Recap: Sunday 18th of November was Jill's birthday party at Moon's Donuts. On Tuesday 20th Claire did the test. On Wednesday 21st they moved to the Grandparents' cottage. On Thursday 22nd, Thanksgiving Day, aka present time, she tells Chris about the pregnancy.

Every RE Village reference wasn't planned but it's now intentional.

Chapter 30 – Rock You Like a Hurricane

Part 1 – Black and Blue

It was like walking into an old black-and-white movie.

As Chris and Claire hiked single file down the mild slope above the riverside, the two-tone mountain landscape swallowed them. All around, there was only snow and nude trees. Though, the enchanting frost cast no magic spell on them. It rather felt like it had rubbed colours out of their world. Blue was the only exception in the new spectrum, as though it'd intentionally been spared by the general erasure. As above, so below. The bluer the sky, the bluer their souls.

The siblings treaded in silence below the mid-afternoon sun who shone pale and tepid and it certainly managed to bring no warmth to them. It'd taken a good couple of hours to finally wriggle out of luncheon. To Chris, it'd been a real torture. Throughout, the only completely structured sentence his brain was able to express was the same, insistent question that obsessively raged on replay.

What have I done?

All the rest was a hurricane of fear, shock and every possible sick feeling a man's mind could ever produce and suffer. He forced himself to pretend to enjoy the meal, especially after his grandfather had pointed out to everyone his apparent lack of appetite. Every bite was swallowed with much effort as if there was a sort of blockage somewhere down his gullet. More than once Chris nearly puked it all straight onto the table. Every time he gulped it back down. He oscillated between being unable to look at his sister and the ancestral need to check her.

He had just so many questions needing for an answer and too many ears around. Thus, as soon as he painfully forced the last bite of pumpkin pie down his throat, he reached out to his sister. He found her helping Grandma Mary to put the dirty dishes in the sink while the rest of the guests got comfortable in the living area. It took him a simple look to get Claire's nod of resigned understanding.

It was time for his sister to keep her promise.

Both agreed they couldn't talk in the house, nor anywhere nearby it. Not even the cabin's back was lonesome and secretive enough. In the end, they quickly excused themselves to the rest of the family with a pair of exaggerated smiles, saying they wanted to have a stroll down the river on the first snowy day of the season. Chris let Claire play the main role.

They all but risked Aunt Matilda to join them or, at least, that's what they feared as she enthusiastically jumped up from the couch as they spoke. Fortunately, their aunt only claimed baby Riley for her arms and carelessly wished them a good time. She was just too much into her new-born niece to leave for a walk with the older siblings.

The river burbled placidly.

Chris and Claire ended their stroll in a spot where the slope blurred into a narrow plain and the rocky river drew a mild curve, the bank resembling a little hidden shore in the forest deep. The big boy walked up to the waterline in silence. He stood there, blue and black, with his hands thrust deep into the pockets, the black coat's collar raised on the back to shield his nude neck from the icy breeze and a broody, beaten look on his face. His furrowed brows couldn't shield his dark eyes from the oblique sunrays cutting the air and it seemed two caramel gemstones shone on his face. But there was no light radiating from within.

Chris was reduced to a mere, narrow black hole who swallows light and solely gives shadow back. All in all, he wasn't more than another subject conforming to the general image.

Claire stood by the first tree she came across once they'd reached the destination, a few feet from the shoreline. She didn't look much different than when she'd showed up behind the cabin. The lower part of her face was hidden by the rigid stand-up neck of her burgundy coat and only her eyes and the reddened points of her ears peaked through. She was the only coloured thing in the whole picture. A crack in the hegemonic palette.

A blood-red rose in the winter wilderness.

"When did you discover?" Chris asked, his shaky gruff grumble barely audible above the water's noise. He didn't turn, he didn't peel his eyes off the shiny river below. He only let those words out, feebly, and returned into his state of shocked apathy, fearing the answer.

"Last Tuesday." Claire replied, aware that now her brother was certainly replaying in his head the events of that day trying to recall if he'd noticed anything abnormal.

Chris gasped and vehemently turned his head towards her, appalled. "Rebecca knows?!"

Claire eagerly shook her head. "No, I was alone. She knows nothing."

"Who else knows?"

"Only you and me, Chris. No one else." She said, remarking with a firm move of her hand the absolute safety of their secret.

Chris seemed to take a short-lived breath of relief – or perhaps it was just Claire's imagination. There was nothing able to relent his terror. No matter how she'd tell reassuring news. He resumed his pointless staring at the river. "Tuesday..." He mumbled to himself.

Tuesday… what happened on Tuesday again? Why hadn't she told him straight away? He remembered they'd been alone in the kitchen after dinner, she could've asked him to have a word. God! She… she already knew back then! And yet she hadn't felt like sharing the news not even when she got the chance on a silver platter! They'd been so close, he'd been so dumbly casual, trying hard to show her how normal they could act again, whereas she was already keeping the worst secret of her life. Keeping it from him. Normality being screwed up for good.

"Why didn't you tell me immediately?" He uttered just a little louder. If there was reproach in his intentions it surely hid itself well behind the low tone.

