Page 47 of Lust
Sara narrowed her eyes, perplexed. “Why are you bringing up the shelter?” she asked carefully.
“Because… If you don’t break things off with that boy, I’ll make sure that your precious shelter is torn down a lot sooner. If I have the resources to keep the place open for longer, then I also have the resources to shut it down. I don’t give a damn if they all become homeless—”
“No,” Sara screamed, distressed. “Please, Tris, don’t.”
“Then do as I say and leave Tobias.”
The slight widening of her pretty gray eyes held more fear than last night. There were no tears in them, only a dilemma. She had accounted for more time to evacuate and was well aware that I didn’t hand out idle threats.
Jackpot.
“At any rate, how will you explain losing your virginity to dear Toby? Your only option is to either tell him that you cheated on him or the truth. At which point, I’m going to run your damn shelter to the ground so fast that you won’t have time to find another alternative for housing.”
The way Sara opened and closed her fist confirmed my suspicion that these thoughts had already occurred to her, and the choices were far from appealing.
Remorseless, I perused ahead. “Do everything I ask of you, and I’ll find a way to keep your shelter open.”
Her palm lay flat on her stomach as if she had been punched in the gut. I hated seeing Sara in this state—cornered with the sting of defeat—as I had no interest in crushing her spirit. I only wanted her to share her soul with me.
Still, the depressing truth to the matter was that the world was ugly. Her bottom lip quivered. She looked around with incredulity, hardly believing this conversation possible after what went down between us last night.
“W-what… Where the hell is all of this coming from? When did you start harboring this sick need to hurt women… to hurtme? After last night, how could you stand there so calmly and suggest doing that to me again? Why did you do it in the first place?”
The four W’s and one H—the pillar of any good interrogation.
These were all great questions, ones that I should answer.
On the other hand, Sara’s emotions were escalating. It dawned on me that she was crumbling. She was angry about last night and scared over my future intentions. I shouldn’t have piled on so much at once. It was overloading her, so I decided to tackle a couple of questions at a time.
“I want to clarify some things. First of all, I hurtyou, yes, but last night was a singular experience—a fluke. I drank a lot, was pissed about that boy, and snapped. It’s not an excuse, but you have known me your entire life. This isn’t my M.O. If you don’t believe me, answer me this. Women throw themselves at me. What need would I have to force one?”
She was worried that I might do this to other women, but despite our most recent interaction, Sara couldn’t contradict the logic in my statement. Neither of us had ever come across a woman who wouldn’t willingly open their legs for me… except for Sara. In fact, we had diverted several women who were caught stalking me.
Now that I had put her mind at ease over the issue, I tackled the other questions—when and the why.
“Secondly, I stopped seeing you as my sister a long time ago, which is why I know you can get there too.” Though a sick part of me enjoyed how twisted good it felt to fuck my sister. “This thing between us,” I wiggled my index finger, “this heat… It’s been there for the last few years. We both feel it, so don’t tell me that the thought hasn’t occurred to you.”
“You’re my brother,” she retorted incredulously. Technically, Sara didn’t outright refute my declaration; only pointed out our relation and how society viewed us.
I took a step forward. “I’m not your brother. Not by blood.”
“Just in every other way,” she countered.
“I understand it’s a difficult adjustment—”
“Difficult adjustment? I have known you since I was five. I don’t even remember a time when you werenotmy brother.”
Herein lay the problem.
We were nearly eleven years apart. I was almost sixteen when I met Sara, and she was introduced to me as a stranger.
Whereas Sara had only turned five when she met me. Her earliest memories were of the four of us as a family. She had never known me in a role other than the one of her brother.
I closed my eyes, unsure what I wanted out of Sara, given that wasn’t even the only problem. We could never marry, nor could we be together publicly without ridicule and shame. Letting her be with another was not an option either. So, here we were, stagnant.
Our silent glaring was interrupted by the sound of the garage door opening.
“What the hell?” Dashing to the window, I noticed our parents' car pulling into the driveway.
