Let's Go All The Way

When she wants to sleep she makes me stay in the room with her. When she was really young I would read her stories, until she learned to read and took over. Then she just wanted me there to tell her what a word meant. She stopped asking but still wanted me next to her in the creaky old armchair from the living room we begged our mother not to throw out. I'd rest my elbow on the arm of the chair and I'd stare at her as she mouthed the words to herself and read before bed every night. She still mouths aloud to herself when she reads, sometimes when she thinks. I wonder if she can think without moving her pink lips. She always makes them red with makeup and says she wishes her lips looked like mine. I don't think mine are that red but she says so. She makes me watch when she puts on makeup too, another evolutionary leftover from when I did it for her. She whispers to herself when she does that too, saying, "a little more on the left side", so quietly that anyone that wasn't me wouldn't hear it at all. She's the loudest in the family, even louder than the screeching cousins and the baby we fostered for a month or so, but she still speaks so quietly to herself that only a sister sitting next to her on the counter with her back to the mirror could hear it, "have to erase that splotch." I think she knows that I can hear her whispers and I think she wants me to hear her. She wants me to be involved in everything she does. She doesn't like being alone. It's my fault. I was too nice to her and now she needs me too much. I thought she needed more help than most, but I realized too late she was spoiled and wanted me to do everything for her - not for her, exactly, but just next to her, just near her.

She has an interesting idea of what an older sister is supposed to be. I think I do too.

She likes my apartment. She always admires it and walks around the living room looking at dusty books. I never dust. I keep up with everything but that. She runs her fingers through the dust, creates a line next to the last one, hatching across the top of the white shelf in the corner of the living room next to the TV I stole from my ex girlfriend. She gets so excited to spend the night at my apartment that it makes her look even younger than 18 - it makes her look like a child. I showed her an Irish movie once and she wouldn't stop laughing at the accent despite my annoyance and to this day still says "babby" instead of "baby". She puts her head on my lap when we watch black and white movies late at night and she whispers just loud enough for me to hear, like someone might be listening, she asks me, "What was I like when I was a babby?"

I never know how to answer it. I don't remember well. I ignored her when she screamed and I yelled at her to shut up when I couldn't sleep and my parents had to tell me I was "acting mean". I thought then that they would scream at the baby too if they could. I look down from my memory into her bright eyes and I smirk and I say, "You were very loud. I got in trouble for telling you to shut up."

"You told a babby to shut up?"

"I did."

"You're funny. Well, I'm sorry I was so loud."

"You don't have to apologize," I coo as I stroke her hair. "It's not your fault."

"How old do I have to be for it to be your fault?"

"Old enough to know better."

"How old is that?"

"I don't know - when did you know better than to scream and scream all night?"

"I don't remember that," she giggles and rubs her legs together like a cricket. "How could I?"

"Then it wasn't your fault."

"What was the first thing you knew better not to do?"

I dig my nails into her scalp until she yelps and laughs and puts her head back in my lap gingerly. I set my hand on her forehead and gently massage it above her eyes, where she complains about migraines. I breathe slowly and look down at her. The cupid's bow of her lips reflects muted pink and white, and the tip of her curved nose glows. I feel a startling urge to-

"Well?" She looks up at me with her blue eyes. I laugh to myself and push her head back.

"I don't remember," I say.

"You do." She smirks, turning her head to face my stomach. "Tell me." She pulls up my shirt and kisses my stomach. I smack her head gently and pull my shirt back down. She pouts and tries to pull it back up.

"Fine!" I say, turning her head away from my wet stomach. She puts her tongue back in her mouth and grins at me with her teeth, all perfectly straight except one crooked one in front that goes up and out. "The first thing I knew better than to do... I think was when I took that money from mom's purse and used it to buy candy at the store down the road."

"I knew it!"

"I knew it was wrong, I just didn't quite grasp why. I didn't get it really, not until they told me more about what money was. Then I felt guilty."

"Mom told me about that." She says. "She told me you gave me a tummy ache by giving me too much candy."

"That's not true. You never get stomach aches on Halloween."

"Tummy ache." She corrects me. "Babbies get tummy aches."

"The baby talk isn't very cute. You're not going to go on dates if you keep it up."

"Yes, I will."

"No, I guarantee you, you're not going to find a guy that's into it. And if you do, you're going to wish you didn't."

