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Once I’m done, I feel lighter than I have in, well, years. I don’t believe in an afterlife, Heaven, or even Hell. But if there really is anything after we draw our final breath, maybe the calm I’m feeling now that I’ve gotten everything off my chest is a gift from my brother.
“I miss you so fucking much, Ry,” I croak, swallowing harshly. “You woulda known what to do.” Since I’m completely alone, I allow the tears in my eyes to fall rather than blinking them away.
I once watched a documentary on grief and loss where they talked about the martyr complex. It wasn’t in the way it’s usually used, but more about how it’s applied to people that died before they could make any lasting mistakes—in other words, people that died young.
As I’m standing here by myself, I can’t help but wonder if that’s what I’ve subconsciously been doing with Ryan since he died. If there’s such a thing as the good twin, Ryan’s automatically been cast in that role, because he died. But if I’m honest with myself, he was no fucking saint.
I’m pretty sure he was a bit of a bully, and he was definitely not the nicest to the girls at school. Sure, he was only fifteen when he died, but that didn’t stop him from dating two or three girls at the same time.
Shit, I haven’t thought about that in years. In fact, I haven’t given any thought to any of my brother’s mistakes. The second he died, though, his score was reset, and everything bad was forgotten.
The wind picks up, making some of the leaves around me rustle as branches swoosh back and forth. “If that’s you, Ry, you’re still a dick,” I chuckle.
I wish I could say that being here, and spending the day with Nana, has given me some kind of clarity, but it hasn’t. Not really. All it’s done is cement the fact I need to talk some fucking sense into Mickey, somehow make him see that his greatest fear coming to life isn’t the end all be all.
Deciding it’s time to go home, I get back in the car and turn the radio on, hoping some mindless tunes will quiet my brain. It seems to work because before I know it, I’m parked in front of my house.
It’s completely dark and quiet as I slip through the front door, my mind a tempest of emotions. The silence of the house settles on me like a cloak as I let my feet carry me upstairs. Instead of heading straight to my bedroom, I stop in front of Gail’s room.
I push the door open without a sound, the soft glow of the moon filtering through the curtains casting shadows across her sleeping form. And there he is—Mickey—curled up behind her, as he’s been every night since we were at the doctor’s.
The sheet they share is pooled around their hips, exposing her naked upper body. Mickey’s hand is on her naked breast, and I wonder if he’s the one who undressed her, or if she did it willingly. Hmm, is she completely naked?
My breath catches as a dark cocktail of possessiveness and raw desire floods me. Unable to just stand here, I peel back the sheet, which is enough to see she’s not wearing any clothes at all. I catch sight of Mickey’s fingers buried deep in Gail’s heat. Just the sight of it, makes my cock throb with need.
It’s a craving that grips me by the balls—a fierce, primal hunger that demands satisfaction.
I’m already hard as rock, my control slipping away as the dominant beast within awakens. Without hesitation, I unzip my jeans and free my aching dick from my briefs, wrapping my fingers around its girth.
“God, what I wouldn’t give to taste you right now,” I whisper into the shadowed room, my voice laced with lust and darkness.
My hand moves, the friction of my calloused skin against my shaft sending jolts of pleasure coursing through me. I imagine it’s Gail’s mouth wrapped around me, her tongue swirling, her blue eyes locked onto mine.
“Shit,” I grunt, my other hand bracing against the wall for support as my strokes become more urgent, rougher.
My hips jerk involuntarily as I chase the high, the edge coming fast and hard. Each pulse of pleasure brings me closer to oblivion, to that sweet release where nothing matters but this moment, this all-consuming need.
The pressure builds, a crescendo of raw, untamed lust that threatens to shatter me. I bite back a curse, determined not to wake them, to keep this stolen moment secret. Just as I’m about to nut, I slip the tip of my cock into her mouth. Even in her sleep, she’s a good whore—her tongue caresses the head, and I’m fucking done for.
I come, my release spilling into her hot mouth, spurt after spurt filling her, and once I’m done and pull away, I watch her swallow. The only evidence of what I just did, is a small glob of cum trailing down the corner of her mouth to her chin.
Breathless, I watch them a moment longer, the sight of Mickey’s fingers still buried in her tight cunt is enough to make me want to go another round. A devilish smirk plays on my lips as I tuck myself back into my jeans. I retreat from the room, closing the door with a soft click.
Soren
Another night with barely any sleep. I look at the clock on my phone for the millionth time, and decide it’s fine to go wake Mickey up now. I’m not the type to panic, but right now, I can feel my pulse in my throat as I bang open Gail’s bedroom door. “Get up,” I growl, urgency knotted tight in every word.
Gail startles awake with a small scream, sitting up so fast the sheet glides down, exposing her delicious tits. “What the—”
“Christ, Soren, what the hell?” Mickey’s voice is a groan from beneath the tangled mess of sheets, his silver eyes glaring at me through the dim light. “Is it even morning yet?” he asks, squinting.
“Get dressed,” I order, purposefully not addressing the fact that calling it morning would be very generous.
“Can’t it wait? It’s…” Mickey looks at his phone, “…barely morning.”
“Why do I have to get dressed?” Gail whines with a pout that’s beyond fucking adorable. And hot.
“Not you,” I say. “You can go back to sleep, but Mick needs to move his ass. Up. Now.” I don’t budge from the doorway. My mind is a fucking wreck after staying up all night.
