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Chapter One

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"Touching you makes me feel alive."

…………………

The first call came on Monday afternoon, through her direct line at work.

"I'm leaving Derek," Kendra's voice was firm and tear-free, just six months after her wedding.

Casey dropped the phone.

"Case? Casey, are you still there? What was that?"

She snapped out of it, caught herself, retrieved the receiver from the floor, "Yes, I'm here. Sorry about that. What were you saying?"

"Well, okay, I'm not leaving leaving Derek," the other woman sighed, "I'm just… moving out. Temporarily, until we figure a few things out. I mean after what happened with Kerry – you remember him from college? – and, you know, all the issues with work, and Derek doesn't want to start a family right away, and… well. We haven't talked much since the wedding, have we Casey? Maybe we should have lunch and I'll fill you in? How does Wednesday work for you?"

"… Um." She was studying a picture of her family she kept on her desk, or more specifically, the 24-year-old Derek in the picture. She cleared her throat, "Y-yes. Wednesday is fine. Great. Can you meet me at the office? Perfect. See you then. I am sorry to hear this. No, no, I don't think that at all. We'll talk more at lunch. Right. Okay, you take care of yourself too. Bye."

Of course Casey's first impulse when she hung up was to call Derek. Just to find out if he was okay, how he was coping, if he really even cared at all. She wanted to go over there to see that things were alright on his end so she could pick a fight. She wanted to put her head down on her desk and muffle a squeal. She wanted to smack herself, and bang her head against the nearest wall, and write her stupid stepbrother a nasty email – she was always better with written words – and tell him to make his stupid life work for him.

She called Sam instead.

"Have you talked to Derek yet?" she demanded immediately after he answered the third ring.

"Casey?" he was confused, "Uh – just hold on."

A lot of office noises could be heard in the background – keyboards, and phones, and Sam telling somebody that he needed a moment to take this important call – before things became suddenly silent.

"Hey, sorry," he chuckled slightly, nervously, "Uh, is something wrong, Casey? What did Derek do?"

"I don't know," she replied. "But, Kendra just called me to say she's moving out, and I thought maybe Derek had –,"

"She's what?"

She sighed, "He hasn't called you."

"No, he hasn't. What do you mean Kendra's moving out?"

"I don't have all the details," she noticed suddenly that she was out of her chair and pacing. "Look, just call your best friend and make sure he's okay, alright? God. I don't believe this."

"Yeah…" Sam sounded troubled, "You're right, I'd better call. I'll talk to you later."

"Sure."

"Oh, Casey?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sure you didn't… it wasn't your… I mean, Derek wouldn't… um."

Casey felt something heavy settling in the pit of her stomach, her pulse fluttered wildly, her face felt hot. She didn't like where this was going. She wanted to throw up. She wanted to scream.

"Sam?"

He sighed, "Never mind. I'll call you tonight."

The rest of day was shot, Casey decided, hanging up the phone; there was no way she could concentrate on work now. What had Sam been getting at, exactly? What had Derek discussed with him, or had he noticed something – he wasn't that perceptive, was he? She didn't remember him being that way. Actually, she'd known him for years, and he wasn't that way. She thought.

Anyway, there was nothing to notice. She rarely saw Derek, and they were what they were whenever they did happen to get together. They argued a lot, or sometimes they were civil, but the distance between them was always tangible and respectable, and it was their weird rapport. It worked. They were family in spite of whatever she felt. Had felt. Once upon a time. And it wasn't as though something as silly as passing attraction, fleeting interest, would ever evolve into anything out of their control. The very notion was absurd.

She was beyond that, over their phase, happily settled into living without Derek. She liked where she was, didn't even really think of him at all between their encounters, lived in the now.

She had a great life, by all accounts. A decently paying job in the editorial department at McAfree & Pedersen - one of the most prestigious publishers for texts and educational materials nation-wide. She owned her own home in a quiet, older neighborhood, far from the heart of the city. It was a cute and quaint little house with a fireplace, a fenced in yard, and three bedrooms – the smallest of which she turned into an office.

No roommates, except for her adorable, playful rottweiler. Casey had never really thought of herself as a dog person – though, she'd faked it once for a canine-loving teacher with Derek's help – but her apartment had been broken into last year before she'd moved, and Edwin had talked her into buying the puppy from a friend of his. Bronte was great company around the house, always happy to see her, and very fond of cuddling.

