vesuvius: I respect your opinion, but if I did that every time someone told me to, I'd have one story on this site, if that. One of the reasons I made Lincoln sort of a manboy was to make the dynamic between him and Lily a little more balanced. Lincoln in this story is emotionally and mentally immature, in his early twenties but still very much a kid himself. I do get where you're coming from, though, and I'd probably feel the same way as a reader.
Lincoln's original plan, formulated that first night as he lay sleepless in bed, was to hold off on telling his parents what happened for one week, no more, no less. That would be more than enough time to gather the nerve.
He changed his mind after one day of building dread. The first day, he left the house at his usual time, then came back once everyone was gone Parking at the curb and crossing the front lawn, the nape of his neck tingled as if in expectation of a blow, and he looked nervously around, his heart staggering at the possibility of being discovered - Mom forgot her cellphone, Dad left important paperwork on the dining room table and had to come back...both wanted to know why he wasn't at school, and he choked. I, uh, I...left my pencil. He wasn't a very good liar, especially when his mother or father was standing right in front of him, their eyes boring into him - he got nervous, sputtered, and rubbed the back of his neck like a cartoon character until he either came clean himself or was forced to come clean. He made it inside unobserved, closed and locked the door, and slunk off to his room, where he sat restively at his desk, not knowing what to do with himself and hating it. He logged onto Discord and checked his server, but left again without commenting on anything. He wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, nor, for that matter, was he in the mood to draw. With no release and no escape, he pushed to his feet, went over to the bed, and dropped on, his hands going to his chest and his eyes pointed sightlessly at the ceiling.
For a time, he let his thoughts wander. First, he went back to Dean Howard's office, and his face blazed with humiliation. The man looked at him as though he were a bug, nothing more than a piece of slime on the sidewalk. At first, outage simmered in the center of his chest like a bed of hot coals, but they slowly died, leaving him cold. Is that how he looked to people? Was he really so transparent that they could see past his exterior into the seething mess beyond?
It must be - that's why he couldn't get a date.
He sighed deeply. He used websites like OKCupid and Plenty of Fish because talking face to face with a girl, at least at first, was hard. Once he knew her a little, it was fine, but that initial icebreaker...actually walking up and introducing himself...made him queasy with nerves. It wasn't so much him as it was the terror that the conversation would go nowhere and then he'd be struck dumb with nothing to say, looking at her looking at him, her brow angling down in a mixture of pity, annoyance, and derision. That happened a few times in high school when he tried to ask a girl out, and it left him feeling like shit - stupid, pathetic, awkward, and ashamed. He talked to girls on occasion via the internet, but he never connected with any. They'd trade a few short messages back and forth, and if she didn't ghost him, he wound up ghosting her because there was no spark, no real motivation to pursue it. He'd never felt anything for a girl but attraction or lust, but he knew inherently that there must be a click when you meet the right someone.
What did he know? He'd never had a girlfriend besides Ronnie Anne, and she moved away before they could even hold hands. He didn't think he loved her, but he did like her, and there were times even now where he caught himself thinking about her, and what things would have been like if she stayed in Royal Woods.
During their six months together (if together it can be called), she never told him that she liked him, but he saw it on her face, a sort of low, warm light in her eyes and a sly little smile that stirred the depths of his soul like warm June wind through supple leaves. It was an expression that he missed dearly, one that he'd been almost desperate to see on a girl's face again one day.
The same expression Lily wore that morning at breakfast.
Alright, you know what? I'm getting the hell out of this house and talking a walk or something.
Twenty minutes later, wearing a light green jacket over his shirt, he ambled aimlessly through Mary Walters Park across from the elementary school, his hands shoved into his pockets and his head bowed against a chilly autumn breeze. Being the middle of the week, the grounds stood largely empty, save for an old man in glasses and a newsboy cap sitting on a bench and a black woman in yoga pants and a purple windbreaker jogging up and down the walking trails. He stopped at a pond and stared out over the water; a line of yellow ducklings sailed across the surface behind their mother, weaving between stalks of watercress and green lily pads.
Lily.
Unease spread through his stomach, and he flicked his eyes thoughtfully to his feet, his lips flattening as he struggled to convince himself that Lily didn't stare at him the way Ronnie Anne used to. He was eating a bowl of cereal and looking down into his milk when he got the sudden prickly sensation that goes along with being watched. He looked up, and Lily studied him with lingering intensity before looking hurriedly away with a blush.
