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Broken Pieces

By: YKN4949



Warning: This work of fiction is taboo for more than one reason. It is a traditional Literotica Taboo story, because it involves a pair of siblings who begin a romantic (and sexual) relationship. However, there is an added layer of taboo: the brother in this story has a mild intellectual disability. This was not done for shock value, it is important to the themes of the story. This character is absolutely capable of consent and the story is not designed to make fun of anyone with an intellectual disability, it does not intended to demean anyone, and it is certainly not an endorsement of any kind of abuse. If this is not your thing (and I am not even sure it is "my thing." The story idea just would not leave me alone until I wrote it) then please do not read. With that said, I think it is sweet (and hot) story that is about far more than what is contained in this warning. Please enjoy.

*****

"Oh yeah you fucking whore," Dale bellowed at me. I was on my knees between his legs. He was still wearing the shirt he had worn to work and his pants were around his ankles. His big gut was somewhat in my way, but I had his dick in my mouth. I was completely naked. He told me to get naked the instant I'd walked into his office. It was after hours now, so I wasn't concerned about anyone else from the floor walking in. Why would I be concerned anyway? Every person in the office knew I did this. And hated me for it.

"Suck it bitch," Dale thundered now, roughly grabbing my long blonde hair and pulling down. I looked up at him, he looked annoyed. I slipped his cock deeper into my mouth and winced as I did so. He hadn't showered after his morning trip to the sauna. I could smell sweat and cedar on him. It tasted sour. He'd promised he'd stop doing that. I ignored his flavor and sucked his cock into my mouth deeper.

"Don't fucking play with it, get that cum out. This isn't fun for you, I know it. Just make it quick," he said, yanking on my hair so hard I felt tears well up in my eyes and I yelped a bit. At that moment his cell phone rang. He leaned over to one side and picked it up. I don't know why, but I felt so embarrassed; this wasn't enough to keep his attention?

"Hello?" he said disinterestedly. I felt awkward and stopped my head from bobbing on his dick, "Hi honey, yeah late at the office again," he said. It was his wife. I felt a wave of shame and revulsion spread over me and I grabbed Dale's cock by the base and pulled it out of my throat. I looked up at him. 

Dale furrowed his brow and looked down at me. He snapped his fingers three times and pointed to his short dick, "No honey, I don't think I will be much longer and I think that I will be able to get home quick without the traffic." I apparently meant nothing to him. I was an employee performing a task. I would suck his cock, then he'd pull up his pants and go home. I thought about his wife and kids sitting at home waiting for him and I guessed that I deserved it. Dale snapped one last time and I returned his cock to my mouth, bouncing the thing up and down on my tongue. He closed his eyes and sighed lightly.

"How did junior's game go?" he asked and I felt bile rising in my throat, but fought to keep it down. Dale listened to the response, "Haha, takes after his 'ol dad I guess. Everyone gets ejected from a game every now and then, but that boy has some real fire. And how are you doing tonight baby?" he asked. The tears were still in my eye and I could feel a lump in my throat (besides the cock. It hardly registered as a lump). Dale kept talking to his wife in a nonchalant fashion and I kept bobbing my head up and down on his cock. 

After a few moments, I could feel Dale's body start to tense. It hadn't taken very long. I looked up at him. His eyes were still closed. For a moment, he held up his hand. After a few moments, he started to wave it slightly. Then I felt him thrust his hips once and I felt his sourish sperm dribble into my mouth. I wanted desperately to spit it out, but I knew it would make him mad. So I swallowed it. Dale was still waving his hand, but now he moved it forward, putting his palm on my forehead and shoving me away. His cock popped out of my mouth and I lost my balance tumbling over onto my side. Dale let out a long sigh as he felt the brunt of his orgasm. For a moment he was silent.

"What was that? What do you mean?" he asked his wife innocently. He looked at me, his eyes wide and his lips pursed and he shook his head slowly, "Oh the sound? Yeah, I was on the toilet taking a shit. Sorry about that. Yeah I know. Hey then, just let me get off the phone and I will be home soon," he said and hung up. So I guess I was shit. I certainly felt like it at that moment.

"What the fuck were you doing you fucking idiot?" Dale asked.

"Giving you head," I said sheepishly. I couldn't figure out why he'd shoved me or what I'd done wrong. Dale rolled his eyes and shook his head. That was a good sign; it meant he wasn't going to hit me again.

"Didn't you fucking see me put up my hand?" he asked and I nodded. I knew my eyes were open wide, staring at him with a glassy appearance. I pulled my legs together and crossed my arms across my breasts, trying to cover myself while I was getting dressed down. I felt like a small child being berated by my father and then felt disgusted that that was the image that came to mind. Dale pulled up his pants and buckled them.

"Did you think I was holding up my hand because I couldn't control myself from how great your perfunctory blowjob was?" he asked sarcastically. I didn't say anything. I looked around for my clothes. They were on the other side of the room. I wouldn't move. It would make him madder, I would just stay naked. "I was telling you to fucking stop so I wouldn't cum when my dumb-cunt wife was on the phone." He said.

"I didn't know," I said, then added quickly so he would know I knew it was my fault, "I am sorry, that was dumb. It won't happen again."

"Yeah, well..." he said. I was lucky. He didn't seem to be in a particularly bad mood. Dale never really hit me. He didn't need to. He knew all my weaknesses and just what to say to get to them. "Get dressed, I've seen you naked enough to get the gist." He said. I thought about my body. I was 5'4 and 115lbs. I had long, straight blonde hair and wide blue eyes. My eyelashes were long and I had a slightly upturned nose. My lips were thick and pink. I had a petite body with small, 32-A breasts, a flat stomach, slightly narrow hips, a toned butt, and somewhat short legs. My feet were very small. The only thing that Dale ever complimented me on was my body. I felt tears welling again when I thought he didn't want to see it anymore. Now I was reluctant to get dressed, I wanted him to notice me, to say I looked good. I wanted him to call me his "sexy little girl," like he usually did.

Not that I particularly wanted to be with Dale or that his approval really meant anything. He was my boss. Actually, he was my boss' boss. And he had a giant mouth, so that everyone in the office now thought I was a slut, trying to sleep my way to the top. But it hadn't been like that. I hadn't been looking for anything. A month after I started working there, Dale had just sort of grabbed me and kissed me. I wanted him to stop, but I didn't say anything. I just sort of...let it happen. And I was just still letting it happen. What's more, if I was trying to sleep my way to the top, I was doing a really shitty job of it. Six years and still an "administrative assistant."

"Wake up!" Dale yelled.

"Sorry," I replied, shaking my head.

"I gotta get out of here. My wife made plans or something," he said, tucking his shirt into his pants. I slowly moved over to my clothes and started to get dressed.

"Sorry about everything again," I said, desperate for something.

"Yeah, don't sweat it. It was a pretty decent blowjob," he said and I perked up a bit. Why did that make me feel good? The fact that it made me feel good made my stomach churn, but I looked past that.

"Thanks," I said, sounding a bit too cheerful. Dale snorted a bit.

"You are a weird fucking chick," Dale said, "You have a degree, but you are a Secretary. You can grasp complicated and technical concepts but you hate to speak in meetings. You are punctual, courteous, and professional but you only look happy when someone tells you that you give a good blowjob." He said and shook his head. He grabbed his coat and his brief case. I don't know if I was impressed that Dale was smart enough to grasp my strengths as an employee, or depressed that he was so accurate with my weaknesses.

"I don't know," I said, I was blushing. I knew what he was saying was right, but I didn't really have any explanation for it.

"Whatever, don't spend too much time thinking about it," he said and headed out the door. By that time, I had my bra and my skirt back on. I was afraid that someone form the cleaning crew would be there; see me like that. When Dale was at the door he stopped and turned back in.

"Oh hey, I almost forgot. There is this guy I know from my country club. Real nice guy. I told him a little bit about you. He said you sounded interesting. So I said you'd take him out and show him a good time," he said. My head swam a little.

"What?" I said.

"I said if he bought you dinner you'd probably blow him," Dale said crudely. I felt my face twist in disgust. What the hell did this guy think I was?

"I am not going to do that!" I said, slipping my blouse back on, "And you shouldn't want me to. We are...We are..."

"What? dating? I fuck you in the office. I am married. You should think about doing it soon too. You aren't getting any younger. What are you, 28?"

"29," I said. I could still taste Dale's unpleasant sperm on my mouth and it made me sick. Why was I letting this man, this thing, inside of me?

"See," he said.

"So is that why you set me up with..."

"Richard? No. I mean, I just thought you'd get along. He is married too," he said as though that were normal, "Hey come on. I don't have time; just say you'll do it." I knew I should say no. This wasn't right. But what else was I going to do? Say no? That wasn't an option. I needed this job, and I shouldn't want anything better than this. This is what I deserved.

"Fine," I said and I felt completely defeated.

"You're beautiful! Alright, he is out of town for a bit. But he is a busy guy, wife and all, so he has to schedule in advance. A week from Friday at 8. I will see you tomorrow," he said and he slipped out the door. I felt the tears finally falling now as I slowly buttoned my blouse.

* * * * *

Around an hour later I was on the bus, heading toward my apartment. It was winter at the time, so despite the fact that it was not quite 7:30 it was already very dark. I was very close to home and I lived in a not-so-great part of town. As my bus stop came into view about three stoplights up, I could see that the streetlight in front of my building was off again. I sighed and prepared to run briskly to my apartment building. A woman had been assaulted two blocks away just a few weeks earlier. No one had been arrested yet.

As I was picking up my purse on the seat next to me, I realized that it was vibrating slightly. I quickly started to dig through my bag, looking for my cell phone. I found it and saw a number of the screen that I did not recognize. It had a local area code. For some reason, an unknown number always made me nervous. But I clicked "answer."

"Hello?" I asked.

"Hello, is this Roxanne Fuller?" A clipped female voice stated, making me wonder if it was a bill collector of some sort. 

"This is Roxie," I said wishing, as I always did, that I didn't have a slutty 1980's name.

"Ms. Fuller, my name is Dr. Sandra Garner at Mercy Hospital. I have some bad news, please brace yourself," she said. I felt my pulse quicken and my mouth was dry. Who did I know that was sick?

"What?" I said, nearly speaking over her, I could hear panic in my voice. I was not great under pressure.

