Chapter 85j: …Like a Sibling Scorned (22 August 2003, at the vacation home)
As usual, mom is taking her side. Goddamn it. She always does.
'She is the younger one, so she is the one that needs to be defended.'
That little twerp abuses her age and her size at every little chance she gets, and mom knows this, too. She's going to spin it, mom will call her on the most obvious bullshit, and then she'll get away scot-free with what is still a heavily editorialized take of the evil older sister.
Coming out of Setty's mouth, anything is a fairytale with her as the victim.
As I try to sit down on the lawn chair, I immediately think the better of it. Fuck, the sun has turned it into a small torture device.
Tan lines? I could get grill lines over here.
Unfortunately, I was just too late in warning Setty: Setty yelps after recklessly flopping down onto her chair. Then again it isn't as if I was supposed to say anything, now was I?
Of course now Clara is mothering her. As expected: she is the victim. Always the victim. Why did I ever want a younger sibling?!
But well, whatever. Tan-lines, mom? Don't mind if I do, especially when it is as good of an excuse as any to annoy her little brattiness some more. As I unclip my bikini and let my girls jiggle just a bit more provocatively, I try to make eye-contact with Setty, all while slowly using the soppy fabric to wipe down the plastic of these lawn chairs.
Aren't breasts like these what you want, my not-even-good-enough-to-adopt pre-pubescent sibling?
Sigh. She glares daggers at me for a couple of seconds, but soon her glaring is caught by mom, and I have to pretend to be hard at work cooling things down. It would be nice if we had cushions for these chairs, but apparently a stray cat gave birth on them this spring, and getting new cushions fell inbetween the cracks of a busy life.
Well, whatever; when a family friend offers you the use their summer home with access to a refreshing-if-quite-murky pond for a relaxing day during a heat wave, complaints are not an option. Setty might try, but if there's one thing mom and dad will never compromise on, it is the act of hammering in on us regarding the importance of having a good attitude and character.
Mom has meanwhile done the smarter thing, and gotten out a big beach towel and put it down for Setty to sit on as they talk. Mom meanwhile has no real problems; she's wearing a dress that's about a decade out of date. But with this heat, airiness is all that counts, and I'm frankly jealous of how light that fabrics looks like. I bet it is from some sort of eastern fabric, you don't see stuff like that in shops around here.
As I put my bikini back on, I realize just quite how hot that plastic has ended up. It's almost pleasant how warm the cups of fabric have become. Had I left them there for five minutes, I bet they'd be all dried up, too.
Screw it. I'm not going to sit here and listen to a one-sided sob story where I am the villain, especially not in the baking sun. That can't be healthy, unless I go to get another dab of sunscreen.. but who knows where mom left that bottle.
She will for sure bite my head off if I speak up while Setty-brat is putting on the almost-waterworks. Thus, the only option remains: I drag this stupid lawnchair over to the shade on the side of the house. It is only a couple of metres, and will be so much better. After putting the purse and book that I left on the ground before on top, I finally start to drag the thing along.
"So she was just dunking me under again and again and again, all because she wants to hear me say something bad about Cain, and that is so utterly unfair! It's not my fault he's such a good older brother!"
I try to tune it out. I honestly do.
".. she called me incestuous! How dare she? That's so mean! If she likes him so much, then why am I the deviant one? I'm not the one drowning her in the pond!"
Ugh. I want to strangle her so much right now! When I'm not on the opposing end of her manipulative stories, I tend to think of it as cute… but being the villain in one of them sucks.
The audible scraping of the chair over the pavement begets me a bit of a scowl from mom who turned around to see what caused the noise. I can only smile apologetically with a nod and a slightly lifted chair: 'I won't leave any marks on the pavement if I lift it just a little, right?' The lounge chair is simply too hot and heavy to completely lift on my own while wearing flip-flops.
"But what started all of it? I don't think you are blameless, young lady."
"I did nothing!"
My eyes roll as I finally reach the shade. Now to angle the chair away a little, pulling it just behind this hedge to be out of the wind, and I'll be all set to stew over the fact that she did nothing. Nothing my ARSE.
Who showed Cain those photos, huh? Who gave that little asshole so much embarrassing ammunition?! If he is to be believed, he's even got one printed out at double the size and pinned it on his wall.
At least mom knows. She's not letting the squirt squirm out, and is putting on the mom-styled thumbscrews.
I finally sit down to try and enjoy this absurdly hot weather, trying my best to find some solace as I fidget around with my purse in frustration.
But… … argh! It still makes me mad! So damn mad!
That little pervert son of a bitch! That duplicitous acting asshole!
And the little incestuous slut that just GAVE HIM the PICTURE!
I hope it is just one… right? It goddamn better be!
Ugh. This is such a disaster. After all this time, I thought that stupid night was in the past.
Why'd I ever let dad take those pictures of us? How did Setty ever get her hands on those negatives?!
Or did she photocopy it for him? Does it even matter?
Fuck. My reputation. Fuck, not even my reputation, but… just decency. If he'd been a one-night stand, then I'd have seen him naked with all his bodily flub, and it would be fine. Shared sexual experiences typically stay in the bedroom or the car or whatever flimsy washbasin, because both sides have equally shameful things they could say about the other. Not that they would, because fuck, you just screwed eachothers brains out, and that experience alone is a huge equalizer that makes interaction a dopey, hormone-fueled feasibility once more.
But I never saw him naked. Nor fucked him. Not that I want to, that creep, but still, the point stands: he's got a picture he should not have.
He has seen things he should not have seen! How the hell am I going to face that little asshole without flushing red in embarassment all over again?!
As I pull the smoke deeply into my lungs, finding just a bit of mental strength in the chemicals that make up this toxic cloud, all hell breaks loose a second time.
"JENNY! Young lady, you put that cigarette out right this fucking instant. What have I told you about not smoking around the house? Especially not anywhere near where your sister is, what the hell do you think you are doing?"
Setsuka is standing right besides her.
Oh. Fuck. I'm so fucked.