Yeah, why hadn't she? Claire fumbled for words, searching for the answer within herself. "I… I uh…"

Chris turned his head to watch her.

There was a look of repentance on his face. He feared Claire would say it was because of his behaviour back in the kitchen, maybe his forced casualness had been out of place and made her feel uncomfortable and lastly compelled her not to tell him… He had no clue.

His face clouded over.

"Were you scared to be alone with me?"

"No… I…" Claire didn't raise her gaze from the ground. Her eyes kept drifting all around as though the answer was to be found lying on the snow. She looked at everything but her brother, overlooking his sudden concern. To her, it was suddenly so hard to focus. There must've been a reason why she didn't tell him right? One she could tell him, of course. "I… I wanted to... fend for myself."

She didn't imagine Chris to react the way he did. The shift on his face was immediate. The big boy abruptly glowered at her. "A pregnancy!" He snapped in scorn and derision. "You wanted to deal with a fucking pregnancy all on your own!"

Claire glared back, quite insulted. Narrowing her eyes challengingly, she hissed a peremptory "yes!" She stood the staredown bravely, determined to assert her independence. Of fucking course she could make it on her own! What was he thinking?! That she told him because she needed help?! He'd better change his stupid mind then!

The ridiculing sharp snort her brother regarded her with all but made her lose it on the spot.

"Excuse me?!" She screeched, looking daggers at him.

Totally unaffected by the menacing scowl on her face, Chris paced towards her in big strides until he planted himself right in front of her, towering unforgivingly, as though he wanted to remind her that he was the big, older brother – therefore in charge for solving troubles – by showing off his physical superiority and puffing out his chest like a gorilla.

"I can handle this." Claire insisted, keeping up the stared own as he approached, by no means intimidated by his mass.

"You can't. You have no idea what you got into."

"OH! Because you do instead! You know everything I gotta do now, Mr Perfectly Fine!" Claire snarled, glaring a death stare of pure hatred straight into his face. "You always act like you know better. Like you're smarter than me. Well, listen to me, unless you're a gynaecologist there's no fucking way you can know anything about me right now!" By the end of her heartfelt yell, Claire's voice was shaking and high-pitched.

Chris eyerolled his annoyance away from her face that so hard was provoking his temper to click again and roamed in the narrow snowy shore leaving a flushed Claire behind. He shoved his hands back deep into his pockets and stopped treading. His shoulders drew a sharp shape notwithstanding how much they were curved down under the impossible weight he was meant to carry from now on. His muscular legs stood tall and straight, hiding perfectly how much they quivered. Claire only saw his nape duck down beyond the raised collar when she heard him speak again.

"We gotta tell them." Chris muttered in a husky voice.

Claire gasped audibly. Had she heard well? "Excuse me?" She said as if that was the only question she was able to ask, on repeat.

Chris turned his head just that bit enough for her to see the side of his face. The raised collar covered him up to the cheekbone, yet it was enough to show the determined frown about him. "We gotta tell Mom and Dad."

"Are you fucking crazy?!" The girl squealed, quite astonished. The white around her blue irises widened incredibly. She couldn't believe he'd actually said what he said. "They're gonna kill us!"

"We have no choice, Claire!" Chris harshly protested, pivoting on his heels until he faced her again. "You're underage!"

"So what?"

"So we need their consent for you to abort." He contritely stated.

Claire winced as if she'd just been crossed by electroshock. "We?!" She squealed. "Since when it's your decision too?!"

Chris furiously bolted towards her, funereal and minacious. "Since we share the same fucking blood!" He hissed hoarsely, raising his voice.

Claire snapped. "It didn't seem to me it was that much of a big deal when you fucked the brains out of me!"

"Well, it'll be everyone's problem when you'll give birth to A FUCKING MONSTER!"

Chris hardly had the time to clench his jaw in anger that Claire's hand bucked upwards and soundly slapped his cheek. The sound of his flesh being smacked so hard resounded in the whole little hidden valley and, for a moment, even the river seemed to stop burbling, aghast. Claire's palm stung and soon a hand-shaped red mark would appear under his stubble yet she didn't stop there. The burning feeling on her palm rather encouraged her to smash it again and again onto him until it'd numb. Grunting, Claire slapped his face again, and again and a fourth time even, alternately hitting each cheek and causing his face to duck aside each time, and then, as he didn't allude to the minimal reaction, she started to punch his wide chest until she pushed him away in a crescendo of grunts and little roars. Her teary blue eyes stabbed him all along, maybe even more effectively.

Chris finally took a couple of steps back to get out of the reach of her fists and there he stayed, immobile, his brown eyes dropped to the ground.

Normally, Chris Redfield would fight fire with fire with no hesitation. He'd not even need to be hit that many times before raising his hands and assess his predominance and avenge his hurt pride. He'd answer fists with more, deadlier fists and slaps with sounder slaps. Just not when it'd be about Claire. He'd rather let her reduce him black and blue than to ever lay a finger on her.

His hands dangled limply by his sides, open and relaxed. He stood stern and silent, downcast eyes.

It looked like he'd taken – rather accepted – those punches… willingly.