"You parents were involved in an accident this evening at around 6:30 p.m. Their car was struck by a tractor trailer. They were rushed to the hospital but...I am sorry. They were pronounced dead on arrival. I cannot express my sorrow for your loss. You were the emergency contact for their insurance. Please come down to the hospital and fill out your paperwork," the woman said. At no time did her voice rise above a dull drone. I felt totally numb.

"My parents are...dead?" I asked, incredulously. My parents, only in their mid-fifties, both dead. At almost the same instant I was blowing Dale. I just refused to accept it.

"I am sorry Ms. Fuller. Support staff will be on hand for your arrival," she said and with that, the line went dead.

* * * * *

It took nearly an hour to get to Mercy. I'd run home quickly and called a cab (there were six bus transfers to get to the hospital). While I'd waited (and later in the taxi itself), I tried to understand what the doctor had told me over the phone. My parents were dead. It still didn't make any sense. I mean, I knew in my mind that everyone died eventually. I knew that it didn't exclude me or anyone else I knew. But my parents...I mean it didn't seem like it was possible. They had always been there.

Not that they had really been there in any real sense. My parents and I had never really gotten along, to put it mildly. I couldn't remember a time when I would describe my relationship with them as anything but terrible. In fact, I hadn't spoken to either of them in months and hadn't seen them in...Oh God, nearly a year. They only lived fifteen miles from my apartment. But, it was never good when we were together anyway. They seemed just as happy to be rid of me as I was to be rid of them.

What was so strange was that my parents were so different that it should have been impossible for me not get along with both of them. But somehow I'd managed to have catastrophically broken relationships with both of them in completely different ways.  

With my mother, it was a white hot, passionate anger that simmered between us at all times. Ever since I was a little girl it seemed that I had been the wrong kind of woman for my mother. She'd wanted a little girl who was exactly like her in every way: outgoing, boisterous, athletic. I was not those things. She'd tried to mold me into her image while I was growing up, forcing me into clubs and sports. But none of that had ever appealed to me. I would try to quit, to do the things that I liked to do (though, to be honest, I never really had a chance to figure those things out) but she had always told me how ashamed she was that I was a quitter. I would be punished, usually corporal punishment followed by some sort of demeaning taunt. More than one time I remembered her yelling that I was not really her daughter and that she wished I hadn't been born. I think that stuff started when I was 5. 

Over the years, she'd grown to resent that I had stolen the opportunity for her to have the daughter she'd always wanted, while I resented her for refusing to accept that I was a real person and not a failed project in self-re-creation. After I left for college, we rarely spoke. When we did it would invariably devolve into a screaming match with my mother belittling my life choices as being unambitious and embarrassing and me telling her she was a dried-up bitch trying to live vicariously through me. Not that she wasn't right. I was unambitious and embarrassing, I was pathetic really. I brought all of the disappointment and bad things in my life down on myself. But I didn't like hearing it from her. 

My father was a different matter altogether. If my mother tried too hard to mold me into a woman, my father didn't try hard enough. I remember when I was very young going days, sometimes weeks, without hearing anything from my father beyond "pass the salt." I remember that my mother would get on him to talk to me about report cards, he would look at my grades (usually Bs) and then tell me that I was "just a little stupid" but say it in such a way that indicated that it really didn't matter. 

I remember that as I got older, my father would occasionally tell me that I was "pretty" or that my figure was "coming in nice." I don't know why, but that little bit of positive feedback from my father had seemed so important. My mother hated everything about me, my father thought I was stupid, but at least he could think I was good at something. Good at looking good. I started to dress somewhat provocatively, not just at school but at home, so that he would note that I looked good. As I got into high school, my father started to object to the way I was dressing. He noticed that it brought boys (generally the kinds of boys from families as broken as mine). He would still compliment my appearance on occasion, but he would temper that by saying that I "dressed like a whore" or acted "like a bimbo." The older I got, the more provocatively I dressed and the more extreme my father's reactions became. A few weeks before I went to college, my father nearly tackled me on my way out of the house to meet a date and tried to force a bulky sweatshirt over my head because he didn't like my tube top. This came just a few days after he told me his friends told him I was "hot" as though I should be impressed. The mixed signals got so painfully confusing, that I found it just easier to stop talking to him as well. I don't think he even really noticed. His compliments and his anger were far more important to me than they were to him.

Now they were dead. And I didn't know what to feel about it. I cared about them I guess, despite everything about them. They brought me into the world. There were memories, a few, or real happiness in their home. I was ashamed to say that ten years earlier I might have been happy they were dead. I know that sounds terrible, but a 19 year old with bad parents can be terrible. But now that they were not in my life, I didn't really wish anything bad for them. I just wanted them to leave me alone. I wanted the scars they left on me (some physical, most emotional) to leave with them. But now they were gone and I was still here, as broken as ever.

I arrived at the hospital in a daze. All of these thoughts had been running through my mind and I barely recognized the taxi arrived at my apartment and then dropped me off at the ER. The place did not look busy and there was a nurse at a duty station in the waiting room. She was looking at a clipboard and didn't seem to notice me come in.

"Uh hi," I said, my voice sounding small and scared like a child, "My name is Roxie Fuller. My parents..." I started then just opened and closed my mouth like a dry fish. The nurse looked up, annoyed, but then saw the glassy look in my eye and the way I was sort of swaying drunkenly.

"Fuller?" she asked and I nodded. She gave me a sympathetic smile, "I am very sorry. Please follow me," she said. The nurse wound me around through the hospital and I quickly got disoriented. I just kept my eyes on her back and tried to ignore the awful sights, smells, and sounds that come with being in one of those places. Finally, she led me into a small office. There was an overweight, middle-aged woman sitting behind a small desk in very dim golden light. She looked stern.

"This is Ms. Fuller," the nurse said. She looked at me, smiled, squeezed my hand, and then left the room.

"Hello Ms. Fuller, I am Dr. Garner, we spoke on the phone. Please have a seat," the middle aged woman said, gesturing toward a chair. I dropped down into it. The doctor began to speak, but I can honestly say I have no idea what she was talking about. Her eyes were very sympathetic but her voice was flat and unemotional. I found myself staring off into space, too shell-shocked to pay attention to anything. I wondered why I wasn't crying, but felt no compulsion to do so.


Broken Pieces



"Here is some paperwork we need you to fill out," the doctor said eventually, passing a clipboard over her desk, "I will give you some privacy. A counselor will be in shortly." The doctor stood up and walked around her desk.

"You don't uh...need me to like..." I stumbled, trying to spit out a fear I'd had ever since I first got the call, "To like identify..."

"Oh no honey, you don't need to seem them like...you don't need to see them now. We know who everyone is," The doctor said, for the first time sounding like a person. I realized she had probably just been speaking from rote memorization before. Insert commiseration here. My question made her a person.

"Oh thank you," I said and felt some level of relief. I was not ready to see my parents. I suddenly thought about the funeral and felt unbearably tired. The doctor slipped out the door and closed it behind her, leaving me alone. I picked up the papers she'd handed me and leafed through them briefly. So much information. I sighed and started to fill them out, they would keep my mind off of things.

I was only working for five minutes or so when I hear someone jiggling the door handle. I set my pen down on the clipboard and looked over my shoulder. The door opened and a woman walked in quickly.

"Doctor Garner, I am sorry it took me so long, my name is..."

"Debra?" I asked. The woman was wearing a thick winter coat and the hood was covering her eyes, but I recognized her. She looked up quickly.

"Oh my, Roxie. You aren't the Doctor...but I suppose this is her office," she said.

"Yeah..." I noted. Suddenly she realized why I was there, the same reason she was. She quickly sat down in the chair next to me and grabbed my hand.

"Oh Roxie, I am so sorry that this happened," she said, her voice containing all of the emotion that Dr. Garner's lacked. 

"Thank you Debra," I said. Then I realized what Debra was doing here and I felt my breath catch in my throat, "Does Andy know?" my voice sounded choked. Debra took a deep breath and nodded her head slowly, and then sighed. Debra had been Andy, my brother's, personal tutor when he was a kid. Even after he'd grown up and stopped going to school, Debra remained close with my parents. And with Andy. She was probably his best friend.

"How did he take it?" I asked, my fingers growing cold.

"Better than you'd think," Debra said, "I mean he is devastated. He is going to be devastated. But he is staying strong. He even offered to watch my dogs while I came to the hospital." I nodded my head. That sounded like Andy. 

It was so strange that in all my thoughts about my family upon hearing the news that I didn't once thinks about my older brother. This affected him more than just about anyone else. My brother had been born with a mild intellectual disability. They used to say that he would grow up to have a mental and emotional age of a seventh grader, but they didn't like to talk like that anymore. Andy still lived with my parents (I felt so ashamed it had been nearly a year since I'd seen him too) and their death meant a complete change in his life. It meant...What did it mean?

"Debra, what happens to Andy?" I asked. I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of that, "How is his trust fund?" I knew that Debra served as an advisor to my parents as it related to my brother. She would know what was happening.

"One thing at a time," Debra said, sensing my unease. She still sounded like a teacher, despite the fact that she was getting pretty old and had surely retired long before. "I don't know what happens to your brother now. Your parents and I...we figured there was still time to make more definite arrangements." I closed my eyes and took a breath. Andy must've been so scared. He, like his younger sister, hated uncertainty.

"What is he going to do? Where is he going to stay?" I suddenly realized that I was the only adult family member Andy had left, and I had no idea of what was best for me, let alone him.

"Calm yourself," Debra said again, in her teacher voice, she reached over and touched my hand, "We will figure this all out."

"I just...I thought I had a long time before this happened. I thought I would have kids of my own before I was taking care of my parents' kid," I said wistfully, realizing how fucked up my life was at just that moment.

"I know honey. But that is the way life works. We will work this out," she said. She had such a calming demeanor, I soon found myself nodding in agreement with her.

"Okay...Okay..." I said, trying to get myself ready, "So his trust fund?" I asked. My parents, for all their faults, had wanted to take care of my brother. They had been putting money aside for him as long as I could remember. I needed to know that he had enough money to live on. But Debra was shaking her head.

"Your parents planned on working another 20 years. There is considerable money put away. But not enough to meet all of his needs for the rest of his life," I felt my heart sinking. I couldn't afford myself, "But he does work you know. He contributes to his upkeep."

