Those unlockable artworks in the remakes are so inspiring and useful for references, aren't they? Mutatis mutandis, let's just pretend there's a darts board in the place of the deer's head, ok? Oh, and a restroom.
Don't you worry, this is not going to be another playlist chapter, so please don't mind the main title, it's older than its content.
WARNING: some mean girls dynamics ahead. Because yes, people can be mean and bitchy no matter their gender.
It's a long chapter, but I humbly think it's worth the reading time. Promise me, that when you'll have finished it you'll tell me if I was right.
Chapter 21 – November Rain
Part 1 – Indian Summer
Saint... Martin? Was it the right saint? Saint Martin's Summer?
Chris couldn't quite recall the name Claire's geography teacher had pronounced during one of those many times the young woman departed from the chart hung on the wall to digress to some anthropological curiosities about other cultures. The boy had a blurred memory of that somewhere in Europe maybe, the unseasonably warm weather occurring in November known as Indian Summer was called differently, but he failed to recall even the countries Miss Harper had listed. In retrospect, it had been quite a month since he'd almost fallen asleep on fake Claire's desk because of the tedious tales of Harper's overseas travels anecdotes, so no wonder he forgot.
Not that remembering it mattered by any means. The temperature was too warm and the sky too sheer for an autumnal Sunday. That was a deadass fact. Nice weather had blessed those past few days with some of the sunniest of the season. Chris lowered the windowpane and rested his elbow on it. Tsk! Even the air in the cockpit was cooler than the one outside.
He killed the engine and waited for the front door of his house to fly open and his sister to appear. Gimme fifteen more minutes, she had said like half an hour before. When he had had enough of constantly shuttling between the kitchen and the living room, he had preferred to wait for her inside his car. A little spitefully, he had driven out of the garage and parked on the sidewalk opposite his front lawn, so, had she unluckily been still in the bathroom, she'd have noticed how damn much she was making him wait.
Not that the waiting was unpleasant though.
To exit the confines of his home not to return before late at night was kind of liberating. Sure, he still sensed a thousand eyes locked on him and three thousand pairs of ears listening covertly, but to go outside that evening was calming him down. He could feel the tension risen in his limbs relent with every inch his car advanced in the street. As though some benevolent soul had allowed a little rest to the wires of a violin kept in extreme tension for too long, while the fiddlestick had grinded them on a single, everlasting, acute note of a suspense. A permanent feeling of imminent catastrophe, near to collapse upon him, that he carried in his heart.
Maybe he had reached total saturation and simply needed to let off steam – like a boiler – and he could afford no more explosions in his life.
That sense of liberation was a palliative, not much more, and the poor guy had no idea how ominous it was. He'd have better read the warning signs. He ought to have mistrusted that feeling of wholesomeness. Why was he feeling so good if she wasn't even there? It was an illusion. He knew he wasn't really free. All the chains were still grinding him.
But it was a nice illusion.
Chris adjusted his imponent frame in the driver's seat, reclined his nape on the headrest and glanced at his house and… pretended it wasn't his own. In those last few days he had wished it so hard, so often. To not live in there, to be elsewhere, to have a place on his own where to love his sister in complete freedom. He had never really admitted it to himself but his heart, whom he pretended not to hear, wished he hadn't been born a Redfield in the first place. Chris couldn't have stood such a thought though. By no means he'd repudiate either their family name or their siblinghood, for no other lovers in the whole world would've ever got the same connection they shared.
She was meant to be his, by birth right, by blood.
Still, hadn't they been siblings, to sneak into her house by night would've had a whole different taste: the pure honeyed spiciness of transgression and the crisp frivolity of making the most of the best years of their lives. Instead, he was a Redfield and couldn't change that, and the zest flavour of criminal attitudes was evermore ruined by the acrid one of fear.
But now, inside his car, there was another taste on the rise. A taste of candy, of fruity punch, of youth so mellow and fresh he was almost salivating. And it was all condensed in that stretching moment of solitude. As if his tongue was just reawakening from a night of drought.
That situation tasted too much like a date to dislike it in any way. There was him, the boy, waiting for his girl in the car, to take her out – no, no, better: to take her to the prom! Yeah, Chris could almost see it! Claire would've walked to him in her prom gown and he'd have given her that flowery thing girls love to lace at their wrists, and he'd have been her date for the night and danced and skinny dipped in someone else's swimming pool and fucked the night away somewhere he'd never brought anyone before – and most importantly somewhere he didn't have to fear his own sighs of need and to watch his back instead of watching only her creamy one!
Oh, what a daydream!
Chris licked his lips and glanced down on himself, picturing his sister's bobbing head between his muscular thighs on that very seat – the flowery thingy tied around his erection. A crooked smirk embellished his face like anytime it was about blowjobs. But it wasn't meant to last long.
The front door clicked closed and his jaw literally dropped.
Flawless.
Claire hastily galloped down the few steps and across the narrow cobblestone path, with a mixture of apologizing embarrassment and a bothered frown on her face but she was simply flawless in her cute, little, one-shoulder, fleecy but shape-suiting dress and short heels. Chris's eyes locked on her body and, raptured, they devoured all her movements, every sway of her hips and of her auburn, wavy hair that she, exceptionally, kept down, untied, combed on one side to leave her neck and ear uncovered, highlighting the perfect line of her cheekbone and delicate bare shoulder. She was stunning.
May Saint Martin really bless that fake summer for it was warm enough for her to go around with no tights!
"Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!" She jabbered, getting in the car and tugging down the hem of her dress as she sat down in the passenger seat.
Chris was unable to articulate a single sound. He just kept staring at her as if she were a goddess fallen on Earth. Only when she turned to apologetically smile at him, he noticed she was wearing a flaming red lipstick. He had been too focused on admiring her shape and wondering whether she was wearing or not a bra to acknowledge all the efforts she'd put in her make-up.
"Sorry it took me so long. I just couldn't get the hairstyle good." She whined to the sun visor's little mirror and huffed, unceremoniously shutting it closed. "My hair's a mess."
"You're a masterpiece." He managed to mutter.
Claire loved hearing that every time like the first time. And like the first time, she'd bashfully grin and blush. Something in his voice always made her cheeks fire up any time he talked and stared at her like that.
"Thank you." She said and neatly folded and sleeked her coat above her legs.
"And your hair is perfect. Just like you are." He said softly, grazing her cheek with just two fingers not to ruin her makeup.
Now Claire was totally blushing. Her brother knew how to speak to a girl to make her feel special. "Thank you. You look great too!"
As woken up from his adoration, he cackled in response to her compliment. "If you told me you'd have dressed up, I didn't show up in just this." He said pointing at his dark cashmere V-neck pullover and jeans.
"Dressed up?!" Claire scoffed, looking down at her fleecy, loose dress. "It's just a casual dress!"
"I never saw it before." Chris mumbled, taking advantage of talking about clothes to keep leering at her from head to toe and back. "Otherwise I'd have tried it just to see you looking this hot."