His look climbed up on the panting young woman before him, slowly and painfully. Tears had pricked in her eyes, her eyelashes almost joined with her eyebrows for how hard she frowned. Throughout, she panted through gritted teeth, struggling to contain her outburst. Chris addressed his sister a look of total dejection and only then he released a shallow trembling breath as though he was feeling the pain of her blows in delay.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Chris bucked sideways and crashed against the trunk of a willow tree, holding to it with both hands as he bent onward and aside in account of a strong retch and puked, spitting his lunch on the soft snow.

With every spasm of his sick stomach a new gush of spit poured against the brownish bark and dirtied the snow and he'd bow down more until he practically was on his knees. Between every gag he wheezed, catching air desperately like a drowning man.

When his stomach seemed to allow him some rest, Chris spat the last mouthful of sour spit and leveraged on the trunk trying to stand up again but his legs trembled like jelly. He could only prop his forearm against the tree and rest his forehead on it, wiping his mouth against the sleeve. He was unable to move. He was ridiculously leant against the willow tree, half-bent and shaky and no one could rescue him if he had that heart attack his body had been menacing since earlier in the morning.

As far as he knew, he could possibly be alone by then since he couldn't expect his sister to come and help him on his feet.

The load of responsibilities had run over him like a brakeless freight train. The hatred pouring out his sister had been the mortal blow.

That was the lowest point his life had ever gotten to – and he'd stolen nude picks of his baby sister behind her back!

Chris cleared his throat trying to get rid of the acrid lump of stomach acid that had clotted in there and muttered to himself huskily. "I always pulled out… I've been so careful…"

He spat out the lump on the snow and looked at the viscid pool he'd just created at the foot of the willow. He kicked a little snow on it with his boot. He wondered when and where it all went so wrong that life had reduced him to such a misery.

What have I done?

Part 2 – Passion Fruit

Halloween had tricked them all this year.

Some had been planning their costumes so in advance that they had been counting down the days to Halloween since the beginning of the school year. And when the day had finally come, the worst tempest Raccoon City had ever seen hit the whole region harder than a hurricane.

Actually, the dude from the TV forecast accurately avoided to call it a hurricane, but that word had been on everyone's mouth since the very moment the first lightning struck the first tree in Tall Oaks Park and the first broken branches collapsed upon a parked car or a fence. To the most impressionable, the end was near. A few elders even barred themselves into old fallout shelters in their backyards. All the others immediately brushed up their several degrees in meteorology and, Google forbids, they indulged in passionate debates about the precise Beaufort scale degree it was about. The most daring even brought up a comparison with Katrina.

The tempest raged for the whole day and the whole night, lightning striking the skies and thunders quaking the windows as inches-per-square-foot of water rained on the city.

It happened that night.

On a stormy night, the tempestuous new-born love consummated.

Halloween tricked them twice.

When mythical wicked spirits were supposed to come back from the world of the dead and have free rein for a night, the living enjoyed life at its best – and maybe created some more of it. That's what the two siblings did.

Ten feet under the ground, down in the basement's bathroom, where the thunders peeled lower, the drumming rain was muffled by the concrete ceiling and the lightnings were not to awaken the wrong traumatic memories, like every other night since the twenty-seventh of October, Chris and Claire made love.

On the floor.

That night she rode him fiercely, jumping and swaying and wriggling onto his lap like an obsessed. She straddled him and reclined her head, unable to keep it straight anytime he'd suck her bouncing nipples or twitch inside her. A waterfall of wild auburn hair fanned in the air every time she spun her head around, mewling like a cat in heat, and it'd loosely tangle with the short hairs on his forearms. Her porcelain skin melted with his darker-toned one, who shone for the tiny beads of sweat layered upon it and stretched as his muscles worked relentlessly.

Sitting upright on a towel they'd splayed on the floor, Chris held her tight, flush against his sculptured chest, grunting his arousal against her neck. His hands couldn't get enough of her flesh so they squeezed and rubbed as much as they could as she danced on his thighs.

It was her first time being on top and Chris wished she'd ride him that madly forever.

At first, he'd watched her move shyly on top of him, while he comfortably lay on the ground. He loved seeing her so cautious and maybe even a little clumsy. It meant it was a first time for her. It meant he was the only boy who had ever seen her like that, the only one she had let slip beneath her. No Jakes, no Brad's, no one but him.

But then, he soon got lost in the view of her growing confident and lascivious until he couldn't stay down no more and sat upright to get the more he could of that fearless amazon fucking the shit out of his dick.

The arousal displaying on Claire's face was so strong that it distorted her features in a grimace similar to pain but that carried all the ecstasy of the sexual bliss.

She was more than something.

She was everything.

She'd just gone beyond any of his wildest dreams and she'd taken him with her, straight to heaven and down to perdition.

It may have been the first time for her to be on top, but sure as hell it was the first time for him to feel that hopelessly lost and imploring evermore capture and enslavement. It was the first time Chris ever whimpered breathy supplications of mercilessness in his whole life. He begged her to take him all. He begged her to fuck him fuck him fuck him. He begged until she cursed straight into his face and dipped her nails onto the flesh of his tense shoulder blades. She commanded him to stop begging and start fucking and so he did, diligent like a loyal slave.