"He works?' I asked, I had no idea. Debra nodded.

"He works at the elementary school. Has for several years now. Maintenance. Works under my old friend Mr. Ghent," she said and started telling a story about the head janitor. I was shocked; I should have known my brother worked. I realized just how removed from my life he'd been.

"Okay, so he can work and he can use money from his trust fund to supplement it. I can help with that," I said. I took accounting classes in college. In theory, I could keep a budget together based on the trust disbursements. I was feeling a little bit better. But then there was a larger issue.

"Do you think he can take care of the house?" I asked, thinking of my parents ugly ranch house in the suburbs. 

"Oh no, it is far too big a project for him. The house is for a family, not for a solitary man," Debra said and that made sense. But I was already thinking it was a blessing in disguise.

"Well why don't we sell the house? We can put the money in the trust fund and move him to an apartment. Any other money that is coming to me too, he can have it," I said. Suddenly things seemed brighter. Andy would be taken care of and I wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. I couldn't handle the responsibility. But once again, Debra was shaking her head.

"You're parents just got a second mortgage last year to pay for your mother's surgery. The house has almost no equity. You will need to sell it as I doubt the both of you can make the payments. But you'll be lucky to get a couple of thousand dollars in profit out of the sale," Debra explained. I felt deflated, but not entirely.

"Well we will move him to a smaller apartment then," I said, desperately searching for something that would stick. Debra just kept shaking her head.

"Well you raise the larger point now. I do not believe that it is in Andy's best interest to live on his own," she said. I had been dancing around this issue, not wanting to talk about it. I had no concrete idea of what I was afraid of, but even barest outline of a thought regarding Andy's living situation filled me with a deep sense of foreboding. I guess I knew what was coming.

"Why not? I mean I remember when he was a kid they said he could grow up to be self-sufficient. He has a job. He will be okay. I can give him money when I can afford to," I said. Feeling a bit panicky again. This was starting to sound like my role was going to be expanded. I couldn't handle it. I cared about my brother, hell I was just willing to give away my inheritance to take care of him. But I needed to be able to support him from a distance.

"He is capable of living on his own," Debra said, obviously choosing her words carefully, "He is self-sufficient in many ways. But...take his job for instance. He does excellent work, but requires close supervision. The same is true in his life in general. He can function on his own, but he does so much better when he has support. Close support." I felt my fingers starting to shake. I could not handle this level of responsibility.

"Can he...Can he stay with you?" I said, suddenly striking on a desperate, but feasible plan. I just could not handle this, "You can handle his trust and money and everything. I am sure you do now. It will be like nothing changed." I said. I felt myself hyperventilating. Debra squeezed my hand and smiled sympathetically.

"I am 78 years old and not in the best of health," Debra said, "I already sold my house. I am moving to Arizona. To be with my daughter and her family." She said. I felt like my legs were kicked out from under me. 

"No...I...you can't," I said. I needed Debra to be here. She needed to take care of Andy. I couldn't do this. I was pathetic. I'd screw him up like I screwed myself up. The sudden realization of the nature of my condition struck me. I had spent the entire trip to the hospital trying to figure out what my parent's death meant to me and now I found that I'd focused on the wrong thing. My life was about to change in an infinite number of ways and I was not ready. My father was right, I was stupid. My mother was right, I was a loser. In their death, they would prove to everyone that they were right and I was worthless. 

"I have to go honey," she said.

"I can't..." I started again. Now the tears started. I don't know if I was sad about my parents, or frustrated with my own inability to behave like an adult, ashamed of the way I thought of my brother, or scared by how poorly I would do as a caretaker. I am sure it was all of that. Plus a lot of self-pity. I buried my face in my hands, letting the tears fall. Debra rubbed my back and spoke gently to me. Eventually, I was able to get myself together. I wiped the tears from my eyes and looked at Debra. I was so scared.

Debra looked at me deeply, and I could sense she was going to say something. I hoped (though I did not believe) that she would say that she'd changed her mind, that she would stay and take care of my brother. If nothing else, I hoped she would say something of comfort. But instead she said, "You are an adult. So is your brother. No one can make you take him into your home. But even if I stayed...I will not be here long. He is very soon to be your responsibility. You can step up and take a wonderful man into your home, your brother, and let him make your life better. Or you can selfishly think only of yourself and thereby deprive yourself of a good friend and condemn your brother to a much harder life." Every word she said was the truth I suppose, but it was so hard to hear.

"I am so scared. I am not good enough to do this," I said.

"That's life," she replied.

* * * * * 

Viewing. Funeral. Bad food. Sad relatives. Pitying glances. A lot of money spent. You know how those things go and you don't want to hear about them anymore than I want to talk about them. Suffice it to say that the accident that killed my parents had spared their faces so they looked like themselves in their boxes and that when the funeral was over, the last two people in attendance were Roxie and Andy Fuller. They were going home together.

I had told Debra the night of the crash that I needed to think about what I was going to do about Andy. But, I guess I never really had any other plan. Listen, I know that I am was a totally shitty person and I have done just an amazing amount of things in my life that I am not at all proud of. But, I knew that Debra was right. Andy could not live on his own and he didn't really have anywhere else to go. He had to be with me. In the long run, I felt certain that he would be worse off with me than with just about anyone else. But, I was better than nothing. Hopefully.

"Hey Andy, you ready to go," I said. He was looking down into the holes, side by side, where we'd planted our parents. In the four days since my parents' death, I had come to terms with it. Like I said, we were not what anyone would ever consider close. I still didn't like that they were dead, but I accepted that it was the way things were. Andy had always had a better relationship with my parents. He took it harder. Mom condescendingly babied him though he didn't complain so he wouldn't hurt her feelings. Dad didn't care what Andy's IQ was so long as he turned out tall, strapping, and handsome. Andy achieved that goal, so dad was happy. 

Andy was around 6'4 and a big guy. He fell somewhere in the middle of the spectrum for a big guy between being chubby and beefcake. He sort of looked like a former high school football player who'd let himself go a little bit. But just a little bit. So you know, a sort of stocky muscular build with shortish legs for his height. He had short blonde hair and blue eyes (family traits) and generally looked like an attractive young guy. Hell, he was an attractive young guy (I had to stop qualifying things). I used to get a kick out of seeing cute girls walk up to him, lay on their charm, and then watch as it went over his head. They thought he was being withholding and dickish, which made them throw themselves at him even more.

"What?" he asked in a flat voice.

"Come on man, there is nothing left here, let's go back to the apartment," I said. We'd already contacted a real estate agent about putting the house up for sale. She thought we could sell it for enough to clear the debts, which was as best we could hope for. We'd been staying there before the funeral, but now it was time to return to real life. Andy had already moved most of his stuff into what had once been my cramped living room but was now his bedroom that morning. We were roomies. 

"Yeah Roxie, okay," he said in the same flat tone as he looked up from the graves. I saw him take a deep breath and shake his head. Then he turned and faced me. His eyes were a little bit watery, but he looked no worse for the wear. But he looked like he needed a little affection. I couldn't bring myself to hug him, so I reached out my hand. He took it (his large hand essentially enveloping mine) and we started to walk down toward my parents car (they each had a car, one that belonged to my dad and was crushed. One that belonged to my mother, it was now mine). There was some snow on the ground and the wind blew fiercely across the open fields of the grave yard. I pulled my coat up over my throat. Andy didn't seem to notice, he was lost in thought.

"Today was a hard day," I said to him and he just nodded, "you doing okay Buddy," I called him the nickname I'd given him when I was a small child. He smiled when he heard it.

"It was okay, because you were there," he said. I was taken aback slightly. I rarely made things better. In fact, I was sure I looked like an ice queen. I hadn't cried. Just stared at the coffins with a blank stare. People thought I was glad they were gone.

"Of course I was there. Where else would I be?" I asked rhetorically.

"You just haven't been around in a long time," Andy replied, looking over at me. I refused to meet his eyes, "I miss you."

"Yeah, I missed you too," I said quickly, "I am sorry about that."

"Don't be sorry. Just letting you know I missed you," Andy said, squeezing my hand. I realized that he had grown up quite a bit. I guess I had fallen into the trap of thinking of him as a child or something forever. He was not a child, he was a man.

"Well you are going to get more of me than you can stand, roomie," I said playfully, I pinched his nose like I used to do when we were kids. He laughed and gently pushed me away.

"We won't get tired of each other. We are family," he explained. I didn't know what to say to that. I had gotten pretty tired of all of my other family members long before they died. Now I was looking down the barrel of a 50 year roommate situation. I was not feeling optimistic.

"Well it isn't all going to be fun and games there Andrew," I said, poking his chest with my free hand, "We have to make sure we figure out how to live together." I don't know why, but I was always able to speak so much more comfortably with Andy than with other people. He also brought out a more playfully side of me, even at a funeral it seems.

"Everything will be okay sis," he said, "I know you are worried. But everything is going to be good. I go back to work tomorrow." Andy was giving me a deep look as she spoke. I hadn't expressed any concern, I guess he just picked up on it. I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. I had to avoid underestimating him.

"You like your job?" I asked. Andy smiled broadly.

"Yeah, we have a lot of fun. And I like the kids," he said. "Do you like your job?" I snorted and thought of Dale and the taste of sickly cum.

"Not really," I said honestly. Andy nodded.

"Maybe get a new one," he said.

"Easier said than done," I responded. Andy shrugged. By that time, we had reached the car and I released his hand.

"You can find a job you like, you don't have to do what you don't like. I worked at McDonald's for a week and then I told Debra that I'd rather go back to school. I guess she thought I was serious," Andy said and I laughed. Hard to blame him there.

"Well, I will think about it," I said, brushing him off and unlocking the doors to the car.

"You should," Andy said, opening up his door and sitting down. I breathed in the crisp air for a moment longer and looked back over the gravestones to where my parents were planted. Then I too opened my door and sat down.

"Well, let's get going," I said as I buckled into my seat. Andy was looking over at me.

"Did you look at Mom and Dad just now?" He asked. He must've seen me looking over my shoulder. 

"Yeah, I guess I was," I said.

"I know you didn't like Mom and Dad that much," he said. I was a little shocked by that. I mean, not that he knew. It was hard not to know. But just that he would bring it up.

