DAY 0.2
We pull into the parking lot for our little apartment complex. The moment the car stops, the pressure inside me urging me to do what she tells me gets a hundred times worse. Before, I was anticipating following her order. Now, I can follow through. I have to. I need to. I always used to think it was silly anyone became a full angel. How hard could it be to not follow an order?
Pretty fucking hard. I reach out and grab my sister's arm as she reaches for the door handle. I need to do it now, or I'm going to lose it. How do I even tell her? Fuck, I can't get my words in order, I just need to say something.
"I have 4ng3l and you're my god," I blurt, still staring straight ahead - I don't want to be looking at her when... "oh, fuck," I moan, as the petal-soft caress of pure pleasure begins to pool in my core.
G-d, I really did just moan, didn't I? But of course I did. It's worse this time, worse than before, because I expected it. I knew it was coming (don't think about coming) the whole car ride, thinking about obeying her, what it would feel like, anticipating it, getting tenser and tenser until it finally all releases in one burst that makes me tremble in the car seat, thighs clenched together, feet shifting. I can feel the blood rushing to my face, and... elsewhere, and I do everything I possibly can to disguise the fact that I maybe kind of had a tiny orgasm in my sister's car.
Fuck.
I screw my eyes shut, put my hands in my lap, and sit very, very still.
Neither of us say anything for... maybe thirteen minutes? It could also have been closer to thirty seconds, but I could not for the life of me tell.
"So-" she begins.
"Don't," I interrupt, before realizing I spoke over her and shutting up.
We stare at each other now, flustered, and, oh no, she sees my bald spot. She reaches as if to touch my hair, and stops herself barely an inch away. My head has started to kind of itch a lot, ever since I told her what was happening. I hadn't noticed because I was busy, apparently, cumming in my school clothes in, I will stress again, my fucking sister's car! Like, G-d. Jesus. Jesus? Jesus is ok? Well, shit. It almost feels disrespectful to bring him into this though. It's not like he can do anything for me. And, well, he kind of died for nothing, if you think about it.
Hm... like, he died for our... sins. Right. 'Our' sins. But that's not me anymore, because I'm an angel.
And I can't sin. I know it, deep in my... soul? Do I have a soul?
I've been weirdly certain about a lot of stuff just on instinct, but I have no off the cuff response. I suppose that's one of the better outcomes, considering some, uh, worst case answers I just thought of off the cuff. Anyway, it's kind of not really important at all, because the upshot of all this philosophizing is that I just zoned out for like a solid minute. And my sister, uh, did not zone out.
I rejoin reality right as her thumb brushes against my open mouth. I close my mouth, which is a super natural response, and lean forward, which isn't - and the two motions combined make me kiss her thumb, basically, which is mortifying. I pull back in the same moment she withdraws her hand as though she had just touched something red hot - the kind of heat that you don't react to for precious moments because it's just so hot it feels like nothing, so when your nerves finally scream at you to move anyway it's way too late and you've already damaged something beyond repair.
I blink, and don't comment on her blush, which is slightly harder to spot than mine on her soft brown olive skin, but I recognize it. As ever, I feel cognizant of how tall I am. Every part of me is longer than her - my arms, legs, even my torso. Sitting down as we are, I have to adjust the headrest of the carseat up while she tilts it down. But again, it doesn't matter. She always makes me feel like the little sister. She gets a coherent sentence out first.
"Ok, uh, G-" she pauses. "Why can't I say G-d? Um?"
And like, hey, been there. I laugh, because I've learned the hard way you can either laugh or cry - but you will be doing one or both of those things.
"Well damn me to hell, sounds like a skill issue, if I'm being honest," I say, as if I was just letting her know how things were, and nothing was wrong. Because nothing is wrong!
"You're kidding me. We can say hell and h- h- h-" she scowls at me. "Oh fuck you, you did that on purpose."
"G-d damn right! Don't worry, you eventually figure out how to pronounce divinely censored words."
She's speechless, which is about the desired response. This shit is insane, and you have to acknowledge it. Maybe I should throw her a bone. Hehe.
"Listen, how do you feel when I do this?" I ask, bouncing up and down seven times. I wave my hands around a little as I do it, but I know. Five, six, and, yes! Seven! Yes! I like seven! I smile a tiny bit. Mei just looks bewildered. Sad, but helpful for my point.
"Then at least you don't have a divinely mandated compulsive obsession with the number seven!" I reassure her.
I try to do it brightly and everything. I'm not entirely sure if I did it right. I think she's pretending to look reassured by my comment, but it's hard to tell. I'm not sure why she would need to pretend, that was supposed to be helpful. She has one less of G!d's vertebrae merging with her spine, after all! Er, that is to say, she has one less compulsion than I do. I decide not to tell her about that particular intrusive thought, because if this pattern holds true it will in fact not be reassuring. Maybe I should change the subject.
"Maybe I should change the subject!" I announce, because I have absolutely no idea how to do that. Thank - uh... shit. Thank, like... surely there's someone else I can thank. Someone other than, like, the obvious. Even something else that's respectful? Can I thank my creator? I cannot. Well, thank G-d, because my sister saves me.
She reaches a careful hand out as if to touch my hair, and ok, maybe this is worse actually. I hold my breath and don't move as she gently lifts a lock of hair. I close my eyes, anticipating it. She tugs, and my hair slides free, even easier than before - I shudder at the sensation and memory. It relieves the itch, a tiny bit, like a scab being picked. I suddenly need my hair gone, like, yesterday. I want to pull it all out. But I also don't. I want - I want her to do it. I look at her, holding my greasy hair in her hands like it's precious and breathing quickly.
"I need - please. Please help me," I whisper.
"Baby - hey. Listen. It's going to be ok. I got you," she says, sure and soft, and I lose what little composure I had managed to scrape together.
I cry and shake in the car, holding myself like I'm trying to protect my heart with my arms, as Mei awkwardly leans over and hugs me as hard as she can. I lean into her, and we stay in that uncomfortable position for way too long, as I cry out every last drop of water in my body.
Eventually, my sister's arm falls asleep and she has to disentangle us, waving it around. She turns away quickly, but it almost looks like she's blushing? I guess my face must be pretty red right now too with all the crying. And of course this is hard for her too - there's no way she wanted to be my god.
I hiccup a little, wrung out. I have no idea what to do or say next. I have no idea what my sister is thinking. Surely she hates me. This feels like it's my fault, somehow. And it... is? Wait, what? That's insane. Though, why am I confused? Of course it's my fault. If I just thought about it, I'd realize that -
"So let's get you upstairs and give you a haircut, yeah? We can still save this," she says, and she actually sounds confident.
"H- hic, how? If I show up bald with no eyebrows everyone's going to know!"
"I have a wig. A good one. It'll just look like I gave you another practice haircut. I'll even cut the wig a little so no one who saw me wear it - which is like mom and two other people - will recognize it," she says, beginning to sound like she actually believes what she's saying.
"Yeah, wait, this'll work. If I just never give you any commands, then nothing changes, right? That's what they all say. We can hide this."
"My eyebrows?" I ask weakly.
"I have so many fake eyebrows and eyelashes. And -" she gives me a weak smile - "you know I'm insanely good at makeup. It'll be like when we used to play princess makeover, right?"
I giggle, despite myself. I guess Mei will always be Mei. That's more comforting than anything else right now.
✶⋆.°. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁✧˖°.⋆˙⟡°❀.࿔*
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