"Well, if you didn't care only about the panties drawer, you'd have noticed it hanging in my closet!" She amusedly laughed and he felt like time had shifted forward straight to the brightest real summer all of a sudden.
He was so in love. He loved everything. Especially that small talk before driving over to the pub. It was really like picking up his date and she was his real-life daydream.
Only one thing was missing to complete the perfect date.
He couldn't kiss her right there, in the car, in front of her house, before heading off. Because it was his house too.
Small detail wholly crashed by all the rest.
He really pondered to kiss her right there though. The temptation was growing strong and pushing him towards her. Let neighbours and parents watch and judge, who gives a shit? His father would've killed him on the spot but he'd have died happy. For the mouth of the woman he loved. Is there in the world a better, worthiest death? Chris didn't think so.
"Argh…" He sighed under his breath and shook his head as he drew back on his seat.
"What?" she laughed.
"I should've rubbed one out." He gruffed, winking at her as he adjusted the crotch of his jeans. "You're too sexy to handle, tonight."
Part 2 – Jack's Bar
The second bright side of the Indian Summer, aside from letting girls shorten their skirts, was that it had pushed half of the population out of their houses after the rainy and uncertain weather that had raged until a few days before had locked them all in. The negative side was that half city had made a dash to downtown.
Parking the car was a big fucking challenge.
Claire's perfectionism in getting ready had already cost them a twenty-minute lateness and, when the siblings finally got to see the luminous sign of Jack Bar, they were catastrophically late. Like forty minutes late. Unacceptable! Kevin had said he'd reserved a table just for all of them, so Chris hadn't to worry about having to spend the night standing up, but to be "the last one showing up" kinda bothered him. Piers and Piers only got dibs on that title!
Chris gently grabbed Claire's hand and used his bulky mass to make room for them in the crowd and through the bar's blue double door. His intimidating hard-set brow was to people like Moses was to the Red Sea. To be taller than the average height of those teens hardly being in the age of staying out past 8 p.m., had its advantages. With a brief glance through the teeming room, he immediately spotted his friends – and, as far as he could see, Piers wasn't there. Good! His and his friend's reputations were safe!
"Let's go, baby." He said, tightening his hold around her hand to chivalrously carry her to their table.
That group date at Chris's gang's favourite bar had been Kevin's idea. The boy wanted to introduce his friends to his new girlfriend, taking advantage of having her in Raccoon City for once. The boy had largely pleaded with the other guys to please bring some girls so Pamela – that was her name – wouldn't have felt too uncomfortable or disoriented by so many new faces (and dumb dudes). Much to Ryman's delight, Leon had showed up with that pretty, delicious brunette who had impressed everyone at the drinking game and Carlos had somehow managed to drag Sheva into a situation she couldn't care less about – no one would've ever discovered how he had achieved coaxing her into it, the boy simply got some wicked talent.
Even though their favours turned out completely useless as Pamela had… come already geared up on her own!
For the whole afternoon, in fact, Ryman had had to haul around with them none less than Pamela's "bestie". Like everywhere. There were the three of them: him, his girl and this five-foot-three third wheel made of boobs, ass, cakey foundation and provocation called Jessica Shana… Shera… Sherawhat? Jessica Sherawhatever. He didn't care to take note of her name as, after only ten minutes with her, he was already "Sherawated out" and wanted to run away from her unbearable persona, as much protrusive as shallow, stuck-up and snobby. That had to be his Sunday with his girl after a whole week of separation, instead, it had been… ugh, exhausting. And things had even worsened when his friends had arrived, as the curvaceous girl had made a good show of her annoying personality, attracting almost all attention on her.
Basically, his lovely girlfriend was besties with a scene queen. He'd never understand why Pamela was so fond of her.
Anyway, it was with Chris's arrival that the girl stopped lowly whining with Pamela about the total lack of single guys at their table. At the very first sight of the big guy, Jessica seemed to shut up for a while and such rarity immediately caught the attention of Rebecca who had been observing the stranger girl since they'd first met. Becky hadn't liked at all the way she winked at Leon, nor how she lasciviously combed her hair while talking – flirting – with him.
A rapacious, predatory expression rose on the busty girl's face. The sexed-up smirk confirmed that the chicken hawk had pinpointed her prey. And this was not good. No way.
"Sorry, guys." Chris shook his head. "We had to fucking cross two state lines to find a spot!" The tall boy apologized as he waved at his friends in his typical warm manner and, pulling Claire by the hand a little closer, he added "…and my girl here thinks she needs hours to get ready to go out."
Oh, had he really said that? How curious! Had he called her his girl in front of everybody? Oh, yeah. He had. And he'd be called a liar if he said he hadn't utterly loved it. Yes, his girl. He loved treating her like his girl, he loved calling her his girl just as much as he loved her. That night he was taking their old play to a whole new level. Not only weren't they forced inside the screens of their phones nor in the ambivalent walls of their house anymore, but their forbidden game was even brought outside it, to be played publicly.
That game had never been so dangerous.
He was so lost in his love that he didn't even acknowledge that he had to be fucking grateful that everyone simply mistook his moment of thoughtlessness for sarcasm. His sister included.
"Sorry if I wanted to look pretty tonight!" Claire mockingly reposted, faking an offended pout, even if she was simply happy to see Chris being the same old funny dumbass. She hadn't seen him that laid-back and cheerful in a long time and she'd missed this self of him so bad.
"You always do look beautiful…" …baby. Chris almost bit his tongue. That was close! To call her his girl was even almost alright, but to call her baby… He couldn't call her like that. Baby was their pet name, the sweet word they called each other while getting intimate or making love… he shouldn't – and couldn't – use it in such a context! But he wanted it. His mind almost shrieked it inside his skull. He craved so bad to fucking scream out loud how damn much he loved her and how painfully she was killing him with her stunning body that night.
Kevin enthusiastically introduced them to Pamela and, sighing, he bluntly waved in Jessica's direction who lost no time in stepping onwards, enlivened by the words "…and his sister, Claire". She and her abundant cleavage were kinda introduced by themselves, coming off as obnoxious and haughty as anything but Kevin didn't expect any less from her. Despite all her efforts in making an impression on Chris, Jessica was going to be downright invisible to his eyes. He barely acknowledged her presence as inebriated as he was of Claire's scent, that filled his nostrils and mind, trumping the frowzy air of the overcrowded bar.
Being the guys habitual customers, the young bartenders knew well that they were all underage for drinking, so Chris's warm and deep voice and mature appearance would've been to no avail to procure them some beers. So alcohol-free night was! And that explains why Piers was missing! The dude was surely getting bombed somewhere else.
Notwithstanding Jessica's presence and all those fruit juices, the night proceeded among general mirth and laughter. To recount bad and wacky stories about Kevin's past that Pamela had absolutely to know was too fun not to have the time of their lives. As everyone was focused on listening to Carlos telling about that time Ryman pissed himself in sixth grade, Chris absently draped his hand over his sister's bare shoulder. Maybe Indian summer wasn't that warm after all, as he sensed her skin chilly under his touch. Out of instinct, out of love, he began to stroke it to gently warm her up. Inadvertedly, what had started as a simple thumbing evolved to become a real slight massage.