"Who said 'guy'?" She guffaws. "Gross. I don't even want a date."

"Yes, you do."

"No." She frowns. "I like being here with you. I like watching movies and when you're busy I like doing my own thing. I don't want to spend time with other people."

"You're going to want to eventually. One day you'll want to spend time with someone other than me."

"I don't think so."

"I think you're putting me on a pedestal."

"What?"

"I think you're, I don't know, putting me in a weird place in your mind."

"I'm not. I like you." She blinks and looks wounded. "I just like you."

I don't say anything.

She turns her head to watch the movie for a while, until my eyes drift and my head falls back. I hear the narrator as I stare through the darkness into the swirling patterns of my eyes. I feel her arms wrap around my stomach and my sides. She brings her face to me and lays it against my chest, pulling herself up. She sighs contentedly, her ear against my heartbeat. I pull my head up and lean it against hers. I stroke her hair and listen to her breathe against me until she falls asleep. Once the movie ends, I gently move her onto the couch and stand up and move to the kitchen. I turn on the oven light and pour myself a glass of water. I wonder what time it is but don't want to look at my phone. I put the glass to my lips, and when I set it on the counter, she's sat up in the darkness and began rubbing her eyes. She yawns, stands up, and walks past me into the bathroom. I hear the water running as she takes out her contacts. I turn on the kitchen light and wash my glass and put it back before grabbing a spoon and taking the cookie dough out of the fridge. I chew on a spoonful as I lean against the counter. I watch with sticky eyes as she opens the closet in the bathroom and steps forward to choose a night shirt. I blink and take another spoonful in my mouth as she pulls her tight shirt off and then reaches up behind her to take off her ill fitting green bra. She unclasps it and sets it on a hanger, her back to me as I swallow. She pulls on a big red shirt and I briefly see the sides of her breasts. I turn my head to the sink and eat another big spoonful.

She closes the closet and steps into the kitchen with me. She looks down at me and reaches her finger into the cookie dough and grabs a chunk to eat. She sets it on her tongue and laughs as she looks at me and begins to chew. She's wearing her glasses now. She's become a second person. Her face looks smaller with her glasses. I always tell her I think she's prettier with her glasses than without, but she just shakes her head and says, "Nope, nope, nope. Nope." She looks at me through the reflection of the oven light behind her and moves her jaw sideways. I wonder if she's got something wrong with her jawbone but I don't say anything so she doesn't feel self conscious. She stares down at me.

"You're really beautiful." I say, tapping the spoon against my lips.

She smiles with cookie dough in her mouth and giggles quietly, like she's trying to hide it from me. She spins on her heels a little, then looks back at me, at my mouth, and says, "I think you're beautiful too."

"You really are."

She blushes and looks away, covering her mouth with the sleeve of the oversized shirt. I can see the short shorts underneath the shirt hem. I like flirting with her. I don't know if I mean it, I just want her to feel confident. I want her to know she's pretty.

She reaches into the cookie dough container to grab more, avoiding eye contact with me but smiling. "Do you want to play a game?" She asks before putting it in her mouth.

"Like what?"

She turns, grabs a mostly empty wine bottle from the counter. She holds it up and smiles.

I remember drinking it morosely by myself, staring out through the window at the green field across the street, feeling tears drop down my face. I think I screamed.

"Is the game drinking?"

She shakes her head, swallows, and turns around. She gets two more glasses, and pours the rest into the cups.

"You're not old enough to drink." I say.

She mocks me, washes the bottle, re-corks it, and twirls it in her hands. "Spin the bottle," She beams.

"There's two of us." I gesture with my hand and set the cookie dough on the counter.

"Are you scared you're going to have to kiss something in the living room?" She says.

"I don't think that's the scary part."

"There is no scary part." She whispers, then becomes bright again. "C'mon. Please?"

"Okay."

We sit on the carpet in the living room, cross legged in front of the other. She downs her glass of wine too fast and coughs and sits back for a second while I sip from mine and eat more cookie dough. She holds out her hands and claps until I put a spoonful in her hands. She exclaims for joy, eats the dough noisily, then sits back up, claps her hands again, and says, "Alright!" She sets the bottle between us, spins it, and we watch it go. I sip my wine as I stare. I try not to look at her long spindly legs.

