Sinful Sister

by Kendall Oliver

  The floorboards creak under my feet as we inch closer to my room. The cobwebs are bountiful in this old building, and the smell… Oh, that smell. It's that musty and moldy scent only thousands of years can provide. But there's sex too. Sex and sin coats every crack and crevice of this place.

  I don't know how I'm gonna make it, I really don't. My mother might've been a bitch, okay, she was a rotten souled cunt, but at least we lived okay. I mean, the stepfather was an ass before he died. At least to Ana and me, bless her weak, clueless heart. Precious Ella was his whole world, the only one he saw. He certainly didn't want the two bratty daughters that came along with my mother. Although, I wouldn't have taken my mother sans baggage either. She's the definition of what the non-witch people call a ‘witch,’ AKA a complete bitch. I have a bit of a non-witch pop culture obsession. But I digress. This place is testing me, and my focus is limited to start.

  My room is a pleasant surprise. One would think it would appear the same as the hallway, but it is totally different. It's not creepy. It's actually nice and much more modern than I was expecting.

  I shake off the beefy fingers of my escort, rushing into my room in the hopes he will leave me alone, which thankfully he does.

  Alone I look around my new home for the foreseeable future. Off to the left sits a full-sized bed with a solid wooden frame, carved with patterned swirls. The lone duffel I was allowed to bring has been tossed on top of the mattress. A sturdy desk with carved patterns that match the bed is placed along the right wall. The closet is situated on the wall running parallel to the head of bed, and a long dresser with a mirror hanging above sits to the right of the closet door. The room is spacious, more so than the rooms at most fancy boarding schools, and this is a reformatory so the size of the room is unexpected. I know I should be grateful but it doesn’t add up. Overall, the room is bare of color, but the white feels surprisingly comforting.

  A spark shoots off and a flourish of activity sounds behind me. I turn, and in the mirror is the face so twisted by smoke I can't recognize who it is. Rolling my eyes, I cross my arms and stare the douche down. No matter who it is, it takes more to scare me.

  "Super original there. You're a witch, and this is all the magic you can conjure for your pathetic attempts at intimidation?"

  "Ms. Kane, I'm checking in to see that you've arrived safely. Surely the guard was professional at all times, was he not?" The voice is muted, familiar but I can’t detect who it is through its distortion.

  My face could not scream, ‘Are you serious?!’ any more if I tried.

  He clears his throat before continuing, "Well, then. I also wanted to see if we could come to an, shall we say, arrangement. You for your release. I’m even more powerful than your original captors. Let me set you free."

  "Are you fucking serious right now?” A bark of laughter escapes my lips. “I've said all I'm going to say about your ‘deals.’ If that's all?" An eyebrow quirks up as we continue our stare down.

  "No, it's not all, you sad little dirty girl. So pathetic also giving herself away. I'll give you some things to think about and see if you don't change your mind in a few days."

  He disappears from the glass as images appear like a video you’d watch on tv, showing me in various compromising positions. I grind out sexual movements on the dance floor, freely kissing both men and women. Me having sex at various times in my life. Me teasing, using my body and flirting to get my way. I want to vomit as the weight of what he's seen settles into me.

  The mirror fogs, then ashy smoke spreads into the room from its depths. I'm frozen in place, from magic or fear I couldn't tell you.

  The sensation of dozens of invisible, slimy hands trickles over my skin. Leaving me feeling like I'm in the middle of a dance I neither chose nor can I stop. I can stop this, though. I choose what happens to me, to my body.

  Focusing all of my energy, I push the swirls of smoke from me. With one big surge, I force it back into the mirror. My knees bang against the floor as I collapse, sweat beading on my brow. I’m completely drained from the effort.

  I refuse to be a play toy to dirty old men. They may have underestimated me but they haven’t seen anything yet. At some point I need to figure out if I fully broke the block they put on me or just harnessed the powers they didn’t know about and therefore couldn’t block. Mother might not have been a real mother, or even a nice person, but she always told me one day I’d appreciate the lengths she went to protect and allow me to keep my powers.

