I see you sitting on the edge of the beach. The warm sand sticking to your legs and partially exposed thighs. The soft gentle waves of crystal clear blue water lick at your toes and feet. The cool breeze blows your bleached blonde hair across your face. Your stare is somewhat vacant. I wonder what is going through your mind. Part of me knows that I can probably guess. I mean who knows you better than I do?
I know how much you love lemons. Whenever mom took us, well forced us, to go grocery shopping with her, you ran straight towards the lemons. You would take them into your perfectly manicured hands and grin. You would smell them and close your eyes. You made mom buy you a whole bag of them. When we would get home, you would cut them into slices and eat them like an orange. You told me you loved the citrus and tangy taste of them.
I know that you're scared of the dark. Well I wouldn't say scared, more like petrified. You always told me that bad things happened in the dark. That made me wonder what bad things happened to you before Mom and I came into your life. You have a Care Bear night light that was never turned off and that you packed in your suitcase when you went on trips. You were always afraid that I would make fun of you for something like that. Your fear of the dark just made me love you more.
I know how much you hate the smell of raspberries. Mom used to burn raspberry scented candles all the time which made you gag and want to vomit. Sometimes you would get dizzy from the scent and pass out, and then I would have to carry you up to your bed. Not that I minded that. You looked like an angel sleeping. You never told me why you hate the smell of raspberries. All I know is that I threw all her candles out and stopped eating raspberries for you.
I know how you obsess over your weight. It had something to do with your real mom. Every little pound made you freak out. You would go on fasts, fanatical diets, and sometimes even work out till every muscle ached. I hated watching you do that to yourself. To me you were always perfect, always pretty.
Even though you obsessed over your weight and looks, you had a secret craving for junk food. I remembered those times I would sneak past your room late at night and find you sitting next to your bed. It was usually Burger King or McDonald's. You would scarf those burgers down like there wasn't a tomorrow. You would greedily lick the grease off your fingers. I cringed when I watched you shove that food down your throat, because I knew that moments later it would be flushed down the toilet.
You liked to steal things sometimes too. Just to see if you could get away with it. I mean you had plenty of money. Daddy gave you whatever you wanted. You were just a rich spoiled brat who tried to hard to be a bad girl. That's why you started smoking.
I remember find the pack of Marlboro lights stuffed inside your pillow case along with the pink sparkly lighter. You were such a girly girl sometimes. I remember, while we were driving in my car, you lit one up. The orange flame climbed up the fat white stick and dissolved the tip into ashes. Your sticky pink lips curved into a smile and sucked the gray smoke in.
"Why do you do that?" I asked, my eyes narrowing.
I remember you laughing and tossing your blonde hair back.
"Boone, just mind your own fucking business. It's not like I'm shoving the cigarette down your throat," you shot back, before taking another deep drag.
A wry little smile curved onto my lips.
"I bet daddy would be so disappointed in you."
I watched a look of nervousness form on your face. Your father was your one weakness. You would sell your soul to avoid getting in trouble with him. Your fingers shook as you tossed the cigarette out the window.
"Please don't tell him," you begged, your voice trembling.
"Why? I think he deserves to know what his little girl was doing just then," I said, feeling very happy that I had the upper hand for once.
"Boone, please…I'll….do anything," your voice was trembling hard now and your eyes were brimmed with tears.
I still don't know why you were afraid of him so much. You were daddy's princess. He wouldn't have done a damn thing to you.
"Hey, sis, chill out. I was just messing with you," I said, placing a gentle hand on your thigh.
I felt you tense under my touch, I could feel the goose bumps rise on your tanned bare legs.
"Thanks, Boone," you whispered, placing your warm hand on top of my mine.
The sun is setting in the sky now. The orange glow seems to shine on you. I see you shiver slightly, but you don't move from your spot. I watch you trace something onto the sand. I want to walk over to you, but something tells me to let you be on your own. I feel a strong tinge of jealousy when I see Sayhid glance over at you. You're mine; I won't let anyone else have you.
I remember one time in the summer, when we were out by the pool. You were in a too small pink bikini, lying out in the sun. Mom had put out a big bowl of watermelon and cherries. You loved cherries. You loved to put the juicy red fruit in between your lips and pull on the stem, making a loud popping sound.
"Boone, make yourself useful and bring me some fruit," you commanded.
You always were such a demanding little bitch. I rolled my eyes and bought over the bowl of fruit to you. You smiled and popped a cherry with your lips. You slid your Chanel sunglasses off and picked up a pieced of juicy pink watermelon.
"Open, bro," you grinned.
I parted my lips and the sweet taste entered my mouth. Some of the juice dribbled down my chin. I opened my eyes to see you wipe away the juice with a French tipped nail.
"Messy boy," you laughed.
I blushed a fiery red. Why did I have to be in love with you? You were my sister. Maybe not by blood, but you were my family now. I worshiped at your feet.
It's dark out now. A few stars are gleaming in the pitch black sky. A small fire is burning near by. You finally stand up and walk toward shore. I can see a few tears sparkle off your face.
"Shannon?" I ask, a little worried about you.
"I'm ok," you reply.
I open my arms a little and pat my lap. Everyone is asleep now, including Sayhid. I hate the way he looks at you, fucker. Everyone needs to realize that you belong to me. I watch how you quickly glance around to make sure no one is looking before you cuddle your slender frame into my lap. My fingers stroke your soft blonde strands.
It hurts how you pretend that nothing happened between us. But yet, I'm not surprised. You tended to push things into the dark corners of your mind. Your head rests against my chest.
"I can hear your heart," you whisper, before closing your eyes.
I can hear yours too. I can feel it pound. I can feel the blood rushing through your veins. I know you better than anyone else. Never forget that.