"No, it's not..." I started, but Andy lifted up his hands, to show that he wasn't done talking.

"I know you didn't like them because they were meaner to you than they were to me. I love Mom and Dad a lot. But I understand why you didn't want to see them very much. I just want to say... I am not mad at you for not coming over very much. And I am sorry about Mom and Dad. But I am not sad we will be living together. I love you Roxie," Andy said. I could tell by the way he spoke that he had been trying to say something to me for a while and that it had been difficult for him.

I suddenly remembered that, when I first heard about my parents' death, I recalled briefly a few fond memories of my childhood. I suddenly realized that almost all of those memories centered around my brother. He had always been such a big sweetheart and we'd had a lot of fun together. Countless hours in the backyard building forts and chasing lightning bugs, going down to the community pool on summer mornings, staying up late on school nights to sneak television in the guest bedroom. These were all the good memories of my childhood, my parents were just incidental to that. Andy had been my best friend.

Then I remembered how infrequently I had thought of him in the last few years and how much less contact I'd had with him. Something about those happy memories made me uncomfortable. I wanted to be away from them. I had let my best friend slip away and I had been too self-centered to even feel guilt about it. I now realized he felt the need to apologize in some way, to me, for my absence. I felt disgusted with myself. I knew that I didn't deserve his love. I wanted to tell him how I felt too, but I couldn't. I didn't deserve that, I didn't deserve to feel good by saying those words.

Now there he was, sitting in the car across from me, waiting for something. I didn't know what to say, and all the anxiety I felt about my future piled up on my shoulders, heavier than ever. "Yeah Buddy," I said, feeling the words catch in my throat, "I know. Hey let's get something to eat."




Broken Pieces



* * * * * *

The next couple of transition weeks were...difficult. In fact, they were extremely difficult. It would have been nice if the largest issue had been logistics, though it wasn't. Don't get me wrong, logistics were a big problem. My apartment was three rooms, a bedroom, bathroom, and a combined kitchen/living room that now served as Andy's room. There was simply too much adult life in that place to live comfortably. We both seemed to need the bathroom at the same time. Andy's things, which had been given a lot of space in my parents' house, took over the kitchen area as well. Neither of us cooked very well, but we even had trouble getting to the microwave. We had too much clothing for my washer/dryer, too many dishes for the dishwasher, and too many people for the bathroom sink and shower. We were constantly in each other's way. And with each passing day, as I realized more and more that this was not a passing thing; this was going to be my life from now on.

But the logistical problems were just a small part of that. Major personality differences seemed to provide even larger friction points. For example, Andy didn't like how messy I was. I could tell just looking at him that sitting amongst my old paper plates and dirty clothes made his skin crawl. At first he tried to ignore it, but it became too much for him. But when he tried to clean up after me he would put my stuff in places I couldn't find. So we both got angry with each other, Andy because I couldn't make the effort to make him comfortable and me because he was losing my shit.

Even when we were able to get past that sort of stuff, the friction was still there, and mounting. There was just no way to get comfortable. Back before Andy moved in, I had spent most of my time in my living room. I liked to watch television or read a book on my couch to unwind after work. Now that my bedroom (along with my only television) were in Andy's room, I'd lost my refuge. I resented the fact that I'd lost my living room. But it was bad for Andy as well. He'd never been a home body like me. At my parents' house, after work he would go out in the neighborhood for walks or ride his bike. I was nervous about the dangerous nature of my neighborhood and told him not to leave. He said I was treating him like a child but I stood firm. So he stewed unhappily, cooped up in the living room. Taking the space and doing the things I wanted to do, but feeling miserable doing it. 

I think that the timing of the move-in was a major factor in our rocky start. I think if I had planned to have Andy move in and prepared, it would have gone better. Not perfect, but better. But coming as a surprise was bad. The fact that Andy was extremely depressed about my parent's death made it worse. I think that some of the mopey sort of things he did that got on my nerves wouldn't have been a problem. And I think the fact that my parents' death affected me less than him confused him and made him wonder about my state of mind. 

On top of all of that, things at work were just as miserable as ever. Dale had kept his hands off of me for a week after my parents died, he even told me he'd reschedule my "date" with his friend. But after that I guess he figured I was over it. I was staying late two or three nights a week to "help" the boss. The same dynamic was generally true of my other co-workers. They hated me, but they cut me some slack when I was going through a bad time. But now they had forgotten my parents had just died and they didn't know I was struggling with my 31-year-old brother. So the cold shoulders and hateful whispers were back. I deserved it, but it didn't make it hurt any less.

About a month after Andy moved in, the whole situation came to a head. It was a Friday morning and I was in the bathroom, trying to get ready. I was already running late because the power had gone off the night before in an ice storm. I had my towel wrapped around my chest and I was trying to straighten my hair. There was a knock at the door.

"Roxie," Andy said, "Are you almost ready?" I rolled my eyes. He had already gotten his shower. 

"Just open the damn door Andy, I hate talking through this thing," I said. He opened it up and stepped inside. Seeing me nearly naked (I mean the towel barely covered my ass) made him step back a half step.

"Oh, sorry," he said, blushing.

"I told you to come in, you don't need to apologize," I said, much more hastily than I intended. I looked back at the mirror, "But as you can see, I am not nearly ready yet."

"Can't you just get dressed now. You look good," Andy said impatiently, then he turned and looked at the clock in the living room. He was already dressed for work.

"What difference does it make to you?" I asked, my voice sounding cold. I had just finished straightening my hair and I set the iron down.

"It is cold today," Andy said.

"Well I will dress warm, I don't know what the problem is," I said, looking around for my make-up bag. I was listening to Andy as I knelt down on the floor and looked for it in the cabinet under the sink.

"No, not you," he said, "You told me on Monday that if it snowed today, you'd give me a ride to work." I suddenly remembered what he was talking about. The weather report had said it was going to be 15 degrees on Friday. I'd promised he wouldn't have to sit at the bus stop if it got that cold. Fuck.

"Shit!" I yelled, suddenly overwhelmed with frustration. I started grabbing cleaning items out from under the sink and tossing them all over the floor. I didn't have time for this. I was already late. Blowing your boss' boss doesn't change the fact that if you're late your boss will give you hell. Arguably, it makes it worse. As he had for a month, Andy's demands, even if spoken quietly and reasonable, were interfering with my life. I wasn't together enough to run my own life and now here he was. And he seemed so fucking helpless all the fucking time.

"What's wrong?"

"I am so goddamn late and now I have to drive you halfway across the fucking city and I am going to get my ass chewed out. And mom and dad's funeral used up the last of my personal days so I can't even call in!" I spat back quickly. It wasn't just the frustration with the moment; it was like a month's worth of feeling like I'd lost control of my life. Or lost what little control over my life I'd once had. And it was Andy's fault. 

"You don't..." Andy started.

"No, fuck it. I will take you," I said, shaking my head, "that's what I do now. I do what other people need even if it screws me," I vented. Andy looked anxious, like he (reasonably) did not know where all of this was coming from. I threw more items from under the sink all the way out into the living room, almost hitting Andy.

"What are you looking for?" he asked finally.

"My fucking make-up case," I said, dropping down on my ass on the bathroom floor and turning towards Andy.

"I put it in your bedroom," he said. I felt my eyes widen and my nostrils flair. Again with the moving of my shit! I had already talked to him about it!

"Why in the Hell did you do that?" I asked, my voice coming out as a hiss.

"I was just cleaning..."

"When do I ever put my make-up on in my bedroom? Why do you think I keep my make-up in the bathroom? So I can cart it back and forth?" I started to get up now, and then walk towards Andy. All my pent up frustration was leaking out at me. And Andy had been the cause of that frustration. It felt so good to let it out, to put it on him. He looked nervous and took a step back.

"You don't keep it anywhere. Make-up was all over the house. I just put it in one place," Andy said. He was probably telling the truth. But at that moment, I didn't care.

"Why can't you just leave well enough alone? Why do you have to mess with all my shit? Why do you have to be so goddamned stupid?" I yelled. At the last line, Andy's head cracked back like I'd struck him. Suddenly, the self-righteous anger that had been boiling inside of me drained instantly. What in the Hell had I just said? I could have called him inconsiderate, or mean. Those would have been lies, but so what? But stupid? What the fuck was wrong with me. I saw hurt creep into Andy's eyes and he pursed his lips.

"I am going to get the bus. It will be here in 20 minutes," he said brusquely. I could hear how embarrassed he felt and my shoulders slumped.

"Oh Andy, I'm..." I started.

"I need to go. Have a good day at work Roxie. I love you," he said. Then he turned and walked quickly out of my house. As I heard the door close behind him, I dropped to my knees on the floor. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I felt disgusted with myself. I desperately wanted to climb out of my skin and leave this disgusting person behind. How could I behave like that? How could I say those things to my brother? He had endured bullshit like that from people his whole life and never deserved it. How could I, his sister, treat him like that?

Each stage of my conversation with Andy played over and over again in my mind. I felt literally sick as I thought about the things I'd said to him and the way in which I said them. My stomach hurt and there was a terrible taste in my mouth. It had felt so good to say those horrible things, it was like I was having a hangover from them now. I hadn't felt self-loathing like that in a very long time. I wanted to something to hurt myself, to make myself pay for my actions.

When I got to work that day, I asked Dale if his married friend was ready for a date that evening.

* * * * * *

It was two-thirty in the morning, Richard (Dale's friend "call me Rich") and I were stumbling up the stairs in my apartment building, heading for my door. The bars had closed at 2 and Rich had offered to drive me home. Despite the fact that he was visibly intoxicated, I had agreed. I was even drunker than he was, I was not making great decisions.

Of course, I had been making poor decisions all day. My outburst with Andy, my talk with Dale, those things had all been terrible decisions. I was reveling in them now. The whole date had been one giant bad idea and I was just enjoying how weird and unpleasant it made me feel. I deserved to feel that way. Drinking more than I had since college had just been the icing on the cake.

Dale, I think, had been a bit surprised by the head-first way I'd plunged into self-destruction. He had not brought up his friend Rich since shortly after my parents died, when he'd cancelled the date. But I gave him a look when he asked about it that suggested I was not going to change my mind. If he wanted to pimp me out to his friend, the look said, I was fine with that. I was a fucking awful person. This is what awful people do. So Dale had called Rich. Rich had initially said that he was probably going to be busy, but then Dale whispered something into the phone. Rich quickly changed his plans.

