Hale

by K. Webster

  “Thank you.”

  I’m gutted at how one simple statement made my unhappy sister smile again. The depression eats at her day by day. Yes, I accuse her of being dramatic. No, I don’t believe that’s the truth. I’ve lived with her depression our entire lives. It’s something I can’t manage or control, so I choose to hate it instead. I treat it like it’s something she can just get over, knowing full well she can’t.

  My expectations are unfair.

  I’m an asshole.

  She’s quiet as I help her out of the truck and into the house. I guide her to the refinished basement where Aunt Becky said I’m free to stay anytime I’m in town. I’ve unpacked some of my things from the old house but mostly, it’s filled with boxes of our memories. Rylie doesn’t ask to go to her room. She clutches onto me in such a desperate way, I realize just how much I’m needed.

  Completely.

  We sit down on the sofa and Rylie curls into me, seeking my comfort. I hug her to me. I inhale the familiar scent of her hair and try to whisper to her soft assurances. Promises that I hope fill her heart up.

  “I’ll be more present.”

  “You can talk to me whenever and I’ll answer.”

  “You’re the most important thing to me.”

  “I’m so fucking sorry.”

  “I love you, Rylie.”

  With each word that tumbles from my lips, she relaxes. I don’t relax until her soft breathing fills my ears. She sleeps, clutching onto my shirt like I might run away in her slumber. I cover her hand with mine and kiss the top of her head.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I murmur.

  Not yet.

  Not for a few more days.

  Hang in there, Rylie.

  I wake up in the pitch-black darkness soaked in sweat. I’m covered by a slight body and a heavy blanket. I manage to grab hold of the blanket and pull it away from us. Aunt Becky must have tried to help. Suffocating us is not helping.

  I’m on my back, sprawled out on the couch with my shoes still on, and Rylie sleeps glued to my front. When I run my fingers through her hair by accident, I notice she’s sweaty too. But when I try to push her away, she whimpers. Such a sad fucking sound. Like kicking a kitten. Despite sweating my balls off, I hug her to me. We’re a mess of hot, sticky limbs, but at least she’s safe. This time, I run my fingers through her hair on purpose. I mimic the way Mom used to do. It always soothed my sister, who suffered mentally all the time. And now, just like always, she relaxes.

  I’m awake now and my mind races to find solutions to problems. A mental search for cures and answers. But all that running and running in my head turns up nothing.

  Twisting, I shift our bodies so she’s between me and the back of my couch. I stifle a chuckle when she grips my shirt tight. It’s a little cooler this way and I find myself drifting back to sleep. I don’t stop stroking her hair. I want her to feel safe and loved. Without Mom and Dad, it’s up to me. I realize that now.

  I won’t let you down, Rylie.

  “Go away,” I groan and toss my pillow at my sister, who stands in the doorway to my bedroom.

  She huffs as she dodges it. “But the weatherman said—”

  “We never get tornadoes, Rylie. Do you even hear any sirens?”

  Bad storms are common for Missouri, as are tornadoes, and it’s just something you learn to live with. Rylie has never been a fan, though, and always tends to stress out over them.

  “No, but…” Her bottom lip wobbles.

  “But nothing. We’re safe. Besides, Mom will be home in another hour. You’ll be fine.”

  Her shoulders hunch and she exits my bedroom. A twinge of guilt niggles at me, but I push it away. She’s nearly fourteen and overreacts to everything.

  Still, I can’t quite get over the fact I was being a dick to her when she was scared. Technically, I’m in charge until Mom or Dad gets home. I should be doing what I can to calm her fears. Just as I decide I’ll go make some frozen pizzas to distract her, I hear them.

  Softly at first.

  Then, the wails grow louder and persistent.

  Tornado sirens.

  I jolt off the bed and run down the hallway, calling out to my sister, “Rylie!”

  She rounds the corner and launches herself into my arms, sobbing. “I told you! I told you!”

  Panic seizes me and my heart beats nearly out of my chest. I pat her back as if that has the power to soothe me as well.

