Dropping all her things in only spare bedroom, the house having three with the other spare bedroom a home office, I walked back to my living room to find her already curled up in a ball, head resting on a cushion, holding another one to her chest. Getting onto my knees in front of her, I ran the back of my fingers along her cheek. She was hiding the bruise of her other one with the cushion.
“I couldn’t go to our parents,” she whispered, “I felt safer here with you.”
“Stay as long as you want, Beth.”
“Can you handle that, Mark?”
I heard the concern in her tone. We hadn’t been alone in a room for a long time. The moment I’d laid eyes on her, long dormant feelings were already ready to explode, and looking into her eyes, I knew she was already feeling the same way. The magnetism between us was near overwhelming at times.
“I can handle it, Beth. You’re my sister, you’re hurting, and it’s my role as your brother to comfort you.”
“Where am I sleeping?”
“Not with me,” I replied, adding humour to my voice.
“What if I need my brother to cuddle me tonight?”
I relented immediately. “Need a drink first?”
“No. I just want to go to sleep.”
“I’ll call work in the morning and let them know I’ll be home for a couple of days. As long as I sign into my laptop in the home office, it’ll be fine.”
I sat with her until she was ready to stand up, offering my hand again, leading her to my bedroom. As I stripped off down to my underwear, I turned back to her and watched her eyes look me up and down. She wouldn’t have seen me in just my underwear. Turning around, I asked if she was okay, hearing her yell out that she was just changing.
I was in bed when she returned, wearing a pair of tiny shorts and a tight t-shirt. Smiling demurely as she slid under the covers, I had to keep my mind blank as her hand immediately moved across my chest as she snuggled next to me. “Thank you,” she whispered, “I just needed to feel loved tonight.”
“Beth…”
Within seconds, I felt hot tears landing on my shoulder as I wrapped my arm tighter around her. “I know you still love me, Mark. It’s been obvious since the day I…”
Kissing her forehead ended what she was going to say as it was ancient history. But I knew we still carried the heartache even over fifteen years later. At the time, I hadn’t understood, and although I loved her deeply, I also hated her for a long time for what she did to us.
“Never stopped loving you, Beth…”
“And I never stopped loving you, Mark…”
She fell asleep long before I did. Far too long since we’d shared a bed. Far too long since we’d shared our feelings of deep love for each other. We didn’t just love each other like siblings. We were in love. Had been in love for most of our lives. In a way, I guess it was always going to turn physical. That magnetism was impossible to ignore.
Now that she was with me again, feeling safe in my arms, maybe soon, sometime near in the future, we could have a conversation that would undo the result of the last heart to heart conversation we’d had, that had enjoyed our previously incredibly close and intimate relationship.
*****
My older sister was born fifteen months before I was. Christened Elizabeth, from a very early age, she’d been known as Beth. No-one called her Liz, not unless they wanted their head bitten off, and that was from a very young age. Obviously, I don’t remember too much from my childhood, but apparently from a very young age, my older sister doted on me.
Beth took after our mother. Golden blonde locks. Gorgeous blue eyes. A button nose and faint dimples. From an early age, she had to wear glasses, changing her look as the years passed by. Our parents always said we were incredibly close, particularly once I started primary school. Unlike many other siblings, Beth loved hanging around me at school. Whenever I find myself reminiscing, we spent nearly all our time together at school and then at home.
What brought us even closer when I was ten years old was when our mother gave birth again. The issue that caused Beth and I to get closer, and pretty much lean each other on support, was the fact our mother gave birth to triplets. Our parents had explained to us the situation while she was pregnant, and there were words about how our lives wouldn’t change too much, and that we’d still be given all the love and affection we’d always received.
Within a few months of the birth, those promises were found to be very empty.
Beth and I were still fed, clothed, and our parents made sure they did the bare minimum for us, but as our younger siblings developed, there were other problems which resulted in nearly all their attention being focused on them. By the time I was fourteen, my sister fifteen, we were literally just two other kids who happened to live in the house.