So after work, Rich had picked me up in his Lexus at the office. He was a fat slob like Dale. I wasn't wearing anything particularly sexy, just my normal work clothes. But I guess he could tell from the look in my eye that I was a woman on the edge. He skipped dinner entirely and took me to a fancy bar. We drank champagne until we didn't give a shit anymore, and then we drank vodka. Now we were climbing the stairs back to my apartment. I hadn't invited him, but I guess I hadn't stopped him either. In a short period of time we were giggling in front of my door.

"So Rosie," he slurred after a while, getting my name wrong, "Think I can come in, get a nightcap?" I wavered a bit on my feet and looked at my door.

"Well," I said and I was about to invite him inside. I heard a slight noise behind the door. For a moment, I thought in my drunken haze that someone had broken into my house. Then I remembered. Andy.

"'Well' what sexy?" Rich asked and then reached forward and pinched my breast.

"Well, I can't let you in..." I stated. I was just about to finish that if he wanted to find a hotel room, I would go with him. Hell, I was about to offer to blow him in the stairwell. I wanted to feel the shame that would come with doing that. I thought maybe the next day I would feel better if I did. I know, what sense does that make? Regardless, Rich did not wait for me to finish. His eyes suddenly narrowed and his smiled quickly faded.

"What the fuck do you mean you can't let me in?" he hissed at me. For a moment, I kept smiling, but I could feel the menace emanating from his body and fear started to rise in the back of my throat.

"I just mean..." I said, once again trying to offer my body to calm him down.

"You just mean you want to drink $200.00 worth of booze and then give me blue balls, you fucking cunt," Rich yelled back quickly. He took a step towards me. I backed up, feeling my ass bump against my door. I felt a lump in my throat and adrenaline began to pump into my veins, slightly lessening the effects of the alcohol.

"You need to calm down Rich," I said now.

"Fuck you, you fucking slut," Rich said. He reached his left hand forward and grabbed my chin, "You think this is some kind of game. We had a deal. We go out, and I get off." Rich said. I struggled against Rich's grip, but his hand squeezed tighter. I felt panic start to overcome me, and I squealed slightly. With his right hand, Rich reached below his waist and unbuckled his belt. In a few more seconds, I saw Rich pull his short, flaccid cock out from his underwear. It brushed up against my leg.

"Oh god!" I said, realizing what was happening here. I wanted to be hurt, but I didn't want to be raped. I didn't have time to think, I just acted. In a quick motion I brought my knee up, finding Rich's testicles. I heard the air go out of him and then there was a low grunting sound. Rich's hand slipped off of my chin and he sort of bent over. His hands rushed between his legs and his shoulder were hunched over. I could hear him panting in pain. I felt embarrassed and confused. I didn't know what would happen next.

"Rich I..." I started. Rich's head shot up and looked at me. His eyes burned and his lips were peeled back from his lips in a snarl. He looked at me for one minute and then lunge. He brought his hand all the way from below his waist in a long, wide arc. It moved so quickly I couldn't get out of the way. His open palm landed against my cheek with overwhelming power. 

I heard the air escape my lungs and my face felt like it was shaking off my skull. I couldn't keep my feet, and collapsed onto the dirty hallway floor. For a moment, my face was completely numb. Then white hot, blistering pain overcame me. My hands shot to my face and I could feel tears rolling down over the aching skin.

"Oh god!" I yelled, to terrified to do anything else. I could still hear Rich panting and he lurched over toward me, still holding his balls.

"That's just the start, you stupid cunt!" he yelled, leaning down toward my face. I could smell the booze on his breath. He gave me a quick, sharp kick in the ass and then stood up. I moaned and tried to curl into a ball. I was too scared to even consider what he was going to do next. I looked at him, and saw him bringing his foot back to kick me again, this time full force.

Suddenly a bright light was cast over Rich's face and he stopped moving, covering his eyes with his hand. I could sense the light was coming from behind me, and I rolled over slightly. The door to my apartment had opened up, the light was on inside. Andy was standing in the doorway, looking tired and confused.

"What is going on out...Oh my God! Roxie?" He said, noticing me on the floor. He bent down next to me, putting his hand on my shoulder. I had never been so glad to see Andy. But I was still crying, I was still in pain.

"Oh God Andy," was all I could say.

"What happened? Where have you been? I was worried," he said.

"Who the fuck are you?" Rich said. Andy had been so concerned for me, that he had completely forgotten about the other person in the hallway. Andy looked back down at me and saw the red mark on my face. It was already starting to swell (and it hurt more than it had before). Andy instantly realized what had happened. I saw his jaw set in anger.

"What did you do?" He said, looking up at Rich now. Rich apparently could see the anger in Andy's eyes and could see Andy's large body. He took a step back and put his hands up. But he was still a very stupid, very drunk, man, so he proceeded to make things worse.

"Hey man, it isn't my fault your old lady is a skank. I didn't know she was with someone," Rich said.

"What did you call her?" Andy said, his voice rising to a level I'd never heard before. Rich quivered slightly.

"Hey buddy I..."

"Don't call me Buddy!" Andy yelled back at him. Andy took a half step forward towards Rich. I was afraid of what would happen, I reached up and grabbed Andy's arm. But it turns out I didn't need to worry about anything. Rich, seeing Andy start to move, let out a high yip, and then began to sprint down the stairs.

I felt relief like I'd never felt before. But, instead of feeling better, this relief seemed to break me down. As the threat of Rich completely disappeared, the fear that had been holding the last shred of my composure together went with it. I collapsed onto the dirty floor, crying my eyes out like a small child. I was completely oblivious to the world around me, and just abandoned myself into my pain. All of it, the physical, the mental, the emotional. I just broke there.

I guess I could hear Andy calling out my name, asking me questions, sounding concerned. But I was past the point where I could respond to that. I was too far gone. After a long while, I became vaguely aware of arms sliding underneath of me. I was still bawling as Andy lifted me up off the ground and carried me into my apartment. He closed the door behind him.

I am not really sure what Andy did immediately after that. I was absolutely hysterical, and piss drunk to boot. I knew he was doing things to take care of me. I recall an ice pack against my aching face. I remember him wiping the sweat and tears from my face and cleaning off my caked-on make-up. I remember him removing my shoes. Most of all I remember him speaking to me. I don't really remember what he said, but he spoke in soothing tones, trying to get me to calm down. In short, Andy had become my caregiver. And he was far better at the task with a far more needy patient that when the roles had been reversed. 

Rational thought returned to me some time later. I am not really sure when. It was probably only an hour or so after Rich had left. I found myself in my living room. My face had been cleaned, and my shoes were off but I was still wearing my work clothes. I was sitting on the recliner, facing the television, while Andy sat on the edge of the couch bed. We were facing one another.

"Andy?" I asked, and the side of my face hurt as I spoke.

"Roxie?" he asked, sounding incredibly relieved, "Are you awake?" he asked. 

"Yeah, I am here."

"You have been so weird," he said, "It was like you were asleep with your eyes open. I was about to call the ambulance. What happened? Who was that guy?" Andy wore a look of intense concern on his face and I felt bad for causing him so much trouble. But how did I even begin to explain what was going on with me?

"I am glad you didn't call the ambulance. I am going to be okay now," I said. Andy nodded, but didn't look convinced.

"Where have you been? Who was that guy? Why was he hurting you?" Andy asked, insistent on getting the full story. I sighed and sat up in my chair. The ice bag fell away, but I let it. I thought back to where I'd been that night, to Rich, and why he was hurting me. I felt an intense stab of fear, just for a moment. That had been so incredibly close. I might've been assaulted and beaten. There was a small chance I could have died. I shook my head. I looked up and saw my brother, still looking at me intently. I felt overwhelmed by the emotions I felt for him.




Broken Pieces



"You saved me Andy," I said, my voice sounding a bit amazed. Andy looked a little sheepish and shrugged.

"I wasn't even thinking. I just saw you were hurt," he explained and I nodded.

"I don't deserve you Andy," I said, tears once again coming to my eyes, "I am so terrible to you, and you are so good to me." Andy's eyes narrowed and he shook his head.

"Roxie, you are my sister. It isn't about deserving...or whatever. I will always love you," he said. I felt my heart swell (I mean that literally, it felt full somehow). 

"I..." I started. I wanted to say something meaningful to Andy. I wanted to say that I was sorry I had abandoned him for so long and forgotten him. I had never felt like I deserved the way he always seemed to look up to me. I wanted to apologize for getting frustrated with him and for yelling. I wanted to apologize for calling him stupid; I was the stupid one. I wanted to apologize for not coming home that night. I wanted him to know that I was sorry that he had to protect me and take care of me, because those things were not his responsibility. But more than apologize, what I really, really wanted to do was to tell him that I loved him. Because I really did. He was my Brother, and I loved him. He needed to hear me say it. 

But my mouth continued to strain around words. Andy looked at me as my mouth opened and closed impotently. I could hear the words as they would sound coming out of my mouth. I could hear how I wanted them to sound, but I knew if I spoke, it would be wrong. Everything I always did was wrong. I couldn't even go out for a one night stand with a desperate asshole without screwing it up. This would be no different. I was so terrible at expressing my thoughts, especially my feelings, that I knew I would just make it worse. It would sound like I was trying to make myself feel better rather than trying to express myself to Andy. It would just be me, trying to get out of the guilt and shame that I deserved for being so terrible to him. I would end up getting frustrated again, maybe getting angry again. In fact, I was already getting frustrated. I badly wanted to speak with Andy but I couldn't.

I'd never been good at anything. No wait, that wasn't true. There was one thing I was good at. The only thing anyone had ever really wanted me for. Yes, my shame and my total lack of self-worth made me a really wonderful slut. My father had been right, that was all I was good for. I could fuck. I'd sucked a couple of hundred dicks in my life and everyone said I was great at it. So I had been out in the hallway just a short time before, ready to blow a stranger who I hated, but here I was unable to tell my brother how I felt about him. Could I get any more disgusting?

"Roxie, are you okay? Is it happening again?" Andy said after a long while. My eyes had sort of glazed over while I had been paralyzed with indecision. I turned and looked at my brother now. He still looked pensive and he was sitting on the edge of the bed. 