  “Shhh,” I murmur. “We’ll sit in the bathtub and it will blow over. We’ll be fine.”

  “I wish we had a basement like Aunt Becky.”

  “I know,” I tell her. “Me too.”

  She clings to me, her tears soaking my neck, as I rush into the bathroom. With my little sister holding on to me like she’s a koala hugging a tree, I climb into the small tub and sit down. Her body is tense and she trembles.

  I stroke my fingers through her soft hair and listen for sounds other than her terrified whimpers. The sirens continue to go off and the wind picks up outside. When the lights flicker, I curse under my breath.

  “What?” Rylie pulls back and stares at me with helpless, panicked eyes. Her tearstained cheeks are bright red. When the lights flicker again, she jumps. “Hudson!”

  I grip her head with both hands. “Rylie. Calm down. It’s just a storm. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

  She blinks rapidly at me, a garbled sound trapped in her throat. Thunder strikes hard and loud nearby, making us both flinch.

  “It’s just us,” I say softly to calm her. “Playing on the sandy beach in front of our cabin. Mom and Dad are getting the burgers ready to grill. Can you play pretend with me?”

  Some of the terror bleeds from her expression. “I think I heard a fish splash in the water.”

  “Dad will want to catch that fish,” I tell her with a smile. “I found a cool rock. Same color as your hair.”

  “Nobody likes brown rocks,” she says, her freckled nose scrunching.

  I grin at her and tug at her messy hair. “But look at how pretty this brown is. It’s Rylie brown. Special.”

  A smile breaches her face. “You think it’s special?”

  “Very special. I bet all the crayon companies will be beating down our door soon asking for your permission to use it in their box.”

  Her cheeks turn pink and she giggles. “I’d make them fight over it. It would be funny.”

  The wind howls and the lights flicker again, but Rylie is distracted. At least if we blow away, we’ll both be smiling. Another year and I’ll be gone off to college. Will she have to sit in the bathtub alone when Mom and Dad are at work?

  As Rylie babbles about crayons, my future hits me hard in the chest. I’m about to go off into the world and leave my family behind. It’s exciting and I’m looking forward to it, but I’ll miss them. With the threat of my leaving every bit as real as the tornado warning looming over us, I feel oddly nostalgic. Like I want to hold on to this moment a little longer.

  The lights flicker off for good and the howling becomes louder. Rylie is no longer distracted and buries her head against my chest. I hug her tight and kiss her hair.

  “It’s okay, Ry. I promise. I’ll keep you safe. I won’t let you down.”

  She clings to me for what feels like hours until her sobs and terror fade away. The storms long subside and the lights come back on, but I don’t get up from the tub. And she makes no moves to get up either. I just hold her—I hold my own childhood a little while longer as my future beckons for me to grow up and become a man. Her breathing is soft and even, but she’s not asleep. It’s as though she knows I need this moment.

  I’m lost in twisting a strand of her hair when I hear a sweet sigh.

  “My babies.”

  I dart my eyes to the doorway. Mom stands there wearing a bright smile. She’s soaked from the rain and her hair is a mess, but she’s beautiful.

  “Tornado sirens,” I explain.

  She nods and her smile fades. “A small one
ripped through town. There were some uprooted trees and missing shingles near the shop. I’m just glad you’re both okay.”

  Absently, I stroke my fingers through Rylie’s hair. “Who will sit in the bathtub with her once I go to college?”

  Rylie flinches in my grip and I find myself patting her back to comfort her.

  “Don’t worry about stuff like that, Huds. Just worry about getting yourself an education. Rylie’s a big girl. She’ll surprise you one day.”

  I wake up to the feeling of someone watching me. In the dark. It would be alarming except I know it’s just Rylie. Her fingertips are running along my scalp through my hair. Offering me the same sort of comfort I gave her. It feels good, so I can see why she likes it. I drift in and out of sleep as she touches my head. When her fingertips skate along my jaw, I’m wide awake. She runs them along my throat to my pectoral muscle through my shirt. Then, she splays her palm there. I cover her hand with mine, letting her know I’m awake and here for her.