She even had something resembling a social life – just a mild flirtation with a cute guy working at the museum by her office, and the occasional drink with friends, but she had fun. She kept in close touch with her family. She hadn't seen a therapist in two years.

And Derek? Well, he was definitely the more successful of the two of them, and she was sure it really bothered her a lot on some ignored level of her consciousness.

Straight out of film school, he'd received a government grant for his winning proposal; a documentary about cults. He'd actually joined one. They'd lost contact with him for close to a year while he infiltrated this weird, local alien-worshipping sect; a sort of mishmash of Scientology and the Raelians.

He kept a video diary of his experiences, and managed to sneak recording equipment into actual ceremonies, and in conversations with other members. When he'd finally had enough – insanity and footage - he left the group and started trolling for meetings with less reticent cult leaders looking for exposure. A few interviews, and a lot of research later, he did what gave the film its irreverent, darkly humorous edge;he started his own cult – with all his charisma and magnetism, he was already half way there – as an experiment of sorts, and filmed the results.

The film was a hit at the Toronto Film Festival, and then Sundance before making its debut in mainstream cinema. Coming off that success, he'd been fielding offers and accepting grants, and building an impressive reputation - particularly for one so young. Currently, he was working on a number of projects with the CBC, and directing a film his friend from college had penned. (An independently produced dark comedy that was already generating a good deal of buzz on the indie circuit.) Derek was pretty much "living the dream."

Well, it had looked that way anyway, with his beautiful wife and picture-perfect home, doing what he loved, basically living happily ever after. But now, Kendra was leaving, and Sam was making weird comments, and she couldn't call him because they didn't do phone calls with each other, and… and… what if?

No. There were no 'what ifs' these days where they were concerned. There couldn't be, and not just because it had been a silly phase and she was beyond it all. Absence for them made the heart grow acceptant. They were, to each other, what they'd always been and always would be. Nothing more, nothing less.

Right.

She took out her planner and penciled Kendra in for Wednesday. Kendra Venturi. She underlined it twice.

…………………

The second call came on Tuesday, just seconds after she walked through her front door.

"Hey Casey, I'm so glad I caught you! What are you doing right now? I hope you're not busy…"

It was Kendra.

She tossed her keys on the counter and shook her hair out of its upsweep, holding the back door open for the dog.

"No, I just got in," she tried not to sound as weary as she felt. "I was going to walk Bronte, but that can wait for a bit. What's up?"

"This is going to sound awful, and cowardly, and you probably won't want to do it, but I need a favor."

Oh, she was good, Kendra Venturi - she knew how to ask for a favor. With just enough desperation in her tone, just enough self-deprecation, and pessimism in an adorable-sounding package that pretty much guaranteed she'd get a 'yes.' Casey knew before she asked that she was done for.

"What did you need, Kendra?"

"I left some papers at the house," she explained, hurriedly, "They're in my office, right on my desk, next to the computer and I need to have them by Friday, but… I… Well Derek's there and, you know, I can't really see him right now. Well, I can. I mean, if I have to, but I just have too much going on to deal with it today, and we're getting together tomorrow so…"

Casey hated what she was being asked to do. Loathed it. "You want me to go by the house, get your papers, and bring them to lunch tomorrow?"

"If it's not too much trouble?" her voice was sugary-sweet, earnest even.

"I…" for a moment, she contemplated saying 'no.' It wasn't as though Kendra could be angry with her for it. She was tired. She'd worked all day. Derek lived across town. And yet… "Where did you say they were?"

The woman was handing her an excuse to go over there, and see things for herself, from his point of view. From her view of him.

"You're the best, Casey," Kendra sounded relieved, "I can't tell you how much I appreciate you. Really."

"It's not a big deal."

Casey knew, as her pulse picked up, that she was probably certifiable. She had been asked to do something that would take her out of her way, interfere with existing plans, and probably be generally disagreeable.

So why did she feel guilty for saying yes?

…………………

It took half an hour to get to Derek's house, towards the edge of the city in one of the nicer, upscale areas of Toronto. Casey had called ahead, of course, and Derek had told her in clipped tones to come right inside when she got there. He'd be busy with his equipment, no need to stop by that area of the house to say hi – he was just fine. He promised to see her at George's birthday in two weeks, and that was that.