As she leaned in closer to listen better to Carlos's masterful storytelling and mimicking, her floral scent returned to tickle his nose and libido. The more he sucked it in, the more he got sucked into it, enchanted. Chris let the pleasant torpor her smooth skin enticed within him to cradle him into a peace of mind.
But a cold shower, icy like the eyes that casted the jet, came to brusquely reawaken him.
A short glance at the guy sitting across from him, was all it took Chris to notice that Leon's look was locked on that innocent touch that so much well-being was bestowing upon him.
Suddenly, all the worries rolled in and assaulted him back and that table soon became too narrow and the two biggest-snoopers-in-the-whole-world' faces too close to keep calm. So close that the boy feared they could read right through his pupils all the hustle sloshing inside him.
It seemed to Chris to be hurled back into the walls of his house, with all that load of anxiety. But, if on one hand, those last days had undermined his serenity, on the other, he'd got pretty skilled into dealing with it and, although he failed to annihilate the devastating effects it had on his mind, at least he'd reduced the collateral damages.
Alike he'd had to do many times in front of his parents when he feared he'd stared at Claire's ass for too long and too intensely, Chris took a grip on himself and returned to pretend to listen to Kevin's whines and Pamela's amused laughs, making absolutely no movements that could reveal he knew he had been caught red-handed.
Slowly, feigning a nonchalance he hadn't and taking advantage of a convulsing laugh of Claire, he slid his hand off her shoulder and down her back to take shelter from Kennedy's bothering and persistent look.
Now Leon had no more reasons to stare at him (and her), to judge him (and her), to unmask him (and her). Chris could relax again… if only now he hadn't the downright certainty that Claire was wearing absolutely no bra under that breath-stopping dress.
The big boy could only hope that the turned-on heat plastered all over his face wasn't too evident.
Sitting on the wall-long, olive-green couch across from the two siblings, whilst everyone was still cracking up in a loud guffaw, Leon hid his serious pout into his glass, trying to gulp down some bitter thoughts along with that liquid "ew" of a juice.
Never ever again grapefruit. It tastes like rancid fuel and turns your tongue into a rag of sandpaper.
But the juice was the lesser of his concerns right then. A mute, implicit exchange of short-lived looks had spoken volumes about Leon's and Chris's own inner thoughts and dynamics going on between them. Even though their communication was the farthest from being honest. Not that Leon hadn't tried to but Chris wasn't prone to share his secret ever in life. The younger boy was aware that there was some "unseizable" something regarding Chris that kept slipping his ken. He suspected there was more than the incredible story of the body swap messing with his best friend's sanity but he'd never get to know it as long as Chris was an unpierceable wall of discretion.
Nevertheless, if heat radiations can escape fucking black holes, involuntary details escaped Chris's obsessive control. And they were all caught by Leon's attention.
Chris could hide his hand as much as he liked but the message had been delivered by then. Straight at the recipient's face.
"Steer clear from my sister."
Leon was more than certain that was the meaning behind Chris's demeanour. His whole body language was all about constantly reaffirming to everyone on that bar to stay away from Claire if they didn't want to risk that his big hand – so delicate upon her – would painfully smash onto their mouths, scattering cracked teeth and broken jaws all around.
Leon also knew that Chris had caught him staring with judgemental eyes under furrowed brows what, for both, was anything but a normal, meaningless act of affection. To Chris it was a way to feel under his palm the skin he was so hungry of and appease his appetite, while waiting to slither underneath it with his rocky manhood and possess her in some squalid alley later that same night, whereas to Leon it was just stupid possessiveness and a passive-aggressive way to underline it.
But Leon's frown went beyond those trite considerations.
It wasn't only – simply – a matter of jealousy towards a guy who had proved – but never overtly admitted – he had some interest in his sister. Leon could bear Chris's bullshit under that point of view and shake it off easily. There was something more worrying him.
Sitting right beside Chris there was a girl who, although not being the brightest crayon in the box in terms of composure and elegance, she was surely to be considered a deadass knockout. And it just so happened that she was bending over backwards to be noticed by the buff guy. She was all winks, smiles, squeezing boobs and rubs on him anytime she overly hee-hawed but he did nothing. Nothing! He didn't seem to even see her.
It wasn't like Chris. He'd always had a knack on spotting good lays and seizing what the day had to offer. Even though, lately, he hadn't been like that too often.
Leon had been a real jackass in putting so much hope in that girl the very moment Kevin had introduced her. The blond's smile with which he had returned the stranger's "Hi, handsome!" only got him a dirty look from Rebecca – to which he deftly remedied with a pair of passionate French kisses – but it was never satisfied.
What the hell does a friend have to do to remind Chris he has a hell of a dick between his legs?
Leon downed another long sip and almost envied Piers who had preferred to go hitting the bottle in some gay bar with more flexible policies before joining them. At Jack Bar Leon couldn't even try to get Chris bombed. Alcohol had proved to have some effect on his… relational apathy a week before during the drinking game. The kiss the big guy had smacked onto Jill's mouth had been something!
Yeah... Jill... Valentine...
In the following days Leon had tried to question his friend about what his angle with the pretty Valentine was, cherishing in his heart the hope that Chris had simply fallen in love with the girl while he'd had to pretend to be Claire. Maybe that little accident concerning showers that Becky had recounted to him on their way home from the Redfield's back on Tuesday, had only complicated things between them two, and Chris was willing to put it right. Chris may have been amoral with his very first girlfriend Sherry but sure as hell one couldn't say Chris loved promiscuity when it came to serious relationships. Monogamy and loyalty would've been some perfect words in his calling card. And girls loved this trait of him, his complete faithfulness and devotion made them all feel special even if it was nothing more than a summer-long romance destined to be forgotten by Christmas. A lovestruck Chris was the perfectly fitting explanation in his recent total lack of interest in girls. When he was in love with a girl, all the rest of the female fauna simply faded away from his sight.
But the tone in which Chris had confessed that he feared he had somehow deluded Jill had been more than enough to crash even that theory.
Much to his disappointment, Leon had to lastly admit that Chris wasn't in love, even though he looked like it. And he was immune to female's appeal, even though he'd always been a sucker for girls. So... what the hell had happened to him? The more Leon reasoned, the more that riddle seemed to be unsolvable.
Was it... was it ever possible that... No. No, Leon utterly refused to believe that a bunch of weeks inside a girl's body could've downright fucked up Chris's mind.
Sexuality doesn't work that way! It goes beyond it, it does not fucking depend on the body you're in! Right? Right!
Still... what if shit like hormones or neutrinos or fucking devil machines had left some kind of mark in him? After all he (and, oh God, Claire too) had been through a hell of a traumatic experience! What if not everything had returned back in its place? Yeah, maybe sexuality is not affected by the gender of your body but who says that a body swap cannot change it?