  “Do you want to talk?” I ask, my voice raspy from sleep.

  “No.”

  I smile in the dark. Her sassy one-word answer reminds me of when we were kids. “You remember when I used to try to con you into making me food all the time?”

  Her body stiffens. “It never worked.”

  “Sometimes it did. If I was extra nice to you,” I say, amusement in my tone.

  She relaxes. “You were so mean. All you had to do was say please and I would’ve done anything for you.”

  We’re quiet for a moment.

  “Talk to me then,” I murmur. “Please.”

  “I feel so alone,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

  “You’re not alone, though. You have me.”

  She swallows and burrows against me, as though she can climb right inside me to seek shelter. “I don’t, though.”

  “Just a few more weeks and then I’ll be off for spring break. I’ll come back home. Maybe we can do something fun. Go to the movies or float down the river or go camping,” I tell her. “You have me. I’m right here. I’ve been a shitty brother, I know, but I want to try harder for you. Mom and Dad would want us to get along and lean on each other during this time.”

  “I want that too,” she says after a few minutes.

  I run my fingers back through her hair. She shivers and snuggles closer. When her leg brushes against my cock, I let out a hiss.

  “Stop wiggling so much,” I complain.

  “Sorry.”

  She settles and I try to ignore the fact blood is now pumping to my dick. It reminds me I still have to tell Amy about Jada. The secret is eating me alive.

  “I cheated on Amy,” I admit to my sister. “A girl named Jada.”

  “What?”

  Swallowing down the disgust at myself, I nod. “I…I…I was lonely too.” It’s a shitty answer, but it’s the only one I’ve got.

  “Are you going to tell her?” she asks.

  “Yeah. Eventually.”

  “We’re fucked up,” she says with a small laugh.

  I grin and kiss her hair. “That we are, heathen. That we are.”

  “She’ll forgive you.” Her fingers trek back up the front of my chest to my neck. “She’ll probably cry a lot, though.”

  A groan escapes me. “Yeah.”

  “Do you ever wonder if she’s really the one, Huds? Just because you two will have a baby doesn’t mean you have to stay with her. Does she even make you happy?” Her curious fingers are back on my face and her thumb runs along my bottom lip.

  “We’re not having a baby.” Amy must have told her because I sure as hell didn’t. “It was just a scare.”

  “Good,” she snips out. “I was worried.”

  I smile against her fingers that have fanned out over my lips. “What are you doing?”

  “Learning who you are.” Her fingers start to pull away, but I gently grip her wrist so she won’t stop. If she needs this to feel better, I’ll give it to her. “I spend a lot of time in the dark,” she says with a whisper. “Always alone. But now you’re here with me and I’m trying to understand why.”

  “Because you’re my sister and we need each other,” I tell her simply. Then I playfully bite on her fingers.

  She lets out a happy squeal that I haven’t heard since she was ten years old as she tugs her hand away and slaps my chest. “You bit me!” Hearing her laughter is like a shot of adrenaline to my system. Suddenly, like an addict, I want to hear it more.

  I chomp the air, my teeth clanking together, enjoying her little giggles. She tries to push my face away when I start nipping the air closer and closer to her. I turn my head and bite her wrist. She tries to knee me in the balls, but I manage to pin her skinny leg between my two powerful ones. Her squirming stops and we both breathe heavily. I realize our awkward proximity and start to move away. But it’s like she doesn’t want to sever the link because she goes with me, her knee sliding higher. I wince, expecting my balls to get smashed, but she just rests her leg against them.

  If Aunt Becky came downstairs, she’d have a fucking fit to see us like this. But it’s not like that. We just need the other right now. We’re not doing anything wrong. She’s my sister.

  “Hudson,” she breathes, her hot breath tickling my neck. It reminds me of the way Amy does sometimes, which is a confusing thought. “I’m sick.”

  “You’re not sick,” I assure her. “Depression may be an illness they’ve labeled you with, but you’re not sick. We can work through it.”