He might be a pathetic loser, but he wasn't a mental contortionist - he couldn't delude himself into believing that she just happened to innocently gaze in his direction...but he also couldn't bring himself to believe that she was really checking him out.
She was probably thinking of a boy she likes. The haziness in her eyes was certainly there, no doubt about that, but it wasn't for him. Heh. Of course it wasn't. It'd be really fucking strange (and disgusting) if it was. It just...he didn't know...it made him think about how much he really wanted a girl to look at him that way again.
At least he hoped that's what it was - the last shit he needed on his plate right now was to turn into a pedophile for his own sister.
A shiver raced down his spine and he gave a body-wide shudder. Lily was like...he didn't want to say like his daughter, but in a way, it was true. Their dynamic was closer to that than it was to a conventional brother-sister bond. He loved his sisters, and for a while he was close with them, but not overly so. They supported one another where possible and helped each other when necessary, but they weren't shoved up each other's asses 24/7 and they didn't hug and kiss every five minutes. Come on, they were kids, they each had their own life and wanted their own space. You don't want your sister constantly hanging around anymore than you want your mom constantly hanging around. He loved his mother like any boy would, but that didn't mean he liked having her tag along when he went off to see his friends. Parents are inherently embarrassing...like pooping. Everyone does it, but no one does it in front of you, and unless they're weird, they don't talk about it.
That's to say: When you're on the town, trying to look cool and have fun, Mommy watching over your shoulder is a real party pooper. Same thing with his sisters - he, Clyde, and Rusty would be hanging out at Flip's, drinking Cokes and nodding to the girls, then Lori would come in and Lincoln would do his best to hide. Hey, man, isn't that your sister? Nah, never saw that girl in my life. With Lily, it was different. For the most part, he enjoyed having her around. To be fair, he was older, and she reminded him a lot of himself at eleven, so the interplay was a little different. She looked up to him (God knows why), and came to him when she needed help, advice, or just wanted to talk. Lola didn't do that, and neither did Lisa, Lana, or Lucy, only Lily. He felt a distinct tenderness for her that he didn't feel for the others, a gentle and, he supposed, fatherly affection that elevated their relationship. The idea of...doing something to her...was repugnant. Lily, as the fandom might say, was for hugs, not fugs.
Why the fuck am I even thinking about this?
He knitted his brow. He didn't know; guess it's better that than the upcoming post-college powwow with Mom and Dad.
Sighing, he started back home, and got there just before one. He attempted to finish off a commission from ThatUnderratedScript, but his heart still wasn't in it. He surfed the web, too unfocused to commit to any one thing, then, at half past two, he sat back and took a deep breath. Wow, not having anywhere to be or anything to do sucks. He glanced at the clock in the bottom right corner of the computer screen and scrunched his lips. The elementary school would be letting out in less than fifteen minutes; since he didn't have anything going on, he might as well pick her up.
Ten minutes later, he pulled to the curb opposite the school, cut the engine, and waited, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel. He had today off and tomorrow too, as October was slow season and not as many people were needed to run the kitchen, so he had two days of restless fidgeting to look forward to.
Momentarily, kids spilled through the main doors and dispersed in every direction like ants from a kicked mound. He scanned the crowd and spotted Lily coming down the steps, clad in a pair of jeans and a dark blue sweater with a cat on the chest, her books hugged to her breast and her head hung. Her steps were quick and curt, as though she were trying to get away from someone without conspicuously fleeing. He honked the horn and she startled, her head whipping up and her brown eyes pooled with fear. She saw him and broke out in a big, glowing smile that made Lincoln smile himself. Looking both ways, she hurried excitedly across the street and slipped in.
"Hey," he said.
"Hi," she replied and pulled her seatbelt on. He watched her, his eyes going from her small, delicate hands, skin clear and creamy, to her matted hair. She looked up, and their gazes locked: For an awkward moment, they stared at one another, and the emotions in Lincoln's chest were so keen, so raw, so powerful, that they scared him. The corners of her lips turned up so sharply he was surprised her face didn't crack. The light dancing in her eyes and the faint flush in her cheeks made his heart speed up and his throat go dry. "What?" she asked with a giggle.
Even if she didn't think so, she was a beautiful girl, the most beautiful of all her sisters, the north star shining higher and brighter than all the others. "Nothing," he said, unable to raise his voice above a revenant whisper. He surprised himself by adding, "You look nice."
Lily's face lit up and she quickly looked down at her lap, her blush deepening. "Thank you," she said.