If, on one hand, nobody has ever experienced such a thing therefore nobody can confute it, on the other hand nobody can either affirm so. What if Leon's surreal theory was true and Claire had been changed too and now she wasn't any more interested in guys? Then he'd never ge-… Leon cursed himself. He was really going off at a tangent now!
Oh, fuck off!
Leon remembered he was in that bar to have some fun, do Kevin a favour and spend some time with Rebecca. He had plenty of reasons not to give a shit about Chris's issues – that, to be fair, were none of his business in the end, he couldn't and shouldn't care less.
But he had one reason to do otherwise.
A reason that trumped any other.
That big hand, so oppressively glued upon Claire's shoulder was still too vividly impressed on his mind. Chris was suffocating her. Leon was sure about that.
Just like he was sure that Claire would've minimized and told him that she was trying to give her brother as much support as she could to let him heal.
Fuck. Off.
Shaking his head, Leon took his glass under the tabletop and extracted the only memory of his Dad he didn't want to get rid of: a flat whiskey flask Leon carried in his leather jacket's inner pocket.
Fuck off. He'll ruin her life.
Leon poured an abundant part of it into his glass – Tennessee celebrated whiskey couldn't certainly worsen his drink any more.
Part 3 – Codes n'Roses
That was a couples' night.
One was spoilt for choice for how many different kinds of couples were available. Newly formed couples, more veteran ones, secret couples and couples that had absolutely not to ever happen. Among all of them though, one couple in particular, without being conscious of that, seemed to be made for each other for how much chemistry there was between them.
The girl, with her unbridled passion for portmanteaux, had unofficially renamed themselves Rebeleon and she was so proud of how cool and badass it sounded that she almost proposed the other half to print it on a shirt and go around with matching outfits – hadn't it been such a stupid, Sheva-like thing to do. Anyway, Rebeleon was a helluva nickname for two partners-in-secret-missions, lovers and friends like them!
That night, Rebeleon, as the skilled observers they were, didn't miss to notice some dynamics. Unfortunately, although really well-knit, they still weren't on the same wavelength and gave wompletely different interpretations.
If Leon had put so many hopes in Jessica and wished that Chris took the opportunity with both hands and finally remembered he was a man and other girls existed besides his sister, Rebecca instead was utterly riled. Beside Chris ought to have been sitting Jill! Maybe Chris wouldn't have looked at her either (and sure Jill wouldn't have given him the time of day) but at least the overall decency would've benefitted.
Rebecca missed none of Chris and Jessica's interactions (if one could be call it like that). She knew she had to be ready to intervene as soon as the stranger would've started to have some chances to be boned by Chris – after all, that's what the girl was asking for, pretentiously! Rebecca also knew that she should've paid some more attention to Leon but, apparently, he was enjoying his drink so much that he wasn't complaining about the decrease of her cares. She took mental note to pack some bottles of grapefruit juice for him as a surprise gift.
Moreover, Leon was totally by her side about the not-yet-love affair officially named "code: Valentine". Both hoped for a happy ending, out of affection towards their respective friends. Differently from Leon though, Rebecca was ready to take action as the good best friend she was.
As soon as the conversation regarding football seemed to stabilize, Rebecca asked Claire to carry her to the bathroom, conveying the utmost importance of their meeting with a little kick straight to her friend's shin.
No, she was definitely not wanting to play footsie! That was an emergency! Claire couldn't refuse!
To Leon's greatest satisfaction, the two girls stood up and briefly excused themselves. Oh, Rebecca had had a tremendous idea, the boy thought. So Chris could get the chance to look around and take note of the sea of pussy that surrounded him, whilst Claire… she'd have been freed from his obsession for a while.
Good job, Becky!
"Claire, we got a code Jessic-hoe!" Rebecca stated as soon as the ladies' restroom's door shut closed.
"A what?" Claire chuckled, remindful of Becky's passion for spy movies.
Rebecca crossed her arms and gave her a dirty look through squinted eyes as to warn her not to play dumb with her. That Sherawho was too much… "too much" to believe that Claire hadn't noticed how desperately she was trying to hook up with her brother. Before Claire's dismissive smile, Rebecca huffed and whined. "Oh, but why did Pamela even bring her? Jesus, does she need a babysitter at her age?"
"Oh, c'mon, B!" Claire said. "Pamela had no clue of what to expect, maybe she just feared she'd feel alone with so many strangers around…"
"But there's Kevin! Her bo-y-friend!" Rebecca reposted, clapping her hands rhythmically.
"Yeah but… you know, we're all kinda friends…"
"We gotta keep an eye on her…" Rebecca continued, ignoring Claire's attempt to justify the unjustifiable. "…and terminate the threat before Chris capitulates."
"Capitulates? Terminate?!" Claire gushed, widening her eyes while she strived to hold back a belly laugh. "Do you listen to yourself when you talk? You sound like the Godfather!"
Rebecca snorted and looked away. Mob's ways began to appeal to her suddenly. Yeah, a pair of concrete shoes would've suited Jessica so well for a one-way stroll down the riverside.
"Anyway, whatcha gonna even do?! Alright, she's a… she's a little exuberant…" Claire shrugged and ignored her friend's scoffing huff at that last word. "She's not harassing him or something. And believe me, Chris gets harassed a lot!" Claire laughed, remindful of times like at Carlos's party when she had to dodge girls as it rained. "Jessica's doing nothing bad."
"NOTHING BAD?!" Rebecca squealed. She immediately put herself together before all customers and waiters would hear her curse. "Nothing bad my ass! She is motherfucking flirting with Chris! We gotta intervene before that cosmic pussy magnet of your brother would bang her right, over, there!" Rebecca yelled, accusingly pointing a finger towards a bathroom stall with so much determination that even the ceramic toilet somehow felt guilty for whatsoever.
"Oh, you're tripping right now!" Claire said, with a confidence that was mistaken as an attempt to minimize Becky's concern. But Claire, unlike Rebecca, knew that if there was a girl in that bar that risked being fucked by Chris in that microscopic bathroom it was surely herself. No one else.
"Claire. Darling." Rebecca solemnly uttered. "As friends we have the supreme duty to keep Jill's future boyfriend away from all the hookers out there!"
"Hookers?!" Claire almost choked on her own laugh. "Becca! Where's your feminism gone?!"
"I sent it on vacation the very moment the bitch in a tube skirt winked at Leon the first time." Rebecca bluntly replied planting a fist on her hip, not withdrawing from her combatant tone.
"Oh, now it makes sense! Someone's jealous here!" Claire winked suggestively.
"Oh stop it." Rebecca snorted. "You know I don't work that way."
Claire hopped backwards to sit on the washbasin cabinet."Jill would've already killed you if you called Chris her boyfriend in her presence!" She laughed as she adjusted the loose neck of her dress around her naked shoulder.
"Maybe you're right, but it won't be like that for so long."
"What do you mean?"
Claire's perplexity didn't bother to hide from her face.