Even when she urged him to talk dirty, Chris only managed to cover her in a rain of sweet words, the furthest he got to go were just a couple of rude compliments and a blasphemy. That night, perhaps, was also the night were he stopped simply worshipping her and started loving her for real, even though he weren't to figure it out until Friday night.

Chris's thrusts went maddening and his grunts out of control and he dipped himself into her inners until there was no more of him to take. And Claire would evilly keep bobbing up and down so that every time that he was balls deep into heaven she'd retreat and leave him longing in loop.

If, on one hand, the tempest had upset them so much that it'd pushed Claire to sneak into Chris's room herself and ask a frightened and sweaty Chris to "fuck me until I feel nothing", on the other hand it assured them enough coverage and sound isolation to make them feel allowed to express their arousal a little more freely. The double-lock to the bathroom door only completed the picture of the perfect siblings porn video staging.

She'd impaled herself on his hard member as soon as she'd finished rolling the condom down his length with her very mouth. Now that Claire had discovered this "new" oral activity, every chance was good to shove his dick into her mouth. The subtle layer of fruity scented latex gave those scared kids a feeling of sufficient safety to just start fucking hard and pay no attention to it afterward, when it was filled in sperm and covered in her slickness, as Chris, slumping onto the towel exhausted, one-handedly pulled it off and carelessly threw it under the sink – meant to not be paid attention to until a sleepy Claire would roll it into some toilet paper.

If only he did differently, he'd have noticed the little crack in the condom.

Chris welcomed a still panting Claire in his arms and cradled her against his side as the sweat on their bodies still allowed them to feel hot against the cold tiles. As Chris kissed the passion fruit scent off her lips, the fruit of their passion was about to form in the depths of her womb.

Part 3 - Reputation

Chris straightened up and tugged at the coat's hem, adjusting and sleeking it down his torso. With the corner of his eye, he saw that Claire was still where he'd last seen her and had resumed her previous composure. Only the frown remained as lonesome memory of the outburst of frustration and repress hatred.

His mouth tasted like shit. His tongue tasted like a wasted holiday lunch. His throat burned like the flames of Hell he deserved to suffer. Chris grasped a handful of snow and bit it like it was an apple, trying to wash his mouth with that iced water. It worked.

He turned and looked at Claire.

The two stared at each other for what seemed an eternity. Hadn't it been for the placid flow of the waters and the glistening of sunrays dancing on the uneven surface, it might easily have seemed a still. Two frozen lovers into a frozen world.

As an unseen determination grew in him, Chris clenched his fists and jaw.

Brow set hard on his frown, he broke the silence with the sound of his boots pressing the snow as he purposefully walked past his sister, heading straight to where they'd come from.

"Where are you going?" Claire asked.

Chris didn't answer and kept climbing up the mild slope, between the several columns of trees. A sense of alarm suddenly rose in Claire and she yelled her question again and started following him. She needed to know what he was up to before he'd do anything as stupid as what he'd suggested before.

"I'm going home." Chris replied in earnest. "And I'm going to tell Mom and Dad."

Something pretty much like that.

"What?! NO!" Claire gasped and sprinted up the slope to outpace him. As she reached him, Claire interposed herself between Chris and his destination and tried to stop him by slamming her hands onto his chest but to no avail. Chris simply kept walking forcing her to walk backwards as well. As she insisted getting in the way to hinder him, Chris even tried to dodge her, but Claire wouldn't give up easily insomuch so that he finally stopped. "Don't!" She commanded.

"We have no other choice. They need to know." He stated.

"I don't want them to." Claire said, short of breath, fear filling her widened eyes.

"Listen to me, Claire. I did wrong, I know. But this..." And he looked down on her in sorrow, his look dropping to where about the fruit of their sin harboured inside her. "This is bigger than us. It's time to take my responsibilities. I'll confess so they can take care of you and... do what's best."

"You think you can protect me this way?!" Claire protested, a hint of disappointment tinging her voice. "There's no way you can! Either way they're gonna kill me! I am pregnant after all, not you! I don't want them to know... I… I don't want to fail them."

Chris grabbed her arms as to reassure her with his big hands. "You won't fail anybody. Okay?" He soothed. "I'll leave you out of this. I'll take the blame. For everything."

Claire was about to protest there's no way he could separate their fates and guilt when the calm determination in his eyes frightened her. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"I'll tell them I had sex while I was you."

"They won't believe it." Claire said, even though the idea of that perfect escape immediately appealed her. As much as it was exactly what she wished for – to blame someone else for her own mistakes – logic suggested her it was an impracticable way. Too many explanations to give, too many lies to put up, too many contradictions. "Chris," Claire continued after a short moment of thought, "Mom knows when you had the last periods as me and she knows there's no way you can have had sex in the meantime. And the dates don't coincide."

"Coincide?"

Claire sighed. "It doesn't take a genius like Daddy to do that math. I'm not enough weeks pregnant to make your lie... believable."