Lincoln was shocked that he wanted to continue, to see her blush harder and smile bigger, shocked by the gentle pounding of his heart and hollow throb in the pit of his stomach. Shocked and disgusted.
Forcing himself to turn away, he started the engine and guided the car away from the curb, braking to let a yellow but with Royal County Schools stenciled on the sides pass. He was acutely aware of Lily watching him from the corner of her eye, and now it was him blushing.
Jesus fuck, dude, perving your little sister? Really?
No, he wasn't perving her -
You're perving yourself.
Well...no, still, but...I dunno, I have a lot on my mind, alright? Seeing Lily happy makes me happy and I need a little happy right now.
The silence between them grew steadily heavier and tenser as they navigated side streets on their way to Franklin. Finally, Lily broke it, her tone causal. "So, how was your day?"
Lincoln turned onto Wyman Street and kept his eyes straight ahead; the RWCC campus opened up on the left, and looking at it would probably do to him what the ark did to that Nazi in Raiders of the Lost Ark. Heya, Linc, it said, remember getting kicked out of me? Pepperidge Farms does. You still haven't told your folks, huh? Really drawing it out, aren't you? "Boring," he admitted.
"Did you get any drawing done?" she asked and sat up straighter.
He shook his head. "Nah, I didn't," he said with a twinge of regret. He had a good two hundred dollars worth of commissions sitting in his to do files. A smart, non-fuck up would have finished those and collected his money instead of watching ducks, worrying, and thinking strange and borderline perverted thoughts about his sister.
Oh, shut the fuck up, I was not thinking perverted thoughts. Jesus, no wonder I'm so anxious all the time, half of my brain is an asshole who hates my guts.
"Do you want to draw when we get home?" Lily asked hopefully.
Lincoln considered for a moment. No, he realized, he did not want to draw, but he did want to be with Lily, no matter what that entailed. The question was: Should he? He wasn't a psych major, but he wasn't a complete moron either. His mental and emotional states weren't the greatest - he was sad, lonely, depressed, actively self-loathing, afraid, nervous, and, deep down, wanted someone to hug him, kiss him, and tell him it was all going to be okay, he would pull through. He would never hurt Lily in any way, shape, or form, but it might be best to just sweat this out on his own. "I don't know," he said noncommittally. "I'm kind of still...not all there."
In his periphery, Lily deflated, and his chest squeezed. He winced when he heard himself say, "We can try, maybe."
"I-If you want," Lily said quickly, "you don't have to."
He wanted to, though. But also didn't want to. God, he was so tangled he could barely move. College, Mom, Dad, being an immature slacker with fucked priorities, no girlfriend, no friends, a shit job, now...this...whatever this was. Right wing death squads hurry (make me your first victim).
That was sufficiently morbid to bring a pallid grin to his lips. "We can," he said decisively.
They got home just behind Lola and Lana, both of whom rode with Lana's boyfriend Stuart - Lola and her boyfriend Chase were arguing again, which happened quite a lot. Sitting at the dining room table across from Lily, a notepad open before him, Lincoln divided his attention between the page and his third youngest sister as she paced back and forth from the kitchen to the living room, her eyes hard and glinting like knife blades, her mouth a thin, white slash, and her thumbs flying across her Samsung's keyboard. Every time she passed behind him, she huffed angrily, her rage rolling off of her in dark waves. Lana sat on the couch with a bag of chips and her bare feet kicked up on the coffee table; she shoved handfuls of Lays into her mouth and brayed laughter at the screen. Lucy was nowhere to be seen, which was par for the course; he didn't know if she was home or not, and as long as she wasn't hurt or dead somewhere, he really didn't care. He gave up trying to be his sisters' keeper long ago; they were all stubborn, willful, and headstrong.
Not Lily, however. She was different, though. Better. Presently, she bent over a notebook of her own, a pencil in her hand and an array of pens, crayons, and colored pencils fanned out in front of her. She worked slowly and fastidiously, her meticulous attention to detail showing through when she stopped, studied what she had, started again, then stopped once more with a thoughtful hum. Lincoln's fingers trembled with the urge to reach out and thread through her warm blonde hair, and his throat closed as he imagined brushing his thumb over the ridge of her cheekbone. Then her pink, sparkling lips.