After Tuesday's outburst, in fact, Jill had become even sharper in her rejection towards Chris. She didn't even want to hear his name being spelled. Not even by mistake. She even hardly tolerated "your brother" when the girls talked with Claire. At the bus stop she'd always turn away as soon as Claire and Chris appeared in the distance and, if they ever were to come across each other in the school's hallways, she'd always give him a cold shoulder, colder than the ice in her grey eyes. Chris's looks at the cafeteria had become total taboo. And if this last thing had some welcomed advantages for Claire, the red-haired really failed to imagine how her dearest friend would overcome the trauma.
Because it was a trauma.
Claire felt so tremendously guilty for that. She should've managed the whole thing better. She could've avoided reminding Jill of the scrub accident in the first place. She should've talked with Chris before and prepared him to deal with the necessary and inevitable confrontation – and hopefully avoid those shitty replies of him.
She could've been a better friend.
"Oh, it's just a matter of time, trust me." Rebecca replied.
"Dunno…" Claire murmured. "She seems still too upset."
"Oh, it'll pass." Rebecca shrugged. "And when she'll let it go, Chris will surely be ready for a romance again!"
"What makes you think so?"
"He can't stay single forever! Sooner or later he'll feel like having a girl, right?" Rebecca replied convincingly. "Do I have to remind you that before the switch crap Chris was definitely reaaally into girls?"
"You're right but…"
"And he's still one of the most wanted boys in the school!" Rebecca mumbled, trailing off. In hindsight, Chris wasn't only to be protected from Jessica, but also from all the Sherawhores out there – dang, Chambers! Watch your tongue! "Fuck, Jill. Just make it snappy!" She sighed under her breath.
"But you can't force him to feel something for Jill…" Claire muttered, saddening.
"Unfortunately I can't control minds…" Rebecca joked. "But I suggested that he keeps it friendly, you know?" The girl continued, possessed by her wild, passionate, nerdy enthusiasm. "Think about it! To an emotionally retarded chick like Jill, a fuck buddy is the perfect solution!" She evilly laughed and pirouetted in the small room, rubbing her hands as to foretaste a victory she was never to get. "Yes! Yesss! They'll start with sex but a tender big bear like him will surely fall in love, I can bet my life on it!"
Rebecca couldn't know nor guess it, but her words had triggered a time bomb.
Claire hardly curbed a gasp. A sense of inner alarm almost got to shush her but, with a mere whisper, Claire managed to ask what was obsessing her. "And what did he answer?"
No way Claire would've accepted that eyeroll as an answer! Her big, round, blue eyes insistently questioned Rebecca until she stopped snorting in scorn.
"Oh, he just said that he doesn't want to give her false hope. Whatever that means." The brunette air-quoted, badly imitating Chris's gruff voice. "No offense, but your bro is a retard. He only has to give her some of his dick! Tsk! False hope!" She snickered, certain that Claire would join her in such hilarity. But it didn't happen.
Claire was pensive, she looked almost worried. She was slowly sinking back into obscurity. What did that sentence mean? And why suddenly her chest was aching? Was panic striking back? Had Rebecca just revealed her some obscure truth they both ignored? Had she just caught a cold? She ought to have listened to her mother and worn a scarf.
Well, actually, there wasn't that much to make fun of, Rebecca thoughtfully reconsidered. Chris had seemed to be fairly sad when they had talked in the kitchen on Tuesday. Something was making him suffer in all that.
Rebecca leaned against the cabinet as well and sighed. "Something must be fucking him up, I feel it." Rebeck mumbled and before she could acknowledge it, she was saying it aloud, sure that Claire wanted to figure it all out like her. Oh, Miss Chambers, you couldn't be any more wrong! And you better shut up because you're almost causing a blast. "It's like he would even make a move on Jill but something is holding him back..."
Too late.
The fuse had been lighted.
Claire zoned out.
Rebecca didn't know all the truth, she had no idea Jill wasn't in Chris's thoughts – even lesser in his heart – but what if she was unawares right? What if Chris really wanted to be with other girls, to return normal, but she was the reason holding him back? What if she'd got him caged into something that was only hurting him? God, was it possible that she couldn't see his sorrow?
You bad girl! You only care about yourself!
Reality was blurring away from her sight and earshot. Surely it already had in her mind. Darkness was approaching, she could almost hear the clangour of its vanguard trumpets in the form of her friend's voice.
"Do you know if he's seeing anyone?" Rebecca asked, determined not to let the pity for Claire's saddening face stop her.
"What?" Claire barely whispered, uncertain whether someone had talked or not.
"C'mon! No straight guy under ninety-years-old with a healthy penis would remain indifferent before a wet and naked Jill!" Rebecca winked, full of pride for her friend's breath-stopping body. "If Chris isn't interested in someone like Jill, especially after that helluva shower, it can only mean someone else's already on his mind!"
Much like Leon, Rebecca was right in her intuition but completely wrong in the meaning of it and totally oblivious of the truth behind it. And she may have just delivered the final blow to Claire's stomach.
"…"
Rebecca sucked in a gasp of awe. "Oh my… Gawd!" She gasped, almost running out of air. "Who is she?!"
Someone, somewhere, must've loved Claire for exactly that moment, Sheva entered the bathroom, giving the red-haired the perfect excuse to dodge the question. Temporarily.
"She who?" Sheva bluntly asked, unable to conceal the boredom that had assaulted her that night.
"Oh, the girl whom Chris is in love with!" Rebecca exclaimed, still shocked but happy to have a new pair of ears to worry with her zealous alacrity.
"He's… not… in love…" Claire fumbled as the ache in her chest became sharper and began to bite her cardia, threatening to make her spit all the orange juice she'd sipped so far.
He can't ever be. Not as long as I... keep him...
Claire leapt down the cabinet and turned, more to cling to its edge and hide her face from her friends' eyes than to actually wash her hands like she was doing on autopilot. Her head was spinning, her stomach twitching, her heart maddening.
Hadn't she been so sure about what she'd ordered and what she'd drunk, she could suspect someone had spiked her drink at her back.
Maybe with some poison.
Maybe she was going to die.
She was surely gon'… STOP!
Claire wringed her eyelids and shook her head. Sheva's and Rebecca's voices who, in the meantime were basking in bad mouthing about the girl with the improbable name, faded away completely. They were replaced by the dreadful pounding of her own heartbeats. Claire had to appeal to all her strengths to suppress a panic attack without them to notice.
Not now Claire.
She had to calm down before she'd start sweating cold and shiver, before her trembling would've gotten her collapsed on the floor on weak knees.
Fight it.
Like a tribal drumming chasing her, the pounding rose. Why were the walls phagocytizing her?
Dammit, fight it!
Her lungs' loyalty defaulted. She couldn't gasp for air, not with the girls around. She needed a grip.
Fight it for Chris!
She managed to take a longer breath.
Do it for him, Claire.
Oh, another breath! It was working, miraculously.
Don't get him worried. He looks so fine tonight.
It was like gulping down a bolus of acid but, somehow, she got to repress her malaise. With a slow fade-in, as her sight cleared, the voices returned to colour her world too.