""No, I am...okay," I lied. Then I found myself looking at Andy and wondering what to do next. He was wearing a tight white t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants as pajamas. For some reason my eyes found themselves glancing between his legs. I could see the slight outline of Andy's cock in his sweatpants. At first I was disgusted with myself for even noticing it. But then, something strange began to percolate in my mind.

For a moment I wondered if my older brother was still a virgin. I don't know why that idea came to mind, but I quickly concluded that he probably was. He'd always lived with my parents. I thought about the irony that I desperately wanted to show my brother how badly I cared for him, and the only way I really knew how to do that well was the one thing I could not do to my brother, the one thing he'd probably never done. It was the only thing I was good at, and I couldn't share it with the only person who deserved it.

Then, most strange thought occurred to me. Why not? For a second, that thought just stuck in my mind like a wedge. I didn't even really understand what it meant. Then, the full implication dawned on me. Why not? Why couldn't I do something "nice" for my brother? He was missing out on a vital life experience and I was good at it. Further, he had been depressed about my parents, what better way to cheer him up? What was the harm? I expected to find obvious disgust for this thought (lord knows, I had a deep well of self-disgust to access if I wanted it), but I didn't find it there. I had never looked at sex with way other girls did, as something you did with people you love. Or to find love. Or whatever. I'd always looked at it as the only way I could express myself. So why not express myself to my brother? It didn't mean anything in and of itself. But this time, it would allow me to say what I could not say. I would actually be expressing love. Using sex the way I was supposed to. He would know that I cared for him, and that is really what I wanted. And what he needed.

I have to believe that a big part of why I did what I did next was born from those thoughts. But there was another aspect as well. One that I didn't consciously think about at that time, but which in retrospect seems like something important to note. I was extremely drunk. I went out that night with a man and had every intention of cutting loose and getting laid. I had been extremely horny during my date, ready to fuck Rich even if he was a pudgy bastard. Now I was back, sexually frustrated and projecting lust on top of the real admiration I felt for my brother for saving me. Like I said before, my brother was a big, handsome guy and to my drink-blurred eyes, he looked better than Rich. By a long shot. But like I said, I wasn't really thinking about this. I was thinking about thanking and apologizing to my brother.

I slipped off the bed and landed on my knees on the floor. For a second, Andy looked a little concerned, like he thought I was hurt. But I waved him off and he sat back down. I crawled over toward him on my hands and knees. I could feel the way my ass ticked side to side in my skirt and the way my small, perky breasts hung down in my low cut shirt as I moved. I saw Andy looking at me and I wondered if he thought that I looked good. He still looked largely concerned, but he was not moving.

"Are you okay Roxie?" he asked, I saw his eyes move over my body. At first I just nodded and bit my lower lip. I put on the whole act for him, I knew what men liked so I gave it to him. Finally, I crossed the distance between us so that I was right in front of Andy.

"Roxie, did you hurt your leg or something? Do you need help up," he said. I realized that I was now one of those girls, throwing myself at Andy and watching my efforts go unnoticed. I decided to be more direct. I sat up quickly on my knees and wondered if he noticed by breasts bouncing. I brought my arms down on top of Andy's thighs, sort of crossing my arms. I pressed my breasts against his knees and laid my head on my arms, in his lap. Andy's muscles seemed a little tense, like he did not know what I was thinking.

"I am just fine, here with you," I said. I looked up now, giving Andy a doe-eyed stare. Andy smiled at me, but still seemed a little put out by my sudden change in behavior.

"If you are feeling better? Maybe you should go to bed," Andy offered and I smiled.

"But I am not tired yet Andy," I said. But Andy sort of shrugged. I realized that any brother, not just Andy, would have a hard time with these signals. I decided to get still more direct.

"Andy, I really appreciate all the help you gave me tonight. It was...a bad night. A really bad day. And you were really good to me," I explained. Andy smiled and gently rubbed my hair.

"You'd do the same for me. We are family," he said. This certainly wasn't going where I wanted.

"Andy, do you trust me?" I asked now. Andy furrowed his brow, apparently trying to figure out what I was getting at. But eventually he shrugged and nodded.

"Yeah, sure I do Roxie," he said.

"I want to do something to...pay you back for the help you gave me today," I said. Andy shook his head.

"You don't have to do that," he said modestly and once again stroked my hair. I doubt that he realized his touch was driving me crazy. But it was.

"I want to. Will you trust me that this will be fun?" I asked playfully. Andy still looked like he was not sure what I was implying, but why wouldn't he trust me?

"Okay," he said uneasily. I unfolded my hands from on Andy's lap. I turned my body slightly to the side so I could slip between Andy's knees. I felt my heart in my throat and my body felt like it was vibrating, like I always did with someone the first time. I was not longer thinking about the fact that Andy was my brother. This was the thing I did. This was what I was good at. I was just enjoying the feeling of having a purpose.

I reached up and placed my hands on the waistband of Andy's sweatpants, slipping my fingers inside the elastic. Andy's skin felt warm on my hands. But I felt him jump.

"Roxie! What are you doing?" he asked, sounding almost panicked. He squirmed slightly on the bed.

"Shh, shh, shh," I soothed, "Remember, you said you'd trust me." I said. Andy moved a little less now, but he was still looking at me strangely.

"What are you doing Roxie?" he asked in a voice that implied he knew exactly what I was doing, but couldn't believe it. 

"You'll see," I said, and I gave a quick yank on Andy's pants. They slipped down to around the mid-point of his thigh. Andy let out a surprised yelp and moved back slightly on the bed. This only served to pull his pants down a little farther. It also caused his cock to bounce up between his legs. My breath caught in my throat. Andy's cock was... nice. Like really nice. It was around 6 and half inches long and extremely thick but completely flaccid. I could tell by the way it looked that it was going to get a lot bigger when he got hard. I had seen a lot of cocks in my day and he was definitely in the top 5%. His balls hung low and I wanted to get the cum inside of them out (Like I said, I was in my element now, I thought in a completely different way than I normally did. With purpose). My mouth was watering.

"Roxie...my pants!" Andy said, looking extremely flustered. His face was bright red and he looked extremely embarrassed (and very cute). He reached down try to grab the waistband of his pants, but I pushed his hand away. Instead, I reached forward and wrapped my left hand around Andy's cock. It felt hot and dense in my hand, with a tremendous weight. Once again, Andy let out a surprised yelp.

"Roxie, what are you doing?" Andy asked now. His eyes were wide and he was looking down between his legs. He was no longer moving, too entranced by what he saw. I moved my hand gently over his cock, letting my fingers slide down the length of his shaft to the tip. I could feel the blood pulsing in it and the heat he produced. I loved the way it felt to hold a cock as it went from soft to hard, to feel the effect I had on a man.

"I am going to make you feel good," I said, letting my hand slid back down his cock, letting my fingers touch his hot, heavy balls. My mouth was watering. My nipples felt hard, pressing against the fabric of my bra, and my pussy was already sopping wet, making the insides of my legs feel slick.

"I know what you are doing, Roxie," Andy said now very seriously, 

"How do you know, have you ever done this with anyone before?" I asked. Andy somehow managed to blush deeper.

"No," he said, "But I know what it is and you can't do this!" He squirmed some more, but not so much that he risked getting away. I had him now. 

"Why can't I? Don't you want it? You are big, strong young man. Don't you ever get...desires?" I asked, looking up at him.

"Your my sister!" he said, but even as he said the last word, I leaned forward slightly, lifted his cock up, and pressed my lips against the circumcised tip. Andy groaned deeply when I did it, barely finishing the last word. His skin felt smooth against my lips, and incredibly warm. I kept my lips there for a second. My eyes were open and I looked up at my brother. He looked completely anxious, but also like, despite himself, he was enjoying my touch. I realized that I almost had him now. I pulled my lips away.

"I am your sister," I said, speaking with my mouth so close to his cock that he must've felt my breath on it, "But I am also a woman. You are my brother. But you are also a man. This is what men and women do," I said. I stuck my tongue out and rubbed it gently along the cleft bottom of Andy's cock. I heard him suck in breath quickly.

"Roxie!" was all he said, he was looking at my pink tongue intently.

"Tell you what," I said, sliding my tongue off my brother's dick, "I will do one more thing. It will take...I don't know...five seconds. If you like that I will keep going. If you want me to stop after that, I will stop and we won't ever have to talk about it again. Okay?" I asked, my voice humming seductively and my breath likely cooling my brother's now-wet cock. It was already beginning to harden, I could feel it swelling in my hand. He looked around the room for a moment, like he was searching for help in making this decision. Finally, he looked at me between his legs.

"Okay," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He was looking at me intently, it was clear he was facing an internal struggle. I wanted to make this choice easy.

"Good decision," I said. I didn't give him time to change his mind now. I opened my mouth widely and let the tip of my brother's cock slip into my mouth. It was still somewhat spongy and felt hot against my tongue. I could feel Andy's muscles tighten all through his body. I placed my free hand against Andy's thigh, rubbing it gently to try to calm him.

But I kept moving forward at the same time. I felt Andy's cock sliding across my tongue and the way his urethra felt against it. I loved the feeling of his shaft pressing against my tight lips and reveled in the way I could feel the cock growing hard in my mouth. Andy's skin was very warm, almost hot against my tongue and tasted salty but clean. I rubbed my tongue against the bottom of his shaft, savoring that flavor. I groaned, it felt so good to be doing this, so good to be doing what I did well.

Andy's body was still tense, but he did not do anything to stop me. So I didn't stop. Inch by inch, Andy's cock was slowly pushing deeper and deeper into my mouth. But even as it was going in, Andy was growing more aroused and he cock grew longer. And harder. After a few seconds, I found my nose pressed all the way into Andy's belly and my chin resting on his hot, swollen balls. But the six inch cock I'd fed into my mouth had grown to around 8 and a half inches in length and was so thick my jaw stretched to hold it. I could feel the now-hard tip of Andy's cock pressing against the back of my throat. I cannot describe to you how wonderful I felt in that moment. I wanted nothing more than to stay there forever. But I had a promise to keep.