Of course, she didn't intend to follow theses instructions; it was stupid to drive thirty minutes just to spend two seconds on a ridiculous recovery mission. And anyway, she wanted to talk to him, even though it was certain to be unpleasant.

The door was open as promised when she arrived and she wasted no time collecting the necessary papers from the room Kendra had turned into an office. She stuffed them into a manila envelope she'd brought for the occasion – terminally organized, always planning ahead – and transferred them to her summer-sized purse. Then she headed for the kitchen.

She wasn't overly familiar with Derek and Kendra's home, but she'd been there enough times to know how to get to the important gathering places. And she was familiar with Derek's eating habits – at 5:30pm, he was going to be where the food was, no question.

Casey found him exactly where she expected he'd be, and in a close approximation of how she'd thought she'd find him. Head stuck in the fridge, back towards her, rummaging around for something to stuff his face - he wasn't picky.

"Want me to cook for you?" she came around the counter to examine the food supply.

"I told you I was fine," Derek's tone was decidedly hostile, albeit muffled. He didn't bother to look at her.

"You did tell me that," she reached past him to retrieve a few cold cuts and condiments, "But you forget I know firsthand that you're a liar. Wow, this is cute!"

He finally slid his gaze over to her, raiding his "cute" breadbox. She felt his eyes searing the side of her face, but she was used to being on the receiving end of his glares. This was child's play.

"What are you doing?"

"Making a sandwich, obviously," she smiled, sweetly, "I thought I'd serve myself since a certain obnoxious stepbrother is too rude to offer food to a guest at dinner time."

"Oh, you're all manners, Casey," he rolled his eyes, "Did they teach you to just help yourself to stuff that doesn't belong to you in private school, or was that something you taught yourself?"

"I must have learned it from you," she breezily returned, placing an overloaded sandwich on a plate, "Here."

He was still glaring at her, but he accepted it anyway, and stuffed half of it into his mouth in one go.

"Great," he said through partially chewed food, "You can leave now."

Still disgusting. Probably on purpose, because he knew she hated his slovenly table manners, and he liked to annoy her.

"You're an asshole," she came right out and said it. Abnormally profane. Uncharacteristically calm. Matter-of-fact. She was tired of playing the game, "What happened with Kendra?"

"What happened to you leaving?"

His face contorted into something markedly more unpleasant than his usual glower – less mocking, more genuine anger. And he said nothing, took another bite of the sandwich, washed it down with a can of sprite. Ignored her a little bit, scowled some more. She didn't move.

"Why are you still here?"

She scoffed, "Derek, if your being an immature jerk about everything was enough to get rid of me, your life would have been a lot easier in High School."

"Oh, you've got that right."

He was sulking. He looked miserable. She wanted it to be her fault, for a million stupid reasons, and hated that she probably had little to do with any of it. Hated that she still didn't know what "any of it" was.

"Why can't you just tell me what's going on with you?" she demanded, "Why do I have to barge into your home just to argue, and beat around the bush? All we do is drive each other crazy without really talking, or…"

She sighed, stopped herself. She didn't know where she was going with this, or rather, where she could go with this and still stay in all their safe antagonism and cheap shots.

But Derek was suddenly facing her with the expression she was very used to. The annoyed, pissed-off, 'I'm-not-getting-what-I-want' dirty look of frustration. It seemed he had other ideas.

"Or what?" he took a step closer, intimidating, "Or what, Casey? Just say it. For once, just say something."

She swallowed, felt herself beginning to blush, pushed a piece of hair away from her face. She'd touched up her make-up before she came inside, smoothed down her clothes. She felt suddenly that it must be obvious, she felt naked. His eyes scorched her, held her in place, saw right through her. As usual.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He scoffed, laughed humorlessly, threw his hands in the air, "Oh, of course not. You just came here to run a little errand for your good friend, my wife, who's just as much of a fucking wuss as my pathetic stepsister."

"Oh right," emboldened with anger, Casey shortened the distance between them now on her own. "And what did you do to scare her away, Derek? Didn't I tell you not to screw it up?"

"I'm sure you meant it too," his voice dripped mockery, "And of course it's all my fault, right? It's my fault that she met some old college friend, and they had a connection and now she's all confused about their little emotional affair."