  I'm not sure how, but somehow I manage to dig deep and find the energy to crawl to the bed. Once my head hits the pillow, the world around me disappears and I welcome the darkness.

  Four

  Light filters in as I blink awake slowly. I'm not sure how long I slept, but the need to find my best friend is the only thing I can focus on. The nap my body forced me to take has rejuvenated me, and I'm not going to waste another minute just sitting here twiddling my thumbs.

  Determined steps carry me to the door. I will find Cam. The doorknob turns, but when I pull it doesn't budge. I yank at it again, but it doesn't give an inch. I'm not only locked in, the door is sealed shut. What the fuck?

  "Let me out!" I pound on the door with my fists, yelling as loud as I can, asking for someone to come to me, Cam, for anyone at this point. I scream until my mouth is dry and my throat scratchy and hoarse.

  My bed embraces me with warmth and comfort as I sink into it. It feels like what I wish my mother's hugs would have felt like if she hadn’t been so callous and cold—a hug of love and care that I have only felt from one person in my life. The person I wish was here. Well, he is here somewhere, but fuck if I know where. I have never wanted Cam with me more than I do at this moment.

  I love him, and he loves me, even though I don't deserve it. I am bad.

  "You're such a bad girl. A dirty girl. I bet you'd like it rough." The words sound clearly in my head, and I'm not sure where they're from or who is saying them. The voice is familiar but seems as if it's made of air and not traceable to anyone or anything.

  "You let Ana suffer. You knew what she wanted and never tried to help her. She was good at heart and you encouraged her bad behavior and hexes." Once again, the voice is telling me what I had already thought a million times before. Ana is my sister but we’ve never been close. Her hexes were in good fun. She wasn't even punished by the Supernatural Council. They sent me to the Witch Council to stand trial for my deeds. My whole body shudders. Thank goddess she didn’t receive the same sentence as me, she'd have never made it through one day here. She might be labeled evil too, but she's annoyingly pure at heart. I’m sure her punishment by the council isn’t like this.

  "Yeah, she's not a whore like you."

  "Ahhhhhhhhhhh!" I scream as loud as I can considering the shape of my voice. "I am not a whore." What the fuck is happening to me? This place is fucking with me. My deepest fears are the very words I hear in my head, the visions that play through my mind.

  The bed traps me in the weight of its comfort, and it's pulling me further and further into the depths of real peace with mental despair. Despite how tired I am, I keep twisting, pushing and pulling at the invisible weight holding me down. Every time I feel like I’ve made a step forward something pulls me back two. I fight for what feels like hours until, energy depleted once again, I give up the fight and relax my muscles.

  One of my most haunting memories revolves around the best and worst days of my life. It might seem innocent, even benign to most but it shaped me in every way possible. The evil mother and stepfather, AKA stepfaker, had just eloped, much to the surprise of everyone. They’d only known each other for a few weeks. I guess they each wanted replacement parents for their children. He had Ella, and Mother had Ana and me. Guess the joke ended up being on them.

  We had just moved to our new home in a new town. Ella wasn't very open to us. Though she and Ana are older than me, so they had never treated me as anything other than a pest. Although, I do have to admit I am a b
it of a pain in the ass… and Ana eventually came around.

  On that fateful day, we had made sure the house was spotless and we were dressed in our best party dresses. The boss of our new father’s boss was set to bring his family over. Jeffory Poston was the head of the Supreme Witch Council.

  We had just sat down for tea when my hand ‘slipped’ and threw the contents of my teacup all over me, ruining my brand new dress and splashing onto Mrs. Poston.

  Steaming mad, I ran outside to my place that was just mine, my treehouse. I knew it was one of Ana's harmless curses, but little did she know that would be what ended up getting me labeled as a bad witch for life. From that day on I was the naughty one who created havoc. I can't say over the years I haven’t embraced it, because I have. What other choice do I have?

  But even with all the bad that came after, it was the best day of my life. Camden Poston, the big boss’ son, crawled into the treehouse to make sure I was okay, and Camden hasn't stopped making sure I stayed okay since. He became my Cam that day, best friend and holder of all that is good.