I allowed my gag reflex to act. Yes, allowed. I have a good deal of control over that. Lot's of practice. I felt my body seize slightly and then my mouth filled with thick saliva. I let an inch of my brother's cock slip out of my mouth. I moved my left hand back up, wrapping it around the slick, wet base of Andy's shaft. I slowly slipped the rest of Andy's cock out of my throat and mouth. I let it bathe in the thick saliva I'd produced as I pulled it out. Eventually, just the hard tip remained inside of me, the rest slick, wet, and cool. I sucked sharply, pulling my saliva off of Andy's cock and swallowing it down. I finally, I popped Andy's cock entirely out of my mouth and looked up at him, smiling.

"There you go Andy," I said, licking my lips, "Do you want me to stop now?" I asked. As I spoke, I pressed my breasts more closely against his knees and rubbed my hand gently up and down his shaft. Andy's eyes were wide and his mouth was open. He was looked down at my hand on his cock and looked completely stunned. I leaned forward again and kissed the tip of his cock.

"You awake Andy?" I asked. My lips against his shaft seemed to waken him. His eyes focused and he looked up at me. His face was still red with embarrassment, but he smiled at me self-consciously. 

"Sorry Roxie," he said and for a half second I thought he was going to tell me to stop. I wasn't even good at sucking cock anymore, "I was just...I've never felt anything like that." He said. I smiled again, maybe this wasn't over. I nodded at him as I continued to slowly, gently stroke his dick.

"That is just the start. It will feel so much better. If..." I said, pausing dramatically, "You let me finish." For a half second, Andy paused again. But I kept up the pressure on his cock. I could feel his muscles twitching with each of my movements. 

"Well..." he said.

"You have such a big, pretty cock Buddy, let me suck it," I said in a girly voice.

"Please Roxie," Andy said, his voice sounding strained, "Please do it." Once again, I didn't want to give Andy any time to change his mind. Instantly, I opened my mouth again and popped the warm top of Andy's cock into my mouth. For a moment, I swirled my tongue around on the tip, feeling the salty flavor of Andy's pre-cum this time. He was clearly aroused and it made me feel sexy that I was able to do that.

I tried to move as quickly as possible, I made my lips loose and my tongue flat and wet. In just a few seconds I felt as Andy's big cock slipped easily through my mouth and down into my throat. I couldn't breathe, but I kept Andy's cock buried there. I rubbed my tongue against the base of Andy's cock, even slipping it out slightly to rub against his balls. I pulled my cheeks in tight, making sure that Andy's hard shaft felt the soft, pillowy wetness inside my mouth. I kept it there for as long as I could stand not to breath, just massaging my brother's cock with my mouth and throat. 

When I felt like I desperately needed to breathe I pushed harder, driving Andy's cock deep into my throat. I choked then and I felt my throat squeeze Andy's cock. Then I carefully slipped his dick out of my throat and through my mouth. I kept my tongue moving and my cheeks and lips tight as Andy's cock slipped out of me. When Only Andy's tip remained in my mouth I took a deep breath. I bathed his tip in my warm saliva while I tried to catch my breath. My eyes were watering, but the light-headed feeling was nice.

Now I started to move more quickly. I kept my throat open and once again shoved Andy's hard cock into it. Once I felt my chin press into Andy's balls I immediately pulled it back out. Now I started to work into a rhythm, driving Andy's cock into my throat and then pulled out until just the tip remained inside of me at a very quick clip. I kept my lips tight and my tongue soft and wet at the base of my mouth while I bobbed my head up and down on my brother's cock.

Usually, a guy would put his hand on my head, pull my hair, or at the very least say something lewd while I was sucking his cock. Generally, I didn't mind that stuff. It let me know that I was getting a reaction. I could feel Andy's muscles tense against my body, but other than that, I gave no reaction. I usually kept my eyes closed while I sucked cock, but Andy's lack of reaction had me nervous. I opened my eyes and looked up at Andy. His eyes were closed and his hand was over his mouth. He was completely still, except I could see that his hand was trembling. I heard a low groan emanate from his throat, and I knew that I was giving him a kind of pleasure that was almost too much for him to handle. I had frozen him in his tracks.

For some reason, Andy's reaction to my blowjob was incredibly arousing to me. As I looked up at him, enjoying my actions, I felt a surge of sexual energy through my body. My nipples ached against my shirt and pressed into Andy's knees. I could feel a familiar hot dampness between my legs. As my head continued to bounced up and down on Andy's cock I decided that I wanted in on the action. I needed to feel something as well.




Broken Pieces



I was still on my knees between my brother's legs so I rose up slightly into a sort of squatting position. I spread my legs apart (brushing my knee against my brother's couch bed). My skirt hiked up onto my hips as I did so. I could smell my pussy as my legs came apart, the familiar scent of arousal. I bobbed my head faster on my brother's cock, feeling more excited now. While I was still sucking his dick, I moved my right hand down between my legs. I quickly found the soft, wet area right at the apex of my legs. My fingers sunk into the slick, wet fabric of my panties. I could feel my fingers pressing against me through the panties and I groaned into my brother's cock. I needed more.

I slipped my fingers into my panties and pulled them aside. My pussy was dripping wet and I shivered as the cold air in the room buffeted it. I took my fingers and slowly started to move them around on my slit. I did not slide them inside of my pussy; instead I just circled them around on my labia. Each touch of my finger sent a quick chill through my body. My mouth was watering more fiercely around my brother's cock. Soon, my fingers were dripping wet with my juices. I slid them up my dripping slit and found the hard, pink nub of my clitoris. I had consciously avoided touching it before, allowing my arousal to build while I sucked Andy's cock and fingered my slit. But now I needed it, I couldn't wait any longer. 

I slipped my soaked finger against my clit and I made a chirping sound in my throat around Andy's cock. The sensation was so amazing. I rarely masturbate while I sucked a guy off, I wanted him to know that he had my full attention. But I needed it badly now. My fingers just barely alighted across my clit once again and I felt my thighs shake. It was difficult to balance on the balls of my feet, but my hand on Andy's cock kept me balance. I started to swirl my fingers around over my clit, letting the wet pads brush my hard nub gently. I could feel the tension rising in my body, the pleasure that only sexual contact provided.

For a few minutes, we stayed like that. Andy was sitting, frozen on his bed just soaking in the sensation. His cock slid in and out of my mouth and throat across my tongue as I bobbed my head up and down. Occasionally, I would bury Andy's cock all the way in my throat, gag, and let my throat muscles squeeze him tight. I kept my left hand on his shaft or gently massaging his heavy balls. While I sucked my brother's dick, I slipped my fingers across my wet clit, occasionally running my fingers across my slit to keep my fingers lubricated. My pussy leaked greatly, some of my juices dripping directly onto the floor, the rest sliding down my legs. Andy breathed deeply, making no other sounds, while I gave muffled groans around his dick. The slurping sound of my actions filled the room. Andy's cock tasted slicker and saltier with each movement of my neck. Finally, the room smelled of arousal, like my brother's cock and my own dripping pussy.

I don't know how long we stayed like that, I but I know what stopped it. While Andy kept his hands down by his sides, I could feel his muscles tensing. I watched as his hands clenched tightly on the edge of his the bed. Andy's eyes pinched tightly shut and I heard him groan loudly through his hand. His hips bucked wildly on the bed, but I kept his cock buried deep in my mouth. I moved my fingers faster on my clit, feeling the tension rise inside me as well, willing myself into oblivion. Finally, Andy let out a deep, shaking sigh and thrust his hips once more. I felt Andy's urethra swell against my tongue, I closed my eyes, knowing what was coming. A sudden surge of hot liquid splashed against my tongue. Bit globs of thick liquid splashed against my teeth and the roof of my mouth. My brother's cum was very thick and had a salty, earthy flavor. The smell of it filled my nose.

I think it was the feeling of the second spurt from Andy's cock that sent me over the edge. I felt hot, sticky jizz splash against the back of my throat, and I completely lost control. My fingers were still sliding all over my clitoris, moving faster than ever. As Andy's sperm slid down my throat, I felt all of the muscles in my body tighten, that familiar tension that come just before...And then it happened. A rolling wave of pleasure that began and my clitoris and then spread, like ripples on a pond, across every inch of my body. It rolled down my legs and across my toes. It rolled up my body, across my nipples, and back down my arm. But most of all, it rolled up my neck, through my jaw (which was now overflowing with my brother's surprising amount of sperm) and then to my brain. For a brief instant, all of the cares, insecurities, and worries that stalked me ceased to exist. I was just a woman who was doing what I was good at, fulfilling my only purpose in life. They were dissolved in a sea of pleasure. Only the feeling of absolute pleasure and the simple taste of cum stayed with me.

As my orgasm began to subsided, my legs stopped shaking. I pulled my head back from Andy's cock, letting it slip out of my mouth. My cheeks were bulging with sperm and I could feel more of it dripping off of my chin, down onto my tits. I swirled my tongue around in my mouth for a minute, enjoying the fruits of my labor. Then I swallowed it down. I savored every second of it, enjoying the way the big load of jizz felt as it slipped down my throat in a big ball and then splashed with an alcohol-like warmth into my stomach. 

At that moment, I opened my eyes. I was still squatting between my brother's legs. His eyes had since opened, but his hand was still over his mouth. He was looking at me intently. I could not make out exactly what his face was trying to say. I know he was confused, but I had just given him an orgasm as well. There is nothing confusing about pleasure, it is just there. I licked my lower lip, sucking up some of the cum that had dripped down onto my chin and smiled at my brother.

"There you go, I hope that says what I can't" I said. Andy's eyes narrowed and he turned his head to the side. I saw his cock growing softer between his legs.

"Said something?" He asked in a faraway voice. But I couldn't answer. I guess in that exact moment, the last of the alcohol I'd drunk that night hit my blood stream. My vision went out. I blacked out.

* * * * *

10:15 a.m., my weekend alarm went off. I sat up in my bed like a shot as the horrible beeping sound occurred. I turned quickly and shut it off. My head ached and my stomach felt sour. I had that horrible taste in my mouth that could only come from drinking the previous night. I put my hand over my eyes and flopped back down on my bed.

"Fuck..." I croaked, "I am hung over!" I suddenly felt incredibly hot and threw the covers off of myself. I felt sticky with cold sweat and tried to recall how much I'd had to drink the night before. As I threw the covers off I was surprised to see that I was wearing a lacy black bra and a pair of black (sticky) panties. I'd worn those the previous day to work. I rarely wore anything to sleep and if I wore panties and a bra, I would wear something comfortable, not sexy.