Chris stared at her dead in the eyes for a while, apparently struggling with numbers and rocket science formulas and calculations, an air of dumbness fanning upon his features. "How long...?"

"I think it happened around Halloween days..." Claire muttered, looking away as she recalled details in her head. "About way more than a week after we switched back and you made such a big deal of complaints about your second period that there's no way anyone's gonna believe you, not even if I burn my agenda."

Tight-lipped, Chris closed his eyes and nodded, struck by the unfortunate truth. His brows furrowed as a shadow crossed his mind. He took a deep breath. "Alright." He took another deep, shaky breath. "Plan B, then."

"Plan B?" Claire questioned, confused. "Chris, no! Stop! I don't want them to see me as the stupid seduced-by-a-stranger girl! No, no, no!" Claire shuddered all along. "I don't want Mommy and Daddy to change the way they think of me! I don't want anyone to know!"

"That's not plan B." Chris murmured, opening his brown eyes and staring sternly at her face.

Claire stared back even more confused than before. Chris grabbed her hands and pulled them off his chest, where she still kept them to keep him immobilized, he brought them to his lips and gently kissed the back of her fingers. He looked as if in pain. As if he was mustering all his courage and even borrowing some from his sister.

As if it was a farewell.

He placed her hands back onto his chest and squeezed them tight. "We need them to be totally pro-abortion. Okay, maybe I'm not a gynaecologist but I can imagine it's dangerous to procreate when we're this close-related. I don't want Dad to suggest you make him a grandfather... and succeed only because he ignores all the risks."

"I fear I don't understand..." Claire murmured.

"This is not a normal pregnancy, Claire." Chris said in low tones. "They need to know the truth..."

Claire's blue eyes questioned him, imploring him to stop being so cryptic and make her understand. How could he "leave her out of this" if he still planned to bleat it all out? Or did plan B not involve her salvation?

"I'll tell them I raped you." Chris announced.

Claire gasped so hard that not a single sound escaped her dropped mouth.

It blasted.

That horrid word blasted straight into her brain and whole, infinite sequences of bad scenarios unravelled in her mind, the one deadlier than the other.

Now she understood his hesitation. By making her the victim of a crime and not the criminal herself, he'd save her. But at what cost? He'd pay it with his life for sure. Claire couldn't count on their parents' comprehension and mercy. If she knew them well enough, if Chris ever survived Robert's reaction, he'd immediately be run in by the same police Lily herself would call.

That happened in every scenario. Every. Single. One.

There was no way parents' love could outdo their sense of justice in such a case. Especially if their firstborn son confessed he was a monster of the worst kind.

Rape.

That word alone would turn everyone straight into a pervert monster.

To rape a sister, would turn you twice a monster.

Nonetheless, Chris was willing to sacrifice everything to protect her... reputation. He'd waste his life in jail just for the sake of her stupid reputation. Because she was too scared and ashamed to confess she'd wanted to fuck the blood of her blood.

The little voice in her head claiming she'd find a way to save her ass at other's detriment didn't scream as loud as before now.

As a lonesome tear rolled down her cheek, Claire slid her hands around his torso and drew herself into his hug. They enveloped themselves in each other's arms, Chris's by far winning the inexistent competition.

"Dad kind of already suspects something, I may take advantage of it." Chris mumbled, softly tightening his hold around her. "He won't be hard to convince."

That was too much. Chris planning how to ruin his life – or to end it.

Claire rose on her tiptoes, dipped her head into his shoulder and sobbed quietly. "Please don't go that way." She begged, sniffling. "I don't want you to take all the blame. We share the fault."

"I see no other way, baby." He replied in dejection, rubbing the back of her coat in vertical motions. To have her finally again in his arms made every possible fate look a little less displeasing. Although to think he'd may lose forever the chance to have her close made him want to run away with her.

Claire drew her head back and watched the side of his face until he finally looked back at her. "We still got time and we know so little." She whispered.

"We haven't got much, though." Chris said, warming up the tip of her nose with his hot breath. "It's a race against time."

"Yet we don't need to decide anything today."

"We?" He asked softly.

Claire cupped his cheek with a trembly and cold hand and drew his mouth into a short peck. None of them closed their eyes. Their lips barely moved, yet it somehow crashed against the wall they'd erected between them and cracked it a little. The softest touch may hit harder than a wrecking ball sometimes. The slightest kiss may flare up all his love again – not that it'd ever extinguished.

"Yes, we." Claire breathed against his lips as she broke the little peck and looked up, straight into his hazelnut eyes, proffering apology and seeking forgiveness.

Drawn by her eyes, Chris' head moved forward to express all the forgiveness he had to offer with a most desperate – and desired – kiss on her lips, to pretend she was his again but, at the very last second, Claire averted her face and broke their hug, pulling back. Chris had let that little moment of closeness completely deceive him. The wall was still there. Almost unscathed. Almost.

Yet, she was in his arms. After all that time. Even if she refused to let him kiss her, it was the sweetest she'd acted to him in days and it honestly filled his enamoured heart.

"I still think it's only my decision." Claire stated, clearing her throat from the last lump of hesitation in her voice. "But since you know now..."