"What?"

He laughed, "That's right, she didn't even really cheat on me. They just talk about feelings, and she can't share something like that with her husband, and isn't it just tragic?"

"It is tragic," she told him, "that even your wife can't get anything out of you. It is."

"Is that what you came here for? To get something for Kendra?" he rolled his eyes, "She sent you over on this cute little errand just to tell me how stupid I'm being, right? Give a little sisterly advice?"

"I don't do sisterly advice with you," she tossed his stupid expression back at him.

"Right." His eyelids suddenly fell, heavy onto a stare that was becoming uncomfortably probing, "How could I forget? We're supposed to be brother and sister, but it's not like that, is it?"

She flinched. Felt the weight of his accusations, measured and spoken. Put forth impulsively, because he was so fucking reckless when control got away from him. And he'd blindsided her, because she'd been confident that he wouldn't touch the things they weren't supposed to touch. She was so damned sure it would stay out of existence, whatever this was, remain some abstract notion. Like it was supposed to.

Which was foolish, really. To think that his skill at lying would make dishonesty a given. To forget that he chose to be honest when the truth was the strongest ammunition.

What was wrong with him?

"Derek," she said it in what she hoped was a warning tone, "Don't change the subject."

"Why not, sis?" the distance was getting shorter by the second, "I'm tired of the subject. Actually, I'm just tired of talking."

She was tired of talking too, but afraid to stop. Somehow the moment felt too tenuous. Any lapse of conversation would send them spiraling somewhere uncharted and rocky. There was too much out there now to leave naked and hanging.

"Liar," she breathed, "You're such a liar Derek."

"That's you, Case," he stepped forward, maybe a foot between them, probably less. "Diverting, and denying, and ignoring. Everything I've said right here is the truth."

"You're not tired of talking," she qualified, watching resolve leaving her, feeling too weak to be snappish, "You love the sound of your own voice."

"You love -," he paused, stared at her, and they were too close, warming each other.

He wasn't going to finish the sentence, she knew, his eyes with their stupidly thick lashes on hers. His expression softening into something she didn't want to see but couldn't look away from.

She thought of science. Cause and effect. The relationship between two things when one thing makes something else happen.

He was wearing his hair short again these days, the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, all lean muscles and smooth skin.

Chaos theory. Attempting to explain and find the underlying order in disorder.

He was not quite a head taller than her, his lips were slightly moist, he smelled of lime and something woodsy.

Newton's Third Law. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

And then, terribly, perfectly, his mouth was all over hers. Explosive. A teeth-clashing, tongue-straining kiss of all the repressed feelings and emotionally charged moments they'd stored up for years and years. An outside force pushing them at each other and stirring them together, every abstract notion becoming concrete, every what if answered.

Inertia.

They rushed through it, no time to waste, to slow down was to think and to think was to stop, and they couldn't now. He tore her clothes and she scratched his skin. Need overrode rational, at the pit of her stomach, the core of her being, and she felt him push her, grab her – oh, the bedroom, the bedroom, please – and it was bittersweet and painful. He bit her neck and she dug into his shoulder, and there was no stopping them.

They didn't make it to the bedroom; he took her against the wall.

…………………

There was a cozy little café hiding in the corner of the building that housed the offices of McAfree & Pedersen. It was best known for serving breakfast all day long, but they also baked their own bread and always had fresh ingredients for salads and sandwiches. The coffee was to-die-for.

Kendra had passed it when she'd come to get "sister-in-law" and, of course, insisted on eating there for their tête-à-tête on Wednesday. Casey was easily persuaded; she had no preferences. It wasn't as if she was ever going to eat again anyway.

She felt sick.

She was sore and marked, dirty and lacerated. There was a hickey on her neck she was covering with a scarf. She'd found bruises this morning on her ribcage and thighs - his fingerprints. Purple and angry, harsh against pale skin.

Her entire being screamed guilt. She'd done something terrible to her friend, and now they were sitting down together hours later, and she had to tell her, but she could never say it.

I had sex with your husband. I had sex with my stepbrother. I had sex with Derek.

She was having a hard time meeting Kendra's eyes, hadn't been able to meet Derek's at all. The two of them - never at a loss for some scathing insult or cutting observation, never silent in each other's company - had not exchanged a single word afterwards. He had pulled away from her to lean panting against the wall he'd forced her against, perspiring and shielding his eyes with the back of his hand. And Casey had simply put her clothes back together as best as she could, picked up her bag, and walked out of the house without looking behind her.

