.
"With unrest I want to inundate you,
want to brandish you, you vine-wreathed stave.
Want, like death itself, to penetrate you
and to pass you onwards like the grave."
- Rainer Maria Rilke
.
The sum total of Nina's past sexual experiences consisted of three ex-boyfriends and an ill-considered romp with one of her male friends: nothing exceptional, nothing worth noting except the few awkward attempts at sex and her first experience with cunnilingus, which consisted mainly of the hapless boy yanking her pants down and getting kneed in the face in the process. Sex at first was painful, and when it wasn't painful, it was a clumsy rush to orgasm, a series of spastic movements before the rueful guy sputtered and twitched inside her. So when Nina starts having the dreams, she has to stop, then give pause, because the content of those dreams has nothing of what she's experienced before.
The dreams come with frightening regularity: a hazy, half-formed image of Johan standing by the pier, backlit by sunlight. In them, Nina steps forward, and her dream self doesn't flinch when he steps near her, moving to nudge his face against her chin.
Everything after that is always disturbingly sexual. When Nina wakes, it's always with that same unsettled feeling, a horrified guilt that sits heavily on her chest.
She considers telling Dr. Gillen, but she doesn't dare.
xXx
.
Midnight. Everything is quiet except for her pleasured, shallow breathing and the slick, wet sounds of Johan's mouth and tongue. She sighs, the muscles of her belly beginning to tense; another jerk. She feels him carefully lick the inside of her wet slit, mouth and nose pressed up against her, before moving up to suckle at the pearly button of flesh at her apex. It's sloppy, his ministrations: her wetness smears obscenely against his face and chin.
No one has touched her like this. She feels him move and it's slow and deliberate, pressing worshipful kisses against her belly and breast before flowing upwards, moving to trace the line of her collarbone with his tongue. His hardness is trapped between their bodies and Nina groans, feels it sliding up against her wetness and her clit, not yet inside her but achingly close.
Her orgasm is intense, muscles clamping down in harsh jerks as Nina gasps for breath, fingers scrunched in Johan's hair and blindly cupping his head. She feels him smiling against her clit, a low, satisfied chuckle, before he moves to cover her with his body. He rests his weight on his forearms and frames her face with his hands before lowering his head to kiss her, open-mouthed and deep, his thumb grazing the side of her cheek.
"Brother." Nina breathes, feels him mouthing the side of her jugular. "Brother. Brother."
She's sticky and swollen when he eases himself inside her.
xXx
.
She jerks awake. One whiplash movement, and she's scrambling against the bed.
The clock on the wall reads 2 AM. Everything is silent except for her heartbeat thrumming in her ears.
xXx
.
"It may not be about sex," Dr. Gillen says.
Nina sits with her hands clenched in her lap, unable to look at him. Her face is red and an embarrassed blush cracks across her cheeks, but Dr. Gillen taps his pen on the notepad, shaking his head.
"Think about it," Dr. Gillen says. "A man dreams of a train going through a tunnel. A woman dreams of hotdogs and doughnuts. These things are symbolic, representative of the act of sex. Sex itself may represent something entirely different."
"Like what?" Nina says.
"Maybe it's sex as a representation of acceptance," Dr. Gillen says. "By becoming one-joining-with your brother, you're re-integrating the memories you've once lost. You're becoming whole," Dr. Gillen says, and he smiles, kindly. "In any case, I wouldn't be too worried about it."
Nina smiles and nods. The session ends and she stands, pulling her bag over her shoulder and shaking Dr. Gillen's hand.
xXx
.
She's in her bedroom, sitting in front of the mirror brushing her hair, when she sees it: the petals of a dried flower, pressed between tissue paper and tucked behind her jewelry box.
And the memory comes rushing at her like waves.
They were standing at the pier. His eyes were sad and when she moved close to him, he bent his head and let his chin rest against her shoulder. They stayed a few moments before rising, his fingers curling gently around her wrist. Then sun was beginning to set when she followed him inside.
Horror. Nina stares at the mirror, hand gripping the brush and frozen at the side of her head, trying hard to breathe.
She remembers. She remembers how he kissed her as he thrust, palms sliding up her skin in tortured, writhing movements. She remembers how he never closed his eyes.
xXx
.
"Are you sure?" Dr. Gillen says.
Nina can't stop crying. Her hands are shaking, tearing into her hair.
She feels him come. His cheek presses against the side of her face and she feels it, the gentle pulsations of his orgasm like a sigh, and at that moment it is as if everything is just so still.
He doesn't kiss her, just lies there with his face pressed against hers, panting softly. A moment passes before he pulls himself out from inside her; it's only then that Nina pulls a blanket over her body and curls up into herself, shaking with horror over what she's done.
And Johan. He stands, backlit by moonlight, saying nothing. His nakedness is startling to her somehow, the paleness of his skin a stark contrast to the darkness rimming the corners of his eyes.
"Are you sure?" Dr. Gillen says. "Nina?"
"You won't remember," Johan says. He sounds sad and she hates him for it. Tears prick her eyes. She feels a hand tentatively touch her shoulder before drawing away.
"I don't know," Nina says. Fat tears roll down the sides of her face.
"I don't know."