"How did I end up here, dressed like this?" I croaked again. I very rarely drank to the point that I blacked out, but it happened on occasion. I knew that usually I would remember everything (whether I wanted to or not), if I just got up and started to get ready for the day. That would help with the hangover too. So I rolled myself out of bed and walked over to my dresser to get some clothes. 

While I was getting my stuff ready, I struggled to remember what had happened the night before. I remembered going to work upset. I remembered getting a date with Rich. I remembered the date being terrible, but getting wrecked. I remembered inviting Rich back to the apartment. 

I opened up the door to my bedroom quietly and walked out in the narrow hallway that separated the bedroom from the living room. I make a quick left and darted into the bathroom. I closed and locked the door behind me. I quickly peeled off my sticky panties and threw off my bra, still trying to remember what happened after I invited Rich back. I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like Hell. And it went beyond the normal stuff, I mean my eyes were baggy and my hair was a mess. But it was more than that. I had a large bruise on the side of my face. Had I fallen over at some point? Maybe it was rough sex, I looked a little like I'd had sex and I could taste cum under the awful flavor of last night's alcohol. But clearly Rich wasn't here last night. Unless he snuck out early. But if he snuck in and out, he would have had to get past...Andy.

'"Well, I can't let you in..." because of my brother,' I heard the spoken, and unspoken, words from my conversation with Rich the night before. Suddenly the previous night's events came flooding back to me. Rich's slap, Andy's rescue, Andy telling me he loved me and...oh God! I remembered it now. I had...blown Andy! I had performed oral sex on a man who was (if unofficially) in my care. And that man was my brother. My headache grew to an unimaginable level and my nausea grew far worse. 

I dropped to my knees on the bathroom floor, trying to stop my head from swimming. Tears were already forming in my eyes as I rolled over onto my back staring at the ceiling. I pulled my legs up into the fetal position and abandoned myself to self-loathing. I couldn't believe what I had done. All of the horrible, disgusting things I had done in my life, even the most depraved sexual acts I had performed to gain approval from older men paled in comparison. This was the kind of thing that animals didn't do, sleep with their brothers. I was below an animal. I was below anything I'd ever deemed to think of in my life. Prostitutes and crack heads would feel disgusted to be in the same room as me. 

And then, even those thoughts faded. My mind was overwhelmed by a punishing, crushing blackness that had no rational end or facets. I just felt the weight of all of my self-loathing without context or content. It was just the hate I felt for myself. The only rational thought, which existed only for a moment before being swallowed up, was that I wished I was dead. I wished I was no longer menacing the world with my existence. 

I don't know how long I felt that way. I know that I did not sleep or rest. I was in a constant state of agitation, but it was simply so deep and dark that it was hard to understand. Eventually, I began to realize that I was not going to simply collapse and die right there. My mind began to return to me. The darkness eased back slightly, only to be replaced with a sharp, aching regret that knew my sins all too well.

"Christ, you're a fucking pervert," I said out loud after a long while. It felt good to speak and better to vent some anger at myself. Images from the previous night filtered into my brain and I felt physical pain with each one. I saw visions of myself kissing the tip of my brother's penis, of burying his cock in my throat, of drinking down his cum, and of fingering myself to an orgasm. Each image was first accompanied by arousal, and then swiftly followed by disgust at what I had done and a deeper loathing that it still, when I was sober, elicited arousal.

"How did this happen?" I asked myself, putting my head in my hands. I had never had any sexual thoughts about my brother before. I had not lusted after him, even though I'd seen him while I was drunk before. Slowly, my motivations the previous night began to return to me. I'd been trying to tell him something. I'd been trying to...show him that I loved him. 

A different feeling now stole over me. I was no longer consumed by revulsion, though that was still present. Instead, I felt intense embarrassment. How pathetic could I get? So insecure in my own emotional state that I had to blow my brother so he would know I cared for him. But would he even know that? Had I actually conveyed any other message beyond, "Roxie will fuck anyone in a vain attempt to make herself feel better." I mean Christ, I had probably scarred him for life. I suddenly realized that, while my internal hatred had taken precedence, there was another person involved in this. Andy. 

I had used him the previous night. I know I had been trying to...communicate with him. But I hadn't really considered what was best for him. And now I was doing it again. I was on the bathroom floor, wallowing in my self-hatred, when Andy was out there. In my living room. Confused, maybe angry at me. Or maybe feeling something completely different. I had let him down.

It was then I realized that I truly was my parents' daughter. What had I done in the last 24-hours? First, I'd yelled at Andy and called him stupid because he wasn't just like me. He wasn't messy or disorganized, so I'd lashed out at him for it. I took my frustrations with my own life and put them on him. Sounded a lot like my mother. I felt bad about it, which I am not sure my mother ever did. But when I tried to make it better, I swung too far in the other direction. I had been unable to make an honest connection with Andy when I tried. I had been too uptight, too uncomfortable to see the world in any sort of nuanced emotion. I was only able to view the world through the prism of disgust and lust. So I ended up making some sort of bizarre, incestuous come on. Sounded a lot like my father. Although I guess I went farther than he ever had. Regardless, for the first time in my life I felt like I really understood my parents. I could see where their actions came from.

But, in understanding their actions, and understanding their motivations, I was finally able to fully grasp the full contours of their behavior. In understanding them, I was able to see that there was no justification for their actions. They'd royally fucked me up. I'd know that for a while. But it hadn't been about me. It had been about them. Their insecurities and frustrations. And I realized that my actions towards Andy were just as unjustified. I wasn't frustrated by Andy the day before when I'd called him stupid. I was frustrated by myself, with my inability to handle the stresses of adulthood. I hadn't been helping him when I...blew him. I was filling up some space inside of myself. And if I wanted to make things better, I needed to be better than my parents. I needed to make things right.

I stood up again and looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were red and puffy from crying and I looked haggard. I could almost smell my reflection's breath and my stomach was still sour. I needed to talk to Andy, but if I went out like this it would only make him scared for my sanity. I grabbed my toothbrush. I quickly brushed my teeth, hopped in the shower, I scrubbed myself thoroughly, washed my hair, and shaved my armpits and my pussy. When I stepped out of the shower, I felt a little bit better, like I was somewhat ready for a fresh start. I dried my hair and straightened it, put on my make-up (being careful to cover up my bruise), and got dressed. I wore the clothes I had picked out before I got in the shower: a pair of loose fitting Victoria's Secret sweatpants and a tight black t-shirt. I hadn't brought a bra or panties and I didn't want to wear the dirty ones, so I left them off. 

Finally, I was completely ready for the day. My headache was still present and my stomach did not feel 100%, but I felt better. Physically. Emotionally, I was about as bad as ever. While I got ready for the day, I continued to beat myself up about Andy and about my life in general. Even as I was getting ready, I found myself becoming more and more nervous. I knew I was going to speak with Andy, but I didn't know what I was going to say. I didn't know what he would be like. As I finished getting ready, I began to grow crippled with fear. I didn't want to go out there. I didn't want to face the problems I had created.

"Mom and Dad never addressed the mess they made with you or any other part of their lives," I said to my nervous reflection in the mirror. I didn't really know where the words came from: they were just there, "And now they are dead. You can't hide from this. You either get to it now, or you run out of this apartment and never come back." I nodded to myself. I would have to face Andy eventually. I took a deep breath, turned, and opened the door. I jumped 15 feet in the air.

"Oh...I was just waiting for my turn..." Andy said. He was standing in the doorway, looking at the bathroom. His eyes were cast down, but he spoke evenly. He was still wearing his clothes from the previous night and the memories felt very close. I noticed that he looked handsome when he just woke up, but felt disgusted by that thought. I felt my heart pounding in my chest. "You were in there awhile."

"Oh uh..." I said flustered, "Yeah I am done." I said. I shuffled out the door and brushed past Andy. I felt him shake a little at my touch and my face got red.

"Thanks," he said, moving past me nervously. I had not expected to run into him that quickly. I didn't know what I expected. He seemed willing to just ignore what had happened the previous night. I could just ignore it too. It would be like it never happened. Just as he was about to close the door, I spoke, once again, with a voice that seemed to come from somewhere inside of me, unbidden.

"When you get out...can we talk about something," I said. I emphasized the final word and there was no question as to what I was referring. Andy looked back over his shoulder at me and nodded nervously. He closed the door.

The next twenty minutes were extremely trying while Andy showered and got ready for the day. I walked into the living room and saw that Andy had already made the bed. I sat down on the edge and then realized I was sitting right where Andy had been the previous night when I'd...given him a blowjob. I stood up quickly and walked over to the kitchen. I sat down on one of the stools that lined the breakfast bar and waited. I ignored thinking about the previous night, but the minutes dragged on forever.

Finally, the door to the bathroom opened. Andy stepped out. He had a large towel wrapped around his waist that fell all the way to his mid-calf. His broad chest was exposed and his hair was wet. I was mortified by how attractive I found him at that moment, and I shook my head, trying to keep it together. Andy saw me and shrugged his shoulders nervously.

"I need to get changed...I thought you'd be in your room. I will go back to the bathroom," he said, lifting up a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I couldn't take anymore waiting.

"No," I said, a bit too forcefully, "It is fine. That towel...you are really covered. Just come sit on this bench so we can talk." And looked at his jeans but then dropped them onto the floor. He walked from the hallway over to the kitchen. In a moment, he sat down on the stool across from me. The towel was cinched on the side of his waist, so it split along one leg, but he was not particularly exposed. I felt better, we could talk like this.

Or could we? For nearly a minute my brother and I sat in silence in my kitchen. I stared down at the floor and I looked up at the ceiling. The tension was so thick I could nearly taste it and my mouth felt incredibly dry. I had never felt more awkward in my entire life. How do you start a conversation, 'hey brother, sorry I sucked your dick,'? It was absurd. And disgusting. But, I realized that I had asked him to talk, I needed to get started. So, after the longest minute of my life, I spoke.

"Did you sleep well..." I started. I don't know why, I just needed to talk. But what the hell Roxie? Get it together. "No, I mean..."

"Okay..." Andy said.

"What?" 

"I slept okay," he explained. I waved my hand and then pinched the bridge of my nose. My heart was in my throat.