Revulsion filled him, and he forced his attention to his own drawing - a single line that was supposed to be the beginnings of Ace Savvy's hip, but was too uneven for his liking. He had to tell Mom and Dad...today...no more fucking around. This whole thing had him so turned around he was thinking...you know, what he was thinking. Once he got that off his chest and out of the way, he'd go back to normal. He dreaded that conversation, but it was one that needed to be had, and if he wanted to begin improving himself, he needed to suck it up and face the music like a grown man instead of pussyfooting around and passing the buck. After that..well...he'd look for a better job, then a place to live. There was a low income housing complex in Elk Park he could look into. They advertised in the Royal County Republican all the time - one bedrooms, studios, and efficiencies from 450 a month, call now!
That was a vague plan, but it was still a plan, and having it lessened the weight pressing down on his chest, if only a little. He picked up his pencil and tapped the eraser against the notebook, wracking his brain for something to draw; nothing appealed to him, and the promise of expending mental energy made him tired. "What are you drawing?" he asked.
"Flower-Cat and his evil twin, Spider-Cat," she piped.
"Spider-Cat?" Lincoln asked with a sour pucker. He didn't like spiders any more than his older sister Leni did - they were creepy, crawlie little bastards and if he had his way, he'd send them back to hell where they belonged.
Lily hummed. "He's not bad, I promise." She tilted her head from one side to the other as she appraised her creation. "Actually, he's kind of cute." She looked up and him and beamed.
Like you, he thought, and his stomach dropped. Shut the fuck up, Linc, or POW, right in the kisser.
"What are you drawing?" she asked and craned her neck to see.
"Nothing," he said playfully and covered the page with one hand.
Lily reached for it, but he swatted her hand away. "Come on," she moaned, "I wanna see it."
"There's nothing to see," he said, "honest. Look." He held up the notebook to show her his one pitiful little line, and she frowned.
He sat it down again and stared at it. "I got nothing."
"Well," Lily said, returning to her work, "find something."
He rolled his eyes. "That's easier said than done."
Lily hummed again. "Not when you're you."
That elicited a sardonic chuckle from him. Not when you're you, as though he were something special and not a dumbass who let his grades slip to the point of being tossed from school. Mom once told him Lily thinks the world of you, and he couldn't argue, she did. It was a nice feeling to know that someone did. He thought the world of her back. She was -
Like a shot in the dark, inspiration struck, and artistic passion flooded his chest like celestial fire. He ripped the page out, balled it up, and sat it aside. Picking up his pencil, he set to work with renewed fervor. He paused occasionally to glance up at Lily, who remained bent over her own paper; the fourth or fifth time, she glanced up at him and smiled. "What?" she asked self-consciously. A stray shaft of late afternoon sunlight cascaded through the window behind him and set her face aglow, and Lincoln's heart stopped as to pay a venerative tribute to the ethereal beauty before it.
"Nothing," he said thickly and went back to his drawing. She watched him with dark, sparkling eyes, and Lincoln's stomach tightened.
Halfway through the drawing, he pursed his lips and scanned the paper, dissatisfied with what he saw. The constant struggle of any artist is to accurately capture in ink what they see in life, and virtually none of them are ever pleased with the results of their own efforts, even the celebrated Old Masters. Lincoln examined his work and sighed deeply. Some things, he had decided, are simply lost in translation. No one short of God can imbue a creation with certain features, while Lincoln knew this, he, like every of his ilk, still despaired. He forced himself to continue - when he was done, he sat back and grinned at Lily, still hard at work on her own piece. He crossed his arms and donned a faux smug expression. When she didn't look up, he cleared his throat.
She ignored him.
Oh? It's gonna be like that? He leaned over, one hand splaying on the edge of the table, and reached out to flick her pencil. She must have sensed him, because she whipped her head up and pulled back, a goofy grin spreading across her face. "Stop," she drew. "I'm almost done."
"I've been done," he teased.
"You're older and faster," she said. "And better."
"I don't know," he said and sat back, "you do have the best teacher, so you're bound to be really good one day."
Lily laughed melodically. "Wow, all the nice stuff I say about you has really gone to your head."
Lincoln shrugged. "Only 'cause it's true."
Rolling her eyes exaggeratedly, Lily turned her attention back to her drawing. Lincoln watched her, his heart swelling with affection too intense to be healthy. He frowned and darted his gaze to the pad like a scolded dog. Yeah, he needed to get himself in order, and the first step to doing that was coming clean to Mom and Dad.
"Done," Lily said proudly. She slapped her pencil onto the table with a clack and grinned slyly. "Wanna see?"