"…you mean that double d's in a mini skirt?" Sheva prickly said. "She tried a move on my Carlos, you know?"
"No way!"
"I made sure she knows who's the boss round here." Sheva snapped her fingers in the air to underline all her bossiness. "Carlos's got only one bitch, gurl! And it's me!"
"Totally with you honey, but she kinda targeted Chris right now." Rebecca whined, sinking back in her frustration after the jaw-dropping disconcert.
"Oh, she doesn't stand a chance with him!" Sheva dismissively shrugged, turning her attention to the nearby mirror to check her lipstick.
"I hope so!" Rebecca sighed.
"Take it easy, he's not even watching her. That guy is made of stone!"
Claire needed a moment to breathe. She had managed to avert the worst, but she still felt bad. She needed to shift her mood, perhaps a change in the subject would've done her good. "How come you're here, Sheva? Isn't Carlos needing your tentacles around him?" she mocked, feigning an amusement she hadn't.
Sheva stuck her tongue out. Rebecca chuckled into her palm.
"By the way, we can't mass-desert the table!" Claire mumbled.
"Easy, Sis. They won't even notice we're missing." Sheva said, sighing in utter boredom. "As Piers arrived, they all set to have a darts tournament!"
"Well, we must go then!" Rebecca exhorted. "We can't let boys believe they stand a chance in darts!"
"Well said, B!" Claire unconvincingly agreed. Anything to leave that suffocating small bathroom as soon as possible. Those walls seemed to begin again to crash onto her and she didn't want to be there when the roof would come down to squeeze her… like a sandwich!
The tournament had hardly started and they were already arguing over the score.
"Since when do you think you know how to count, Kennedy?"
"Since my grades are better than yours, Oliveira."
"Big talk coming from an tenth-grader! When you'll be a Senior like me we'll discuss it again, Mr Sixteen and ignorant!"
"Whoa, whoa, hold your horses, girls!" Piers intervened, stumbling a little on his feet. "No catfights allowed when His Majesty's singing!" He said, pointing a finger to the roof and closing his eyes in a delighted expression, dancing to Axl Rose's falsetto.
"Hell yeah!" Carlos hollered. "Paradise City's the best!"
"Shut up, Macho Man!" Kevin yelled, while looping an arm around Pam's neck and fiddling with the dart in his hand. "Nothing tops Knocking on Heaven's Door!"
"Please! That's not even theirs! Covers don't count!" Pamela scoffed and everyone but her boyfriend looked at her in awe. "What? I love'em!"
"Then which do you think is the best Guns' song?" Piers cautiously asked, squinting his eyes in expectation of a good answer.
"It's simple. Everything before 1991." Pamela shrugged. "November Rain only exception, of course."
Piers howled in excitement and addressed Kevin. "Wow! Hey, Buddy, she's a keeper!"
Carlos couldn't tolerate it. Sure, Pamela hadn't disagreed with him, but Paradise City, guys! C'mooon!
"Hey, Steroids!" He shouted, calling for Chris who was standing in the distance by their table – useless to say, with Jessica planted before him – just to guard it from a pair of pre-teens who seemed to have set their sights on those empty seats. "What's Guns' best song?"
Chris pulled a face at his friends and stated what to him was the obvious. "It's Rocket Queen. What else?"
"Good choice, Hot Stuff." Rebecca said remerging from the restroom and, at the sight of the insisting girl, she turned to Sheva and snarled under her breath. "Though Back off bitch fits better tonight."
Following them on the heels, Claire exited the restroom and stopped for a moment beside the counter. Half hidden by the gramophone, she glanced at Chris.
His gaze was bored, and he nodded more out of good manners than of real interest towards Jessica's insisting attentions who, standing on her toes, tried to come as closer as she could to his wide, brawny chest.
Sheva was right, Chris was totally unimpressed by the beautiful girl. He was just looking on Jessica, and it was evident that he was only waiting for…
…her.
Chris raised his look and he saw her. And his face brightened with the most enticing smile. One of those smiles able to resurrect the fucking dead from their graves but that, merely by a chance, didn't send Claire straight to the cemetery before her time.
His smile was stabbing her. Every one of his white teeth bit her sore heart.
And her faint smile was the most painful of her life.
Suddenly, a veil fell off her eyes.
She was robbing Chris of happiness. That same happiness he was pouring into his lovely smile. It was authentic but wrong.
That happiness wouldn't last long. It wasn't meant to. Rebecca was right, sooner or later Chris would've wanted someone to love by his side, a real love story. But he'd have never ever noticed it until she kept being the centre of his thoughts and, most importantly, of his desires.
Claire's heart lost a beat.
She'd felt so uneasy when he'd made her feel so misused back on Tuesday night (and often in the following nights as well) but she was doing just the same to him. Oh, no! She was doing even worse! She was caging him, like a bear at the circus. Any time, she'd use him as it suited her the most, for an all private show, and then she'd pull him by the chain her own body was, back into his jail.
A confused expression rose onto the boy's visage, progressively smothering his bright smile.
Claire...?
Noticing Chris wasn't even looking at her anymore, Jessica turned her head to glance over her shoulder at whoever decided to interpose between her and her target for the night.
Oh, yeah, the sister. Ugh, what a bore of a guy!
"Hey, Jess! C'mere! It's our turn!" Pamela shouted from somewhere in the crowd.
"Yeah." Jessica bluntly sighed in resignation and, to remind the big dumb guy what he was missing out, she added "me and my sweet ass are on the way!"
Had someone talked? Chris couldn't tell. He only knew he was nodding at Claire to come on over in his arms.
"You alright?" he murmured into her ear, lowering his big head onto her as soon as she was safe in his embrace.
"Yeah."
"You look so pale, baby." He susurrated, rubbing her bare shoulder.
"I'm fine don't worry."
Chris's raised eyebrow wasn't believing her that much.
"It's just… there are so many people…" she lied. "That's it."
It wasn't just that. She was anything but serene. Had Chris read her mind, he'd have immediately fled away with her, before the irreparable occurred. But he was too much into enjoying his deserved liberty, his social hour of freedom from anxieties and the fear to lose her to realize how his very fears were lurking in the darkness rising in her.
"Wanna go home?" he asked, looking around in the crowded room that simply ignored them and their concerns.
"No, I'm fine, really." She soothed. The last thing she wanted was to ruin the night. After those last days in which she'd had to endure his grievous jitters, unreal precautions, mood ups and downs, forcefully silent sex, she needed that spare night as well. And she was confused and… uncertain whether she wanted to go home and be alone with her confusion.
His eyebrow returned in place. Chris figured out Claire must've just had some hard times in the restroom, as usual. But her calm tone and the girls' plain faces appeased him.
Chris held her tighter on his chest and rested his chin on her crown, smiling. He began to cradle her, then to slightly sway on his feet, as if he was dancing a slow ballad. As if Sweet Child o'Mine was actually a ballad! Chris softly hummed the song against her ear, still paying attention not to hold her too intimately for such a packed room.