"I am the father." He retorted, letting her go from his arms and watching her avoid his look besides his touch, much to his heart damage. "Does that count nothing to you?"

"I am the one who's gonna pay for the consequences. Not you."

"I told you I can tell them I raped y-"

"You don't understand." Claire interrupted. "It can't never be you, no matter how hard you try to take the blame on yourself or how many plan Bs you come up with." And she addressed him a look that spoke volumes about how only her body was to be concerned – no matter which path they'd choose.

Chris nodded and lowered his gaze. He got it.

Some things hurt even if left implicit.

"And I don't want you to mention the rape bullshit ever again." Claire added, leaving no room to exceptions of any sort. "Promise me."

Chris hesitated for a long moment, but he had to lastly give up under the insistency of her warning look. "I promise."

"Fine." Claire looked away and took a few aimless steps away from him, relieved that she'd got to avoid the irreparable to occur. Was it… was it that she was finally taking it on herself?

Chris let a few seconds flow between them like the river to the forest, completely lost in his thoughts and in the memory of her body against his. "Tell me just one thing..." He uttered at some point, catching her attention. "If you wanted to deal with it on your own... then why did you show up and tell me?"

Chris saw many thoughts fan upon her face, each one caught and repressed on the spot, until she finally looked back at him. "We all make mistakes." That said, Claire turned on her heels and started walking back to the cottage direction. "I'm cold now. Imma head home." She paused, she stopped and turned again towards him, still standing where she'd stopped him. "I expect your collaboration, Chris. Don't you ruin anyone's holiday, okay?"

Chris nodded. "You have my word, baby." He said, tasting the effect that word had on her – even if at cost of a well-pondered answer. He knew it hurt her, but he wanted to remind her she was still his baby and that there was no way for her to change that – especially after the latest developments.

Showing no emotion, Claire resumed walking.

Chris followed her, certain that she was holding something from him.

Part 4 – Come Out

Of course, that talk wasn't enough. It explained little and solved absolutely zero. Chris had still to process the whole thing. But it can get really hard to think when your brain has gone haywire and your stomach hasn't got enough carbs to fuel it.

They'd returned to the cottage. Claire had vanished upstairs with the excuse of going to take a warm bath to defrost her feet. Chris instead hardly showed himself at the backdoor. The big boy sat on a near bench to brush the snow off his boots with a tiny broom but didn't allude to stand up when he finished. Suddenly, to be surrounded by his family was too uncomfortable. Funny because, until a few hours before, he'd taken refuge in its welcoming embrace. Moreover, he felt like if he didn't sit down a bit his legs wouldn't resist long.

Chris extracted a cigarette and lighted it up, sucking in smoke as if his life depended on the nicotine rate in his blood system. He didn't mind that it wasn't a safe place to have a smoke. He just wanted those toxic molecules to have fun with his neurons and numb him possibly.

"What's that, now?" Grandpa John's rough voice sputtered.

Chris slowly raised his look from the ground he'd been staring at, foreseeing the look of judgemental disappointment upon his grandfather's wrinkly face. John stood near the corner of the house, shaking his plastic boots as he held a few pieces of chopped wood he'd just taken from the woodpile in the backyard and, fulfilling his grandson's expectations, he looked pretty damn disappointed, disgusted and betrayed.

Chris didn't even bother to hide he was smoking, not that it was anyhow possible by then. Elbows on his knees, he rather took another drag, throughout looking at his grandfather as he stepped into the rocky floor pouting in disdain under his grey moustache. If John even overreacted and hurled each piece of wood at him, Chris would even encourage him to aim for the head. He didn't care. Not anymore.

"What's this new fashion, uh?" John rhetorically repeated in reproach.

"As if you never noticed the butts I left around." Chris scoffed, unironically. His speaking was low and emotionless, expressing nothing but resignation.

"So it was you." John bitterly grumbled, his thick grey brows furrowed more.

Chris took another drag. "I'm sorry I failed you, Grandpa." He passively muttered.

John eyed his grandson carefully. His scowl hard but inquiring. "Say that to your Aunt. I always blamed her for those butts."

Chris didn't answer and only ducked his head, basically letting it almost dangle between his curved down shoulders, and resumed his pensive, dejected pose.

"I thought you knew better, son." John commented, shaking his head in disapproval. "I thought we raised you t-"

"Darling, the fire is languishing." Grandma Mary uttered appearing in the backdoor frame out of the blue. "We might use those things over there, you know?" She said, pointing at the wood pieces in her husband's arms. "Claire needs hot water. Chop-chop!"

John muttered something unintelligible under his breath and disappeared in the kitchen, bringing all his chagrin along. Mary looked at her grandson and approached, draping a woollen shawl around her shoulders.

She sat next to him on the bench and asked "so, what made you finally come out as a smoker to your grandad?"

Chris shrugged. He'd just stopped caring. More precisely, he still cared about their opinions, yet he didn't care anymore if everyone figured out how hideous of a person he was. He kind of felt he deserved them to dislike him so, maybe, he'd feel less alone.

Mary tittered quietly. "Your granddad owes one hell of an apology to Matilda. She always took the blame on your behalf."