  A reel of moments with Cam spins through my head. Him threatening to beat up anyone foolish enough to be mean to me. The tender way Cam had held my hand at the step faker's funeral. He wasn't a father to us, Ella was his one and only love, but still, he was yet another man ripped away.

  I don't understand why I'm not good enough for anyone to stay. A barrage of images of all the times I had been belittled, all of the times I wasn’t good enough, flicker in my mind. It feels like everything comes all at once. My life is a repetitive cycle of not being good enough and loss.

  So, why not have fun when you’re already guilty? There are no chances being given to prove innocence. I have lost count of my silent screams. Letting my pain overtake me so many times. I quickly learned that people are false, saying one thing and feeling another. It all comes back to people being careful wishing for things. I mean, sometimes naughty little witches grant desires and wishes.

  Stop, stop, stop. Stop the negativity. I won't go back to that. Some of the fog starts to lift. I. Am. Good. Enough. In fact, I'm so good I have to be bound. I’m not what they say I am. I'm not the whore Chaz says I am or wants me to be.

  It’s so sad that all dirty, perverted old men can come up with is to shame women over their sexuality. I’m a whore because I have a vagina. That and the fact I don’t like wrinkled little viagra peen in said vigina. Fuck you! I am worthy of love. That worth has nothing to do with my sex or if I happen to have had sex one-hundred times or not at all.

  Then why won't you let Cam love you? the voice calls out in a counter-argument. He wants you. He always has. The more I focus the more I think it’ll stop. But then I’m hit again with the images all at once.

  No! No! No! I moan and roll side to side, my hands covering my ears as if that will stop the thoughts. But they don't, and I see him. Cam. The light simmering in his eyes as I walked down the stairs dolled up in a fancy dress for our first homecoming, then prom, then on a repeat for every event and every dress I've ever worn. I can’t stop myself from withdrawing a little into myself. My weak spot is not only being exposed but exploited in the worst ways.

  More flashes of pictures from our past flood me. The sadness in his eyes when I told him my plan. My need to knock down Ella… and the prick. That prick is now my brother-in-law, who still pretends to be so charming. Before their happily ever after, he had constantly harassed me while being the perfect prince to her. Ugh! My blood still boils.

  Back to Cam as the weight of his need and grief overwhelmed him when he mourned his father—the pleas as he asked me to let him take responsibility for the failed coup. And the shame and determination as they pulled us apart after they brought us here.

  There's love shining from him in all of these. How did I not see it? Can I ever unsee it to save our friendship? Because now that I do see it, all I want to do is sink into him. Suddenly, I desperately need my mouth on his. My body is craving him. The need is so strong it starts to pull me from the blanketed fog, and I know what I must do. Cam.

  I need to find Cam now. As soon as I think the words, the click of the door opening registers in my mind while the cocoon of the bed releases me.

  Things are getting even more strange around here.

  Five

  Wasting no time, I head for the door. I can't think about why all the crazy things happening to me and around me stopped. If I do, I will lose my mind and become trapped again but by a different kind of hell. I need Cam. I need to confer with him. To figure out just what in the fuck is going on. If I focus too much on why my need for Cam released me from what I consider what would be the worse form of torture, I’ll end up in the same pointless cycle. I make no sense without him. Even if it means my destruction I will never stay away.

  The halls lead nowhere as they twist and turn in a labyrinth of confusion. I've passed that ‘Be Enchanting Without Enchantments’ sign at least six times. It's so strange, from what I understand, our magic is supposed to be banned here. If that's true, why do they need all these cheesy ass posters and signs?

  Stopping to catch my breath, I inhale large amounts of air and realize I'm more out of shape than I thought. I should have gone on those runs with Cam after all. I did work out my magic, but I guess since it's mostly been taken away, that doesn't matter much, does it?

  My hand stings as I slap the wall. "Fuck," I manage to groan as I shake my hand. Turning to inspect my surroundings, I find the same old walls that look ancient and smell musty. Resigned, I slide down the wall, the roughness penetrating my shirt, until my ass makes contact with the floor. At least it's not dusty like I would have thought. In fact, everything is sparkling clean, and eerily so. Places this old shouldn't shine this close up. I bank the thought as I try to open my mind to Cam.