"…I'd hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain…" He sang low, and unawares he got pain to arouse in her closed eyes for it was the farthest romantic he could get in that situation without getting anyone to wrinkle their noses.
"I feel so good tonight." He whispered when Axl's notes became too high for his gruff voice. "I wish it'll never end…"
My love…
In his arms, Claire felt sorry for him, for herself, for stealing her brother the chance to have what every couple around them had: the right not to have to hide.
Part 4 – In the cold November rain
Saint Martin's summer never saw the next week's start.
The day after the night at Jack Bar was a good Monday of rain that caught pretty everyone off guard. Everyone had got soon so used to nice weather that only a few had an umbrella to open by the bus stop, returning from school.
Chris and Claire sought shelter under their leather jackets the best they could while running towards home under a rain that thickened with every step they took. By the time they finally stepped onto the front porch of their home, it was bucketing down like there's no tomorrow.
"Motherfucking climate change!" Chris snarled, eyes upcasted to the plumbeous sky.
"Yeah, I'm drenched!" Claire bemoaned.
The rain was hammering the blue slate tiles above their heads with violence and flailed the evergreen hedge. The cobblestone path soon began to resemble a shallow creek, its sides clogging with fallen leaves piled there by the stream.
Whilst fumbling for the keys in her bag, Claire looked around and breathed in deeply, filling her lungs with the sharp odour of petrichor. She prayed the weather wouldn't replicate the awful tempest that had pounded the City around Halloween days. She'd already had to spend the whole previous night up, unable to rest because of her guilty, self-blaming, terrified thoughts, now she'd really spare herself a new wave of thunders-and-lightnings panic assault!
As soon as they got in, the girl lost no time in throwing her keys and bag onto the narrow counter in the entryway and ran upstairs to dry up before she'd get a cold or a headache because of her wet clothes and hair. Moreover, the hairdryer buzz might've smothered the thunders' shrieks…
Chris carefully wiped the drops fallen onto the wooden tiles and announced his mother they were home.
Lily's delightful voice he expected to hear never resounded in the muffled rumble of the outside rain.
"Mom?" Chris called, glancing at the living room and then peering at the dining room, but there was no trace of his mother.
Instead of her, he found a yellow note stuck onto the fridge.
I'm at Aunt Serena's. Riley's got her first colic (heart). I'll be home around dinner time WITH dinner. Mexican tonight. Yummy! Mom
Chris had barely the time to read the night's menu idea that his feet were already gracelessly dashing towards the stairs.
With only her lacey underwear on, Claire tamponed her ponytail with a towel. It was way drier than she expected and she was going to put the unused hairdryer away when the bathroom door was thrusted open making her jolt in fright.
With beastly impetus and inflamed grin, Chris abruptly rolled in, grabbed her by her hips, tilted her up and shoved her onto his shoulder like a sac of potatoes. It was like witnessing the reenact of a prehistoric wedding.
"Chris!" Claire squealed, suddenly finding herself almost upside-down, six feet from the ground. "The fuck you doing?"
"You and me. In the closet. Now!" Chris hollered, kicking Girly Room's door open and breaking into it with virile ardour.
"Chris, no… wait. Put me down!" Claire yelped striving to shift upright or, at least, to wiggle in her brother's steady grip.
"Don't fret, baby. Mom's not home." He said, pushing the pearl strings aside and stepping into Claire's walk-in closet, not before having flicked the pink neon lights' switch on. "We're alone!"
Home alone. What a dream come fucking true!
Last night, her headache had kept them parted and he'd had to settle for a good old wank to her photos in the loneliness of his Cave. But today... today they had free rein.
Claire's feet only touched the ground again when Chris put her down into the closet, right opposite the wall-wide mirror. Before she could attempt to renovate her request to please stop, his fleshy lips were one with hers. He held her head with both hands and kissed her so tenderly that Claire's knees almost turned weak.
Now, Chris wasn't the guy to kiss a girl keeping his eyes open. Definitely not. Recently, though, he'd had to start opening them every now and then to check their surroundings just to make sure no one was coming around and to be sure he wasn't completely detaching from reality when getting lost in her. On that afternoon, instead, he was keeping his eyes wide open for a whole different purpose.
To watch his reflection kiss Claire's in the mirror.
Yeah, sometimes dreams come true.
But Chris Redfield had so many more dreams to make come true! Having no idea when he'll ever get a parents-free house, he was determined to accomplish every single one of them that afternoon. No exceptions.
When he felt satisfied with that first long kiss, Chris peeled his moist lips off her mouth. Claire was still too breathless to seize the chance to use her anew free tongue to speak. With one swift movement, Chris got rid of his humid shirt and carelessly threw it away somewhere behind him and already he was assaulting her cherry mouth. In less than no time, without ever breaking their labial touch, Chris completely undressed, his boxer-briefs being the last piece of clothing to slide to the other side of the closet. Only when all his skin was exposed, in the dense pink feeble lighting, he stopped. He took her head in his manly hands again and smiled.
"You have no idea how long I dreamt of this…" He susurrated, gruff and soft in his baritone voice. The beastly drive had given way to a loving and romantic man – aside from turned on. "How many nights I dreamt of you right here… and you were so close I could touch you and so far away I couldn't have you…"
"Chris…" Claire sighed as she uselessly tried to resist the temptation to devour with her blue eyes every inch of his bare skin, every cleft in his shape outlined by those dark, plum and orange shadows.
Sweetly, his hands glided down her cheeks to her chilly shoulders, still too chilly from the rain, and they made her turn so both would be facing the mirror. The siblings indulged in observing their alter egos in the glass for a while. In the back, him, big, tall, thick, sculptured, masculine. In the front, her, dainty, soft, sinuous, sensual. All around them there was a warm, cosy dusk, that submerged their bodies in a play of colours casted by those yellow light points on the ceiling and the pink neon letters. And the storm outside didn't get to rumble its noise inside that dense atmosphere. It was like returning into the womb.
Claire's lower lip shook as to try to speak but the feeling of Chris's hot mouth on her collarbone made her suck it in and nibble it.
She didn't see anything but, as soon as she felt the hook unclip and her bra slacken, her hands moved on their own and dove into the wet short strands of Chris's head, by then sunk into her neck.
The time of a shaky sigh and they were making love in front of the mirror.
Chris had told her he'd desired it for so long. Claire instead was certain she'd never ever even imagined something even slightly similar to it. Neither, perhaps, was she able to conceive something this erotic. Who knows which fantasies had inflamed Chris's nights when he had only her body available to fight his loneliness. And who knows how many times he had replayed them in that closet. Sure, his mind must've flown high in those nights based on those bizarre but hands-down arousing things they were practicing right then.
An unfulfilled desire had stuck onto him and Claire clearly read the victorious gaze on his face while, slightly bent over onto her, from behind her, he almost seemed to want to fuse with her and their other selves in the mirror as he let his member glide between her thighs pressed together, delightfully tickling her clitoris. The tip of his superb manhood peaked in and out at the rhythm of their passion.