"Guess I failed her too then."

"I wouldn't say so!" Mary joked, releasing a short laugh. "I guess she'll be relieved to know you… came out after all this time."

"You knew it wasn't her?"

Mary quirked an eyebrow in contempt. "Do you think I have no sense of smell, Chris dear? I may have smoked for thirty years of my life but my nose still works perfectly. It's your grandfather the one who wouldn't smell tobacco not even if he stepped into a whole plantation on fire." She scoffed and, straightening up on the seat, she added, "trust me. We share the same bed since we got married and he never knew I smoked after the sex."

"Granny...!" Chris grimaced in protest and wearily rubbed his forehead as to rub out unwanted images from his brain.

Mary rolled her eyes in sarcasm. "You're just like your Dad." She snickered amusedly. "Anyway, don't you worry, darling, you know your grandpa. Old John is all bark and no bite. He'll still love you, after all. You'll only have to bear his annoying remarks and dirty looks from now on. You'll survive..."

Chris sighed under the encouraging nudge his grandma gave to his bicep. He still somehow preferred to be thrown wood at. Taking another drag, the big boy mumbled over and asked, talking with even less enthusiasm than before, "you let your daughter take the blame even if you knew it wasn't her fault?"

"Well, let's say that she's learned that injustices happen." Mary slyly pointed out. "I presume it's prepared her for the military life better than any manual, aside from being raised by Sergeant Redfield himself, I mean."

Chris nodded and took a drag. He struggled to keep his head up. His empty stomach was making him feel a little weak. Not to mention that all the fuss going on had completely drained him.

Now that she'd broken the ice, the old lady crossed her legs and adjusted her gown. "So, tell me dear, is it a girl or a boy?" She asked, straightforwardly.

Chris gasped and froze.

What. The. Fuck?!

He almost choked on the smoke as, wide-eyed, he wondered how the hell could she know it yet and why on Earth was the gender her first concern!

"What do you mean?" He asked, cautiously.

"Who's broken your heart?" Mary explained. "Why is my favourite grandson so broken? It must be for someone special!"

"Oh... Granny!" Chris released a snort full of concealed relief. Now it made sense! Damn, he was still so shocked he'd completely misunderstood her question at first! He forced a little titter to relent his tension and maybe the tone that the conversation was about to take as well. "If I were into boys, wouldn't you know it already?"

"Oh, sweetie, when you'll be my age, you'll know to take nothing for granted." Mary purred, snarky, and smirked in malice and cunningness. But she fast resumed her seriousness and repeated her question, determined to go to the bottom of the matter. Especially because she'd never seen Chris being so depressed. "Anyway, can I take it for granted that it is about a girl?"

A simple nod of his head was even too much to answer the obvious she'd just stated.

"Are you in love?"

Chris nodded again, and with a feeblest whisper he added "I am."

Unseen by her grandson, since he was leaning onward, Mary stretched a lopsided smile of pure malice, basking in the pleasure of being right. She knew it! "Please, tell me now what Claire's got to do with it." She said, slowly shaking her head in exasperation.

"Nothing." Chris lied, repressing a little grunt of pain as his sister's name was brought up.

"Come on! Don't fuck with me, Chris!" Mary protested, exhorting him to be honest. "I already talked with her and she told me something happened between you two. But you already know this, I suppose."

"…"

Showing her genuine will to understand their quarrel in order to serve them her wise advice, Mary spoke gently, "now tell me why on Earth it is a problem to her that you're in love with a girl!"

Chris licked his lip.

That question, even if it was pretty invasive, meant that his grandmother suspected nothing of the real reason behind all the shit between him and Claire. That was relieving. He could never really trust he knew what was going on in his grandmother's unpredictable head, so it was like a rare privilege he'd been accorded by the universe. He needed to consolidate it. Suddenly, the memories of the similar dialogue he'd had with his father, just about twenty-four hours before, suggested him what to answer. If you gotta lie, then make your lies consistent.

"Because she's the wrong one." Chris whispered. "And Claire told me so. And it turned out she was right."

Oh, if only he could say the truth though! He'd love, he'd desperately love his grandmother's advice now. She'd always helped him put things in perspective anytime a trouble confused him in the past, let it be how to dump his first girlfriend he'd grow bored of or how to discard as garbage those anachronistic preachers telling him masturbation is a deadly sin. Instead, he had to settle for blending the truth with deceit, sugar it with false words and hide it behind inexistent dramas.

"Why do you say so?" Mary asked, lowering the raised collar of his coat to caress the short dark hair on Chris's nape and stroked his neck affectionately. "Is she taken?"

"No… uh… yes… uh… kind of…" He stuttered, shaking his head, unable to find the way to disguise the truth into a good lie, enough descriptive and ambivalent to hope to get some good advice back. He rubbed his forehead with a hand. "She's… she's not into me."

"I still don't understand Claire's involvement, honey."

"I told you, she-"

"Yes, you did. She's bitching because she told you so." Mary chimed in. "But why are you two not on speaking terms?"

Chris straightened up and dared to glance at his grandma. No way their play had fooled her! John was right, he should've known better.

