Page 12 of Little Liar
“I’ve to stay a virgin until the wedding night. Not that I’m sleeping around at this age.” Olivia lifts her head to look at me. “Are you a virgin?”
My brows knit together at her question. I am—the idea of sex has never been something I sought out. Yeah, I’ve jacked off while trying to watch porn, but I never thought of actually going out and fucking someone the way my friends all do. They do try to get me to screw someone, but I always end up leaving the party early and sober, or I get so drunk and unable to even see properly that I stagger home to my sister. She looks after me—a glass of water, a sick bucket, a cold cloth on my head, and she hugs me until I lose consciousness.
She clamps her mouth shut with a disappointed look on her face when she realizes she’s getting no response from me. “Sorry. That was inappropriate.”
I slide my hand from her hair.Do you want to get married?
She shrugs. “Mom has been preparing me for this since I was a kid. She was even excited when I got my period because it gives the arrangement a better value.”
I gulp and start to form a plan of kidnapping Olivia away from this life.
“Uhh.” She face-palms. “I’m sorry. I’m going to make you vomit everywhere. Sorry.”
Don’t apologize,I sign. You can talk to me about anything and I’ll never be weirded out.
I’m furious right now. I might kill our parents and make it look like an accident. I could set the house on fire, trap them both in my dad’s office, and be Olivia’s shoulder to cry on before I inevitably somehow make her fall in love with me.
Fuck. I just said that.
I can’t take my thoughts back now—I want my sister, and I want her badly. I don’t know how I’ll manage it, but Olivia and I are going to be each other’s firsts in everything. Not yet, but in a few years when we’re old enough and fully understand how it all works.
When Olivia’s ready, then I will be too.
My mind needs to slow down. She might actually see me as her brother, and the thought of even kissing me in a passionate way might repulse her.
Unless I pretend to be someone else? Hide my face?
No, that defeats the purpose.
Fuck.
She isn’t getting married to anyone but me. I’ll speak to our parents. I’m sure they’d prefer she was with someone they trusted and not some older prick.
I heavily breathe out my nose and pull back, taking her hand and gesturing to the running trail that takes us home. She squeezes my hand before she lets go, reconnects her ear-bleeding music, and we run back to get ready for school.
Mom and Dad are in my father’s office when we get home from school. Olivia goes to her room to get changed because she’s going to her friend’s house to do some routine practice.
I’m trying to go over everything I need to communicate with our parents without her knowing my plan. Or that I’m having a mental breakdown and that my knuckles are still sore from beating the shit out of someone in the locker room.
He told me that if I vocally begged, he wouldn’t try to fuck my sister and record it, so I fucked his head off the bench and gave him a black eye.
Dad will know about it by now, but he’s long given up trying to discipline me. He’ll warn me, try to force me back into therapy, then give a spiel of how I’m making the house unsafe for future fosters. Blah, blah, fucking blah.
I’m sticking up for myself and my sister—I’m not just going out and choosing someone as my next target, but no one understands that. I was labeled an issue, a problem child, the son with a suitcase full of trauma, so it would’ve been a miracle if I was normal.
When I reach the office, I can hear them. Dad is giving Mom a hard time about Olivia’s age and how she’s borderline grooming his daughter.
Fuck. Deep breaths.
I knock on the office door, and their whispering comes to a halt.
“Come in,” my dad calls out.
I open the door and step into his office, both their eyes on me and filled with confusion. I never do this. Never seek them out. I don’t go to them for a single thing or communicate unless it’s absolutely necessary.
Not for any particular reason—I just like reserving all my conversation for a certain someone. I know they’d rather step on Legos than talk anyway. Not even my friends get much out of me. One of them knows sign language, and that’s enough for him to translate to the group.
Honestly, I’m still unsure why they’re friends with me. They only welcomed me into their little group after I started beating up people who messed with Olivia.