  “Hudson…”

  I wait for her to elaborate, the air thick with her intent. She simply exhales heavily and relaxes.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too, heathen.”

  Rylie

  I can make it.

  Just three more days.

  Hudson will be home for spring break and we can do all the things he promised me.

  “Open up and show me,” Aunt Becky demands, both hands on her hips as she glares at me.

  “Ahhhh,” I say, sticking my tongue out, and then roll my eyes.

  “Good, now get ready for school.”

  She leaves me alone in the bathroom. I used to love my aunt, but now I can’t stand her. It’s like she thrives on controlling my every move. You’d think I would have some freedom, but ever since the day I took all my medication and landed myself in the hospital, I have none. She watches my every move. Dictates my every action. Tells me when I can breathe.

  I close the door behind her and turn on the shower. As I undress, I stare at my body, unimpressed. I’m nearly a woman stuck in a child’s body. My breasts are barely B cups. You can see my rib bones and hip bones protruding. I’m not at all curvy like Amy.

  Irritation flitters through me.

  Amy weighs my brother down.

  He deserves better.

  Like you?

  A shiver trembles down my spine. I seek out the warmth and privacy the shower will offer. No locks. No medicine. No sharp things. Dr. Livingston and Aunt Becky make sure I’m not a harm to myself. My legs are prickly as are my underarms. I wish badly to shave, but I’ve been grounded from that too.

  With a heavy sigh, I wash my body in the fancy shower. Sometimes it feels like I’m staying in a swanky hotel. It’s so different here than where I lived with my family. Nicer and more expensive. But certainly not home. I close my eyes and try to recall the nights I spent curled up against Hudson in the basement before he left to go back to Arkansas. After that first night, it was like I needed him to breathe. I’d expected him to go back to his usual jerky ways, but he held me each night.

  It was driving me to insanity.

  What he sees as innocent cuddling with his sister is something completely different to me. I tried to warn him I was sick, but he shooed my comment away. He doesn’t understand. And clearly doesn’t feel the same way. But because of my sickness, I can’t push him away and find someone or something else to focus on.

  Just him.

  I r
each up and grab the removable showerhead. It’s dirty and wrong, but I think of him touching me between my thighs. The hot water blasts my clit and I gasp. Desperate to feel more of the pleasure, I pull apart my pussy lips and assault my sensitive flesh with the water. It feels good, but what makes it feel better is pretending it’s his tongue. Licking me. Hot and wet. Never stopping.

  Sick, sick, sick, Rylie.

  Yet, I don’t stop.

  I imagine things no girl should think of when she pleasures herself. Thoughts that could lead to actions with awful consequences. When I think of his teeth biting my fingers, I orgasm. Hard, violent, unapologetic.

  I just had an orgasm to thoughts of my brother.

  Shame slides through me like oil spreading on a lake. It’s dirty and coats every part of me inside and out. Black and wrong.

  I can’t do that again.

  My clit throbs in response.

  Maybe just once more…

  Me: Did you listen to that song I sent?

  Hudson: You sent me like ten. Which one?

  Me: All of them, nerd.

  Hudson: I like the third one.

  I smile as I read his text. The third one was my favorite too.

  Hudson: How are you? You haven’t had any more of those thoughts, have you?

  Heat flushes across my skin.

  Me: What?

  How does he know?

  Hudson: Hurting yourself, Ry. You haven’t thought about it anymore, have you?

  I let out a ragged breath of realization. Those thoughts. Not the shameful ones. Got it.

  Me: No. Not really.

  My phone starts ringing and I hurry to answer it. If Aunt Becky knew I was staying up until two in the morning texting, she’d take my phone away. Again. It took apologizing and helping Aunt Becky pull weeds to make up for smashing her mirror, but I eventually got my phone replaced and privileges back.

  “What?” I whisper.

  Hudson chuckles. Deep and throaty. It vibrates straight to my core. If I said I only touched myself twice that day in the shower, I’d be a liar. I’ve touched myself every time in the shower since.