  “Just freaking open up to me dammit!!! LET ME IN, Camden.” He hates it when I call him Camden. The only one who ever insisted on calling him Camden was his dad, so it's especially hurtful to use that now.

  Cam's dad. Now there's a lesson in the duality of a person. He was devoted to Cam and his mom but also damn ruthless and more than a bit scary when you crossed him. A tad creepy too, if I'm frank. Not that I'd ever tell Cam, some things are better left unknown.

  When my butt starts to feel numb, I wonder how long I've sat here. Time seems so different right now. It feels fluid, like I’m floating through the clouds.

  Cam isn't going to find himself, so I put my hand on the ground to push myself off. I'm almost standing when I start to slip. When I reach out for something to stabilize me, I rip a sign from the wall and the ground rushes up to meet my ass. Now I have a sore ass to match my head and hand.

  "Fuck my life," leaves my mouth in a whisper as I lie there for a moment. How did my life become this? I had it all not long ago. If I didn't have what I wanted, I made sure I got it. No one else was going to do it for me. I guess I have to start over here. No one else is going to make me successful here but me. Cam will cheer for me as always, but I do it my way. My path is formed and blazed by me. Either I fail, or I blow the roof off this motherfucker; for both I need to get my feeling sorry for myself, whiny ass off the ground. Noone likes a whiner—a winner, yes—but never a whiner.

  Let's do this, I tell myself with one last self-inspiring thought before I figure out a plan of action, with or without Cam. As I begin to rise, the sign catches my attention. Strange writing lines its back. It's a small complicated pattern of symbols and words long forgotten by witches or probably most paranormals—goddess, I dislike that term so much—I've ever met. It might come in handy though, so I grab it and fold it into a small square before tucking it into the little pocket above the actual pocket on the front of my jeans.

  I'm once again off to find Cam, and I refuse to stop this time. I've spent another hour—maybe twelve, who knows around here—walking in what feels like one set of circles to the next. My frustration level is at a thirteen out of ten. I'm not sure I'm ever going to find him. A
nd it occurs to me that I haven't seen anyone else. How is that possible? This place is filled with bad witches. Those of us tossed aside because we failed to fall in line. The air around me crackles with static, and my body jerks with a sudden movement. It's like I'm at the carnival on the ride that drops out from under you but you don't fall.

  My eyes close automatically in an attempt to stabilize myself, but the sounds of a crowd forces me to open them despite the lingering dizzy sensation. There are people. Real people, if the girl I just grabbed and was pushed from are any indication. The noise doesn't lie. Where was I before, and why? This place isn't going to break me, I repeat in my head as I walk forward more determined than ever to find Cam.

  There's a loud squeal of an intercom being turned on and moved too quickly before a voice speaks through it. A voice that stops me dead in my tracks. I've heard that voice, only it wasn't out loud, it was in my head. Seriously, what in the actual fuck is going on around here?

  "This is your fifteen-minute warning. Any and all students not in the proper class and in their seats by the next announcement will face dire consequences. The road to recovery starts with self-responsibility." The announcement ends abruptly, and the hurried people around me begin to scurry even more.

  I have a feeling I don't ever want to know what those ‘dire consequences’ are. Too bad I have no idea where I should be. The moment the thought is finished, a paper appears in my hand. Reformative Behaviors with Professor Byron, Room 1153-C.

  Down to ten minutes, Ms. Kane. Don't be LATE. It is bolded and underlined with a small map raised underneath. I am a blip of glowing green halfway across the world from the room that glows in red. Have I mentioned how fucked my life is at the moment? Yeah, well, oh well, it bears repeating, by goddess. FUCK. MY. LIFE.

  Six

  Holy, hunk of sexy man-meat. I ogle my newest target as I slide into the last open seat with seconds to spare before the ‘time’s up’ alarm shrills. Everyone winces in pain. The joys keep adding up.