It stops, pointed at the couch to my left and her right. She laughs, covers her mouth, then crawls to the couch and kisses the armrest. She giggles again, then comes back to sit in front of me. I chew and watch her. She gestures to me. I groan and spin it. I watch it rotate and I wonder what I want it to land on. It stops and points to the TV to my right and her left. I sit up gingerly, step over and kiss the top of the TV. I sit back down and frown. "Are you done yet? I thought you were tired."

"One more." She smiles.

"Fine. Go."

She spins it. It lands on me. She looks up at me from underneath her eyebrows. I drink the rest of my wine, set down my glass, swallow, turn my face to the side and point to my cheek. She moves towards me. I watch through the corner of my eye. She breathes into my ear as she adjusts herself, then presses her lips against my flushed face. She smiles, then kisses me again, then places her hand on the other side of my face and kisses me again, now at the corner of my mouth. She turns my head to face her and she leans in to kiss me on the lips.

I pull back enough that she can't, but leave her hands on my face. She searches my eyes and we look at each other silently. Now more than ever, I'm happy telepathy between sisters is a myth. She cocks her head slightly, and I feel her hot breath against my face. I realize I've never tasted it before. I've never done any of this with her before. I don't think she's done it at all, with anyone. I ask.

"Have you kissed someone before?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"A girl."

"What girl?"

"Her name is Esther. She doesn't like me, she just wanted to see if she liked girls."

"Does she?"

"She doesn't like me."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. Why did you ask that?"

I lick my lips and frown. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You could make it up to me."

"How?"

It's her turn to say nothing.

"Is this what you want?" I ask as she gently drums her fingers against my face.

"I think so."

"Are you sure?"

"I said I am."

"You said you thought so."

"Well, I am sure. Why would I do it if I didn't want to?"

"Sometimes I do things I don't mean. Without thinking."

"Me too."

"You're sure this isn't one of those times?"

"It's not for me. Is it for you?"

"Why does it matter how I feel? This is about you."

"Don't be mean."

"I'm not."

"You are, you're putting me down. I know what I want."

"I know."

"Do you like me?" Her voice sounds pathetic as she asks.

"Of course. You're my sister."

"I like you," she grins toothily, "because you're my sister."

"Are you sure this is okay?"

"You don't have to keep asking. It's okay. We're both girls. It's okay."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know. It just means it's okay."

I stare at her and feel a mixture of pity and guilt run out of my heart and into my stomach. I look at her forehead. I reach up and I rub the spots above her eyes. She moans a little in pleasure and lets go of my face. I kiss her forehead, grab her crooked jaw, and I kiss her, pressing my face against hers tightly so I can't feel anything but her cartilage against mine, our noses jammed into one another and my brow against hers.

When I pull back, her eyes are still closed. She opens them gingerly and blinks at me like she's woken up from a dream to find it still going. She smiles soapily and slowly.

"You win." I tap my fingernails against the bottle.

She blushes, stretches, then reaches her hands under her shirt and grabs her breasts. She leans forward with a sudden leering gasp and says-

-smooth texture of the-

"Let's go all the way."

Dear Valentina,

This is difficult for me to write. I'm worried that telling you this is going to rip us apart. I don't want to ruin what we have. I never have. You're the best friend I could ever have. You're my best friend and I know I'm yours. You're everything to me.

It's tempting not to bring it up, to not say anything, but I can't lie to you and I don't want you to think I'm ignoring it. I'm not. I know you're my sister, I know I love you the most I could ever imagine loving a sister. You've been incredible to me, you've been spectacular. You're the best sister I could ever hope for. I'm so lucky to have you.

I love you, Valentina. I love you so much it aches. I want to be with you, I want to really love you. I want to hold your hand every day and I want to kiss you on your pretty face and I want to sleep in the same bed as you and I want to lose my virginity to you and I want to date you and I want to marry you I want to be your wife Valentina I want you I want you I want you. I love you. I love you so much.

Please be my lover.

With everything I have,

Natalie.

"Take me all the way." She squeezes her breasts and starts to lift her shirt.

"Stop it." I whisper, rubbing my forehead. "Please stop."

She drops her hands to her legs and pouts sincerely, like she's going to cry right now. She might. She rubs her nose and looks at the carpet in front of her.

