She picked up her sister's laundry, old memories came up slowly. It had been years since they'd shared a bedroom, growing up with too many siblings to have any real privacy. They had been closer than the others, fought less, found a way to keep each others secrets so that at the very least their room could be a haven.
Her hand hesitated as she reached for a pair of panties. So many of those secrets had stayed in that room, so many things that neither of them had ever brought up outside those walls. She put it in the basket quickly and grabbed another pair of pants.
They hadn't spoken much while her sister was in college. She'd been busy with work. Sometimes she'd felt like they had grown distant. It was easy to tell herself she regretted some of the things they had done, the times they had gotten carried away, let their curiosity and hormones push their boundaries. Her first kiss, her first time gettting head, first time giving it in return...
She felt nautious, but her heart pounded as the memories replayed. Her face flushed with shame, regret, yearning, the fear that she still wanted to, deep down. It had been easier to put it behind her with distance. She'd told herself she had moved on, dated other people, broken up, moved further from home.
Her sister had followed her out to the city a few months ago, getting a job and an apartment of her own. Then a girlfriend. She'd been so happy for her, despite the jealousy that ate at her like rust on her soul. They had spoken more recently while her sister was setting things up for herself. Both of them kept saying they needed to catch up again, let themselves grow closer, but it always felt like somewhere beneath it, unspoken, was the agreement.
It can't be like it was before.
Then she'd gotten the call. Her sister had broken up, crying so much over the phone, she was driving over later that night. Not even a bag of her own clothes packed, just her toothbrush and barest essentials, going to spend time with her. Hold her while she cried.
The last two days had been torture. Not the comforting or even helping her sister keep her house from falling into disarray while she got over the breakup. That was easy, she was happy to do it. It was the nights. Sleeping on the couch, trying to jerk off without making any noise, trying not to let her mind wander when the whole house, and every blanket, smelled like her.
She knew her sister would crumble if she pushed even a little. She knew she was hurting, vulnerable, that she wanted someone to hold her while she slept. Sometimes it was all she could do to force herself to keep lying on the couch for hours, listening to the clock in the kitchen tick the seconds by. Don't go to her room. Leave the door closed. Don't hold her against your chest. Don't rub her hair while she cries, whimpers. Don't fuck your sister... for the love of god, don't let me be this weak...
baratheonpilled
blakekathryn
