get used to it Claire," he paused to moan deeply, and he slowed his thrusts to an almost unbearable and sensual level; I had to stifle my own mewl of betrayal into my skin, "This is what happens when you fucking interfere."
I closed my eyes and slowly began to allow my body to accept more and more of the forbidden feelings circling in my stomach muscles.
Take me, you bastard, take me!
"You're nothing without me, Claire."
Harder!
Show him.
I twisted my leg around his, feigning struggle, and he grazed my neck with his teeth. My eyes rolled back.
Oh fuck…
I could feel myself becoming tighter, tighter than any of my self pleasured moments, and for the first time I concentrated on how Chris truly felt. Was he naturally big? Or was it just because he's my first fuck? Maybe because I was beginning to clamp down on him?
He quickened his thrusts and moaned and whimpered and...
Fuck…
He isn't going to remember this, right? He's drunk. He doesn't remember things after he's been drinking.
I grasped the mattress sheet as I felt my muscles abruptly let go.
SHOW HIM.
"Chris…" I quietly whimpered with desire as my orgasm peaked, my body shaking with pure lust.
"Fuck fuck fuuuuck…" whined Chris, and he rammed himself hard into me, panting into my hair, dragging his nails down my pelvis. He moaned throatily as he convulsed against my skin.
Bon appétit, mon frère.
Neither of us moved. Chris was catching his breath and I became washed over with a sickening feeling.
"You don't know how long I've waited to have you." Chris hissed at me.
I felt sick. My brother, my BROTHER, had just raped me, but I had egged him to carry on, to fuck me harder, to draw out a fucking orgasm from me!
He pulled out of my sodden womanhood, deflowered by big brother.
Oh God, I had sex with my brother. How many times am I going to say brother?!
As many times as it takes for you to realise you wanted this all along, you stupid little Redfield girl.
Chris flopped naked onto the bed next to me, but I remained where I was, ass in the air, semen running down my thighs.
We didn't use protection.
I threw up the pill.
Oh no…
I forced myself to look at Chris, but already he had fallen asleep, his throat rumbling with his usual soft snores. I stared at his flaccid dick. That had just been inside of me, pleasuring me. As if mesmerized I ran my finger along his dick.
Show him.
But I just did…
Show him.
I leant down and took his dick in my mouth, only briefly, and I gagged at the taste of the both of us. I stared up his chest to his face.
Why was he only handsome, sweet and gorgeous when he was asleep? I absently stroked his dick in my hand and gazed at him, taking in his full naked body in the low light of the moon through the blinds. I slowly pumped him in a trance-like state, wanting him to get another erection. I wanted more. I wanted my brother's rock hard dick inside of me again. Now. Only a flash of lightning snapped me out of it.
I clambered off the bed and swiped a pencil from his bedside table, knocking his guitar tablature sheet through the air. I twisted with anger back towards him and I drove the pencil into his left shoulder. He flinched, but he was so out of it that he simply went back to sleep, the alcohol numbing the pain.
I can't stay. What if he does remember? What if he remembers that I moaned and whispered his name as I came? What if he remembers I stopped fighting him?
I flew out of his room, my clothes in hand, and into my own room while clasping a hand to my ribs. I can't stay. I dressed quickly in the first clothes I found, shovelling more into the biggest bag I could find, not like my suitcase is doing much these days. I pulled my closet apart, throwing various things about before I found the clothes I wanted. I can't stay. I grabbed my already packed up laptop bag and ran out of the room into the kitchen. Need my pills, I am so going to need my pills.
Back into the hallway and unlocking the door and...I dropped my bags, quietly walking back to Chris' room. I watched him sleep, for how long I don't know. I can't stay Chris. I approached the bed and leant to his handsome face, and I kissed him delicately on the lips.
I can't stay, Chris.
I hung around in the corridor outside of Moira's apartment that night.
The song for this chapter is Welcome To My Nightmare by Alice Cooper.
Well, this certainly made me uncomfortable while writing XD it got easier though.
I hope this came out okay for you all, I've been sort of putting this off a bit, but I'm glad it's finally down! I wanted to give this a lot more detail than anything I previously done in Made In Heaven, let me know if you like it!