She'd cried the whole way home. Because something awful had happened. Because it wasn't awful at all.

"So, let's talk about Derek, then." Minutes into the conversation, small-talk discarded. Kendra was looking at her directly.

"Derek," Casey took a long sip of her iced tea. "Right. Derek. Okay, let's talk about him."

"I guess I should tell you about Kerry," Kendra decided, "I mean, we were really good friends in college, remember? We never did anything, although he wanted to, but I was with Matt at the time, right?"

Casey nodded, "The Matt years."

She laughed, "Yeah. Anyway, this guy just really… gets me. He always has. And I ran into him a couple months back, and we started, you know, having coffee. Harmless, really. At first, anyway. But then, before I knew it, I was telling him things that I've never even told Derek and beginning to really rely on him for emotional support. Like when Darcy got the promotion over me at the office, and when Derek and I started fighting because he doesn't want to have kids right away and I do, and… and, suddenly it was Kerry at the top of my speed dial, so to speak. Like, forget Derek, Kerry's the one I want to tell about my day, and just… share the little details of my life with. Not cool, right?"

I had sex with your husband.

"N-no… not cool."

"I know," Kendra sighed, "And then Kerry asked me one day why I was even with Derek if I was there with him and telling him these things and not Derek. And he said I should leave Derek for him. I was a little pissed off first, because he had no right to put himself out there that way to a married woman, you know?"

Casey choked on her iced tea.

"Oh my god!" Kendra handed her a napkin, "You okay?"

"Good," she felt like vomiting, "Went down the wrong tube. Go on."

"Right, so anyway, he made me think in spite of myself. And I started considering his offer, and it began to look like maybe it wasn't such a bad offer, and that's when I knew I had to figure things out."

Kendra looked her in the eye, "I love Derek. But, maybe we rushed into the whole marriage thing. Or, I don't know. Either way, I had to tell him everything, and then we decided to take a break and see where we ended up. And here we are."

I had sex with my stepbrother. Your husband.

Casey looked at the woman across from her - honest, earnest, pouring her heart out. Doing the right thing with a complicated situation. Trusting her with her problems. She'd never felt more ashamed. She'd never been sadder. She wanted to uphold the woman's code and expose her own stupid self for the pitiful traitor she was. She wanted to be kissed, and held, and consoled by her partner in crime. She thought she'd probably implode, removing herself entirely from the equation, so it was all moot anyway.

"So Kendra," she didn't know how she managed to speak, "Where have you ended up?"

"Truthfully?"

"O-of course."

"I miss my husband," she curled a strand of blonde hair around her finger, "I miss Derek."

Casey bit her lip, pushed her drink aside, forced the tears away.

She missed him too.

…………………

The third call came Thursday night just as she was about to go to bed.

"Oh my god," Kendra's voice was elated and bubbly, "I moved back home, and I wanted you to be the first to know."

Casey gripped the receiver for dear life – would not drop it now, not for this - shut her eyes, "Y-you moved back?"

"Derek and I had a long talk tonight, and I love him so much, and we really want to work things out, and you know it's for the best. Kerry was just, I don't know, a weird anomaly or something. Derek's definitely the one I'm supposed to be with, and we decided I'd come home, and… and you've just been so great for this whole thing, really. You're a good friend to me, Casey. And a good sister to Derek. Thanks for being there."

She took a breath, swallowed the bile rising in her throat, put on a tone that resembled normalcy.

"Please don't thank me Kendra, really. I… this is great! I'm glad things worked out for you guys. Yeah, I know. You really are," she gulped, "perfect for each other. No, no, you can tell him I said so. Right, I'm sure you'll be up late. Ha ha. Well, listen I'm pretty tired, so I'd better let you go. Right. Okay, Kendra, we'll talk soon. Good luck with everything. Goodnight."

Her hand shook as she hung up the phone, her palms sweaty, and she buried her face in her pillow, exhaled, inhaled, tried not to think of anything, tried not feel anything.

Tried to stop crying.

…………………

"Touching you makes me feel alive;

touching you makes me die inside."

- Jay Gordon (Orgy)

…………………

TBC