Going through puberty at the same time was interesting, but with all the changes inside and outside our bodies, it was again a case of supporting ourselves. With everything going on with the triplets, aware there were behavioural and development problems with two of them, and even our young minds did understand to a degree, ignored birthdays, anniversaries, reports, anything to do with our schooling or outside activities, and don’t even get us started with Christmas, it was little wonder that my sister and I started to resent living at home.
More than once, we raised the situation with our grandparents, both maternal and paternal, but although sympathetic and understanding, none of them particularly wanted a pair of hormonal teenagers in their empty nest.
That left Beth and I to rely each on other totally. As soon as she was able, she took on a part-time job. I did the same thing. Our parents barely gave us enough money to survive, the only time seeming to remember we were around regarding the dishing out of chores, so having part-time jobs meant less time spent at home.
All day at school, working most evenings for a few hours, and activities on the weekend resulted in both of us rarely being at home except to sleep. We worked at the same supermarket, Beth as a cashier, while I worked in the stockroom and stacked shelves. On a weekend, I’d go watch her play netball in the morning and she’d come cheer for me playing rugby league in the afternoon.
For my sixteenth birthday, my parents didn’t even remember the day. Our grandparents did remember, at least, and showed up to give me a few presents. My sister saved up and bought me a second-hand laptop, something I was desperate for as I preferred typing to writing my notes at school. She also gave me something else I’d always treasure.
She was my first true kiss.
It all started innocently enough. We were in my room playing games on a console I’d bought off a friend for a few bucks as he’d received a newer version. I barely realised my now seventeen-year-old sister was looking at me until I realised her half of the screen wasn’t moving. Pausing the game, I turned to see her smiling at me.
“Mark… I know you’ve had a girlfriend or two, but did you ever get a proper kiss?”
“No,” I replied, feeling my cheeks grow warm.
“Would you… Would you like me to be your first kiss?”
I already knew I was in love with my sister, and with that question, wondered if she felt the same way. Gazing into her blue eyes, I knew she was completely serious about her offer. “Are you sure?”
When she nodded rather eagerly, we leaned forward, and our lips met for the first time. When I realised neither of us really seemed to know what we were doing, I had to lean back slightly, noticing her cheeks were rather coloured as well. “You’re my first too, Mark,” she whispered, “I love my little brother so much.”
“I love my older sister just as much,” I whispered back.
“Beth and Mark against the world.” Taking my hands in hers, she held them tightly. “Sometimes, I really feel like that. Mum and Dad are… I don’t blame them when I think about it. Their lives are now so difficult, but we’ve been ignored for so long.”
“Feel the same way. I’ve talked to the school counsellor. She apparently invited our parents to go talk but she never heard back from them.”
“I can’t remember the last time they hugged either of us,” she managed to say before she started to cry. Within seconds, my sister was clutching me tightly as she sobbed into my chest. I just about kept a lid on my emotions. I wasn’t ready to cry, I was incensed that my sister was crying into my chest, completely heartbroken.
But I also knew trying to talk to either of them would be like talking to a brick wall. We’d long accepted that this was our life, and that the best thing we could do was get out of the house as soon as possible. Though they didn’t particularly want teenagers going through puberty with them, our grandparents on both sides had suggested a temporary solution if we continued our studies into university. “You’ll be young adults by then,” our maternal grandfather stated one night when we were over for dinner, “You’re both already incredibly responsible people, going to school, going to work to make money, keep active. You have no idea how proud the four of us are. We can also understand how you might feel about your parents. We just don’t hope you don’t hate them.”
“We don’t hate them, Pa,” I replied, my sister taking my hand and nodding her agreement, “But we can’t help feeling resentful that, since their birth, we’ve been pushed to the side. We’re still their children too.”
“I’ve read about this sort of thing online,” our grandmother explained, “I’ve tried talk to your parents more than once about what they’re doing, but they’re just not capable or unwilling to listen. We understand some of the difficulties…”
“It’s why we’ve stepped in when we could,” our grandfather continued, “But taking you out of your home never felt right.”
Leave a Reply