His fingers dipped into the flesh of her hips and, using it as handlebars, he attracted her towards his, after positioning himself at her entrance. Claire could barely stand on her feet. The feeling of him penetrating her from behind in a perfect angle was intoxicating, it weakened her muscles, made her flesh shiver, stole her consciousness, took her breath away, strangling moans in her throat. But she managed to stand until his shaft was wholly engulfed by her. Only when he had finally completely impaled her and every inch of his most effulgent passion was buried into her, her legs almost sagged and Claire bent forward, finding the only handhold in the glassy surface of the mirror.
Unawares, she had just realized one of his main fantasies.
Claire didn't know what to look at anymore: if at his contracted pectorals, his flexed abs, his tensed quadriceps, her dangling breasts, his flaming eyes, his parted lips or at her flushed and swollen ones.
Sure, she knew what to listen to. Chris's by then usual hard breathing lost itself in an ocean of moans, screams, squeals, skin hitting skin, Chris invoking her name roaring, herself replying shouting his on top of her lungs.
Oh, how she'd missed to scream!
Chris was on fire.
He had never fucked her that ardently, that hardly. The lion had been unleashed after that long, mind-wearing imprisonment and, finally, he was showing her what truly means to be loved by Christopher Redfield. He'd devastate her.
Not without a pinch of cockiness, Chris let go her hips and glided his hands down, between her thighs and, with a grunt that seeped confidence from every pore, he lifted her again, this time inserting his frame between her spread thighs. Oh, how damn he loved her gasp of surprise! She wasn't expecting to be suddenly shifted and tilted horizontally, with her bare hands stuck onto the glass to keep herself lifted.
As he sensed her surer and more stable in the new position, Chris set the pace to a fast but steady pounding. The high-paced slapping sound mixed with some of the most desperate squeals he'd ever heard her do. She was loving it, he was sure of it. Alike he was loving everything, every sound they made, every shock wave that shook their flesh, but above all he loved her. On that day he finally could love her without restrictions, without bridles, without precautions.
"Claire." He panted as he slowed down and put her back on her feet. "Here, I wanna see your face…"
He'd had enough of the mirror, of their reflections. Now he wanted her, the real Claire. Soon, her back was glued to the glass while her legs were wrapped around his waist. And he couldn't touch her enough, palpate her enough, knead her breasts enough, nibble her neck enough, suck her tongue enough. Their breaths became harder, shallower, their movements evermore desperate, even Chris's pounding was more and more irregular albeit it was increasing in power. They were close.
"Claire." Chris roared.
She replied with a breathy moan.
"Claire, Claire, Claire!" Chris urged, digging his fingers into her hard buttocks.
"Chris…" She whined.
"I love you, Claire!" Chris said, biting her earlobe. "I love you, I love you, I love you!" He couldn't stop repeating. "I love you madly!"
Had his penis turned into a dagger all of a sudden? Because in that very moment it was like it began cutting her into thin shreds of bloody meat from the inside out. It hurt so bad, it hit so hard, that her orgasm was almost completely deadened by that sharp truth roared through her ears right to her heart.
But she came, it couldn't erase all that arousal. She dug her nails into his shoulder blades and stiffened in his grip. But she didn't invoke his name like she used to do.
Chris resisted until he felt her tremble no more and only then he pulled out of her and spilled his release onto the glass with a long, grunted, victorious sequence of roars.
Although his muscles were still numbed by the strain and the orgasm, after a brief moment of immobility against the mirror, Chris took a step back and, keeping her heated body firmly enveloped around his bust, he returned to watch at their reflection.
How beautiful they were! What a dream!
He felt her heart beating in unison with his own, maddening. His big hands trailed through the expanse of her back, caressing her skin, counting every vertebra, every rib. They were both panting. His heart overflew with pure male pride for how hard he had fucked her. She was panting so hard that her torso was twitching as though she was…
A quiet whimper hit his ear.
Tilting his head back the more he could, he tried to look at her face, but uselessly. It was hidden, buried into his sweaty neck. She could hide it, but she couldn't curb her rising sobs, that left absolutely no room for doubts.
Claire was crying.
"Hey, baby…" Chris whispered, kneeling on the spot. "Hey, love…"
He sat on his ankles and let her sit on his thighs and caressed her nape as now her sobs had grown unrestrained. Chris was in the throes of his worst thoughts. But Claire wouldn't peel her face off his neck. Had he really gotten his lover to fucking cry after the sex? Maybe… oh, God… because of the sex?
Chris cradled her a little, sinking in the fear that he had done wrong to her.
God, have I… have I forced her?
His heart rate didn't allude to slow down, instead it now pounded harder, in a terrified waiting.
"Claire, baby… please…" He whimpered in her ear, defencelessly. "You're killing me."
Those words got some effect on her. Sniffling, Claire's head pulled back from her hot nest. Her flushed face was moist with his sweat, her own and her tears. And when she got to raise her look into his, his blood almost froze.
Goddammit! I hurt her!
Chris felt a hideous person. She had clearly asked him to stop, why hadn't he listened to her? He had been so fucking hasty!
"Baby, did I… Did I made you feel forced?" He softly whispered, in utmost concern. "Forgive me if I did, I didn't mean to!"
Claire shook her head no and sniffled. Chris wasn't sure he should've felt relieved and, by the way, he didn't.
"Then why are you…" He trailed off, too scared to finish his question.
Claire looked down, at their bodies joined, at their nudities so stuck together. His chiselled lower abdomen glued to her womb, last memory of the more intimate conjunction they had just had. "You didn't force me, Chris…" She wheezed in a wet voice. "…and that's the problem."
Chris affectionately kissed her cheek while metabolizing those cryptical words. What did she mean?
Claire bit her lip and awkwardly cleared her throat trying to find anything that would instil her the courage she needed. And she found it in the sorrowful but ingenuous look of him. She had to be brave now, for him. Because he was a big bear unable to realize he needed a real woman in his life and not a forbidden lover.
"Chris, I… I think we should take a break from this." She muttered, glancing down at their connected body parts just to state clear what she was talking about.
If there ever was a perfect moment for a dramatic thunder to resound, it was that one. But if it ringed or not, nobody noticed. Chris stared at her with indecipherable dark eyes for a long moment before gritting his teeth and looking away from her apologizing face.
"Chris…" Claire wheezed, reaching up to cup his clenched jaw but he was faster in gently putting her down, off his lap and onto the floor, definitively parting their bodies.
He turned on his knees, grabbed his still wet shirt and leaned back onwards, towards her, past her, not even looking at her directly and with it, he wiped the sperm dripping down the glass. The funny sound of clean glass blurred into Claire's sob.
Without uttering a single word, he stood up, collected all his scattered clothes and left.
He left his lover sitting on the ground, naked, sweaty, ashamed, crying.
Claire could only embrace herself to shield her bare chest from the rising chillness around her, but nothing she could do against the terrible awareness that weighed on her like a mountain.
She was scared she had just lost her brother.
END OF THE SECOND ACT