"Yes, I know." Mary smirked, smiling with her grey eyes straight into his hazelnut ones. "You may deceive everyone, even Lily perhaps, but not me. I know you two are at daggers drawn. Your fake smiles ain't fooling me. Now speak."

Well then, Chris thought, let's see if she can figure out I'm lying now too.

"It's because she's Claire's friend and…" Chris trailed off and sighed in exhaustion. Fuck consistency. He didn't feel like repeating that stupid hollow lie again and feed that pack of total crap to his granny too at all! He didn't want to use Jill for his own purposes again, even if she wasn't there and wouldn't be harmed. He'd had enough of it. His grandmother was gonna smell the stink of bullshit from miles away anyway! Besides, lies require a little imagination after all, and now he truly couldn't get to think about anything other than Claire and their secret. There was no room in his brain for anything else.

Chris felt overwhelmed.

He sighed and leaned onward placing his elbows back onto his knees, resuming his dejected posture, and fiddled with the half-consumed cigarette in his manly hand. He slid it between the forefinger and the middle finger and, instead of taking another drag, he let it fall down on the ground, as if even to raise his hand to his mouth was too tiresome.

Nicotine had failed to help him. He needed something stronger.

"Tell me the truth." Mary urged, shaking his shoulder a little.

Chris clenched his jaw, clenched his eyes.

He took his face in his palm, covering his eyes with it and started crying.

"Honeybee…" Mary cooed in concern. She shifted onward to caress his shoulders and maybe convince him to uncover his face and look at her but with no success, he was unmovable.

Chris wept in his hand, sobbing uncontrollably yet quietly, his wide torso twitching accordingly. Mary stroked his shoulders and waited for him to calm down a bit. She'd allow him all the time he needed.

"I can't have her…" Chris confessed in a broken voice.

"Why can't you?" Mary inquired.

"I just can't. I love her to death and I can't have her." Chris sobbed.

"Oh, honey, if this girl made you this miserable…" Mary whispered, trying to cheer him up – or to provoke a tale-telling reaction. "It can only be the right one. Fight for her or you'll regret it till the day you die."

A snort of derision blurred into a sob of him as he forcefully shook his head. "She wasn't made for me, Granny."

"Maybe if you tell me what happened, I might h-"

"I fucked up." Chris sobbed, desperate. He wanted to say more. He wanted to blurt it all out and finally lift the oppressing weight off his chest. He wanted to confess he and Claire were expecting the fucking spawn of sin. He wanted to confess he was attracted by his sister and had fucked her like a pervert. He was ready to accept every fate his grandmother would decide for him and undergo the consequences. "I fucked up and ruined her and…"

"Ruined her? What do you mean?" Mary gasped under her breath.

Chris gulped down in discomfort. That was the perfect chance for him to put plan B into action. Was the Universe talking to him and showing the right direction?

I raped Claire.

That's all he needed to say to solve all his sister's problems and save her face and, maybe, get himself out of the shithole he'd got stuck into.

I raped her and now she's pregnant.

He'd admit all his lies, pretend he'd confessed the unspeakable truth with another huge lie and the love of her life would be safe and protected.

I am a monster.

It was so tempting! Even though it'd mean his immediate annihilation. But in that moment, he truly couldn't care less about himself. Claire had pervaded every corner of his mind.

But… I promised her. She'd hate me.

He'd made a promise to the most important person of his life and he was about to break it. No. Chris was man of his word before being courageously coward.

"I broke her heart…" Chris lastly lied, downright hating every single sound he made – especially, if considered that the only broken heart in all this story was his and his only!

Chris gulped all his grief down and forced himself to stop crying. He straightened up on the seat, absently looking at the backyard, tears glimmering in his sweet dark eyes.

"It doesn't matter now. I can't turn back time and change things." Chris murmured, aware of Mary's gaze scrutinizing his features in search for clues and revelations. He wiped his eyes with two fingers and whimpered "I lost her." And I ruined her life.

"Alright, darling." Mary said, sensing her grandson on the verge of collapse. She'd cut him some slack. "I won't force you more. Just know this, if you lost the girl as you say, well, at least you haven't lost your sister. Whatever the reason you fought over is, a friend, a girl, a stupid gossip, just make it be over." Mary grabbed her grandson's cheeks and made him turn to look at her eyes. "Claire is family. Never forget that. She's your blood and you're hers. Don't screw your relationship over things you can't have, because she's the only thing you will always have till the day you die. You lost the girl, now get your sister back."

She thumbed away a late tear rolling down Chris's cheek as his faint smile cracked between her hands.

"I love you, Granny."

Somehow, the witchy old Lady always knew the right words to speak.

Something to make you laugh: I changed this chapter's title like a hundred times. It was born as "Passion Fruit" then it became "Black and blue", then "Mr Perfectly Fine", then "Coming Out" immediately corrected to "Come Out", then it was the turn of "To Love and Not to Hold" before finally settle with the official one. Not to mention the avalanche of words that stormed in my brain.

I'm pretty sure one of these titles will come back, as I've been wanting so hard to use it since half act II. I'm not telling you which one.

I'd be utterly superfluous.