"I have to tell you something." I say. "And I need you to listen. Are you listening?"

"Yes."

"You're paying attention."

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes!" She raises her voice, then looks back at the carpet and murmurs, "Of course I am."

"Okay. I need you to tell you two secrets."

She looks up at me.

"The first one is that I did get your letter."

Her face gets pale and she covers her mouth and turns her head to look at the door.

"I didn't say anything. I'm sorry I didn't. I resealed the envelope and I put it between my desk and the bed so you'd think it fell before I could see it."

"I did think that." She whispers in the quiet tone only I can hear.

"I read it. That's the first secret. And I'm sorry."

She wipes tears from her eyes and sniffles and turns her head to stare at the carpet again. Her cries get louder and she reaches out a hand to me, the way she usually does when she's sad. I usually take her hand in moments like this.

I don't this time.

She finally takes her hand back and sets it on her knee, crying harder. I stare at her and I wish I could say something to fix it. I wish I could undo everything she's ever felt. I'm going to try to.

"Here's the second secret." I nervously grab the empty wine glass and run it over my arm. "Do you remember anything about your birth?"

"Mom said it went well."

"It did. You didn't almost die like I did. You were a miracle baby. They called you that, did you know that?"

"Yeah."

"You were the miracle baby, so easy and uncomplicated. Mom said you were the perfect note to end being a mother on. She said she loved you so much. And I loved you too, I wasn't jealous, I didn't feel scared you would take all the attention, I just- I was just so happy to have a sister. I always wanted one, you know that? I would take this baby doll and I would tuck it in, in your crib before you were born. And I would tell the doll goodnight stories and kiss it on the head. And I would say, 'Goodnight Natalie.' because I didn't want a brother I wanted a sister. I never said the boy name they had. I knew you were going to be a girl because I wanted it so badly. I just knew. I was so happy that you existed, and everyone was so busy- I wanted to see you, no one would let me. I got upset and I asked to see you but they said I couldn't. I went in the hallway and I was wandering around- it was late at night and I remember it being so empty. I don't know why it was so empty. It felt like a dream, if you've ever had a dream like that. I found the room with all the babies and I found you. You were lying there, and you looked so beautiful, you looked like my baby sister. I knew it was you. And I grabbed your chubby cute little hand and squeezed it and I was so excited and I-" I choke and cough and feel my hands shaking so badly that I have to set down the glass. I twist my fingers. "I saw your bracelet. It's how they tell apart babies. I read your bracelet. And I realized that you weren't my sister. You were someone else's sister. My sister was next to you, with the same blue eyes. And I- I knew that you were my sister, not that other baby. I knew it. I don't know how- I didn't know better, maybe-"

"Did you-" She sobs. "Did you-"

"I wanted you. I wanted you to be my sister."

"No-"

"I switched the bracelets. I'm sorry, Natalie, I'm so sorry-"

"God help me, god help me, god help me, god-" She bursts into furious sobs and stands up shakily, pointing at me and then turning away and looking back at me with big red bloodshot eyes.

"I'm sorry," I say, standing up and trying to take her hand. She pulls her hand away and gnashes her teeth.

"I liked you because you were my sister." She wheezes. "Because. I told you that, I said it- you knew that and you took it away from me- you ruined it-"

"No, this isn't- I told you because it means we can be together now! We can do all those things you wanted to do in your letter. You can- you can sleep with me. It's okay, we're not related."

"I want to be related to you!" She cries. "I want my sister!"

"I'm your sister-"

"No, you're not!" She screams. "You're a fucking liar! You're an evil homewrecker, you ruined my life- you stole me! You stole a babby! Why? Why?"

I try to take her hand again but she won't get near me, just keeps asking me why, keeps saying it, why why why- I'm crying now too, I'm heaving in my chest and my throat hurts and my head is spinning. I open my mouth and I say it, I just tell her.

"I thought you were cuter."

Her mouth hangs open and tears drip down it. "God help me, god help me, god help me, god-" she whispers, so quietly that only I can hear it.

"I want to be with you." I croak.

"I don't want you." She says. "I don't want you anymore."

"Then we can- we can be sisters again. We don't have to date, or have sex- we can just be-"

"I don't want you." She grits her teeth. "I don't fucking want you."

God help me god help me god help me god-