"Sure," Lincoln said.
Lily picked the notebook up and inspected her art one final time, her brow furrowing in consternation. "Actually…"
"Let me see it," Lincoln said.
She hesitated, then turned it around. "It's not very good," she said ignominiously and hung her head as if to hide her shame. LINCOLN IS THE BEST BROTHER EVER was written across the sheet in blocky, shaded letters. Hearts, smileys, and one weary face, floated around it. Lincoln blinked in surprise. "I thought you were drawing Spider-Cat."
"I lied," she chirped.
He studied the drawing for a long moment, his chest flooding with warmth. "It's beautiful," he said, "just like you."
Lily's face turned fire truck red and she clamped her lips together in a futile attempt to mute her beaming smile. "No I'm not," she said.
"Yes you are," Lincoln said earnestly. With the sunlight bathing her face, she was angelic, and Lincoln could not remember having ever seen a girl more enchanting. A deep pit of yearning opened in his stomach, and his fingers twitched with the urge to skim across her skin, to trace her slender fingers and her fragile knuckles, to kiss the side of her face, to stroke through her warm, sweet-smelling hair - he saw her tilt her head back and lean into his touch like a cat, her eyes closed and her lips parted in bliss, saw her trembling, weak in the knees because of him. A sharp pang cut through him when he realized they were openly gazing into each other's eyes, the air between them heavy and pregnant with meaning. Lincoln's heartbeat stumbled and he reflexively swallowed; Lily panted for air, her face blushing crazily and her eyes hazy with smoke. He tried to wrench away from her inexorable pull, but was powerless to move or to not; he could only feel, and what he felt scared, exhilarated, and alarmed him.
Then Lola let out a frustrated moan behind him, and the spell was broken. He and Lily looked awkwardly away from each other, Lily biting nervously biting her bottom lip and Lincoln chewing his thumbnail. He shuddered when he noticed the half-erection pressing against the inseam of his jeans, and he would have jumped up and fled if he wasn't frozen in shame, humiliation, and cold, bubbling horror. He could explain what he felt in the car away, but not this - this was too big to sweep under the rug, too cumbersome to shove into a shadowy corner. He looked at his little sister and longed to touch her in a way you don't touch a sister, stirred for her in a way that he was never meant to stir.
And the worst part of all? Even now, standing naked and exposed in the light of revelation, he still wanted to do it.
"So," Lily said, "what, uh, what did you draw?"
Lincoln's eyes went to the notebook and he swallowed again. "This," he said, picked it up, and turned it to face her. He averted his eyes from her visage, but it filled his periphery like the faint suggestion of brilliance. "It's -"
"Me," she said.
The drawing depicted Lily looking at him with that small, knowing half-smile, the sun falling over her in all its weak splendor like queenly vestments. He tried so hard to encapsulate her radiance, but failed; no one, not even da Vinci, could have done her justice. "It's not very good, but -"
"It's beautiful," she marveled.
Not as beautiful as you, he stopped himself from saying.
Setting the notebook down, he carefully ripped the page out and slid it across the table. "Here," he said, "I want you to have it."
She darted her eyes from it to his face and back again, then reached out to take it. Whether she meant to brush his knuckle with her thumb, Lincoln couldn't say, but he did know that he didn't intend to take her hand - like too many things in his life, it just happened. Blame immaturity and poor impulse control. Lily's breath caught and her eyes widened in something approaching panic. Lincoln's heart sank into his stomach - did he make a mistake?
He already knew the answer to that - he did.
"I-I gotta go," he said. He let her got and staggered to his feet. Lily started to speak, but he rushed out before she could finish. In his room, he shut the door and leaned against it, his fingers slipping into his hair. He didn't know what to think, didn't want to think...not about her, not about the tumor-like emotions even now pulsing in the middle of his chest. He was confused or something, misplacing unspent feelings on her like putting one's hate of one's father on all men or...he didn't know, alright? He was shaking with nerves and fighting to draw air into his shriveled lungs; he was hot from his toes to his forehead and he felt things that he had never felt before, things that he shouldn't but did regardless.
He needed a distraction, something to get his mind off of Lily. Pushing away from the door, he went over to the desk and dropped into the chair; it groaned under his weight and he almost hoped it snapped - nothing would preoccupy him like a sliver of wood up the ass. Lily? Who's Lily? Now get this spinter outta my rectum, it's killing me. He blew a puff of air and opened his laptop.
