I think that it should first be noted that William isn't my real brother, not by blood at least. When I was six and he was ten my mother married his father. It should also be noted that I do consider him my real brother, and so to some this story may seem a bit strange and even sick. But it's the truth - the entire, filthy, raunchy truth.
Will and I were always close, even as children. When my mother first married his father we didn't have much money. Adding to that his three older brothers and my two older sisters made things tight. Our house wasn't exactly small, but neither was our family, and as the two youngest children Will and I were forced to share the least desired bedroom in the attic. It was a less than ideal situation. The attic was poorly insulated and drafty as all hell and the bed we shared was tiny and pathetic. The summers were spent dressed down to our underwear, trying to distance our bodies so that our damp skin didn't stick together. The winters were spent clinging to one another for warmth beneath a mountain of blankets. I can only imagine how hard puberty was for him, with all of the inconvenient morning wood and wet dreams. I know it was for me, trying to hide my blossoming body while getting accustomed to periods. I had a lot of humiliating accidents, but instead of making fun of me Will would simply help me scrub out the bloodstains and find clean sleeping shorts. I think these experiences only brought us closer together.
Eventually we got our own bedrooms, once our older siblings began to move out, but even still we would occasionally sleep in the same bed. When our father's business began to really boom our parents started to go on business trips and short romantic vacations together, and we were once again left only with each other.
Nothing untoward happened in all of those years. Not a single thing. My feelings towards him remained as purely innocent hero worship, and his view of me remained as his adorable little sister.
When I was fourteen and he was eighteen things changed. Will decided to go to college halfway across the country and we had a huge fight. And I mean huge. There was screaming and crying from both of us, and it ended in me throwing a picture frame at the wall near his head. When he left neither of us said goodbye.
I didn't really understand why I was so angry with him for leaving until over a year later. Sure, there were feelings of betrayal because he never told me he was even considering a school so far away, as well as fear that we might drift apart, but it was more than that. It took a conversation with one of my friends for me to figure it out. My friend, Amy, had come to me crying about her boyfriend. He was older, a senior, and they had been fighting about him possibly moving away for college. She was afraid they he would find someone else, or fall out of love with her, or cheat. As she sobbed on my shoulder I realized that I had those exact same feelings and fears when Will told me he was going away.
The realization shook me to my core because Will wasn't my boyfriend, he was my brother. I had no right, or reason, to feel any of those emotions. But I did, and that terrified me. Upon realizing this, I began avoiding all contact with Will at all costs. I completely shut him out. I didn't answer his texts or calls. I blocked him from all of my social media. I cut him out completely because I was afraid of my feelings.
It took six more months and a picture of him kissing someone, his girlfriend apparently, for me to come to my senses. Even if I did have inappropriate feelings for him, he was still my brother. I loved him and I wanted to be a part of his life. I wanted to know about his classes and his friends. I wanted to be able to confide in him again and I wanted him to be able to do the same. And besides, he was only my stepbrother, so it wasn't so bad that I liked him that way...right?
I apologized with a heartfelt letter that was as close to the truth as I could get: I was jealous and scared and felt betrayed. He accepted me back into his life with open arms, because he was still the same kind and loving big brother as always.
...
It wasn't until I was eighteen that things really started with a mess of holiday plans. My parents and siblings were all going on a family cruise for Christmas, but Will couldn't go because of his final exams, and I couldn't bring myself to leave him alone for the holidays so it was decided that the two of us would stay home and spend the holidays together.
My parents left the day before Will was meant to come home. I saw them off at the front door with hugs and kisses. My mom dragged the goodbye out for an extra thirty minutes, reminding me of the recipes in drawer beside the oven and the casseroles in the freezer until my father had to physically dragged her to their taxi. I waited to close the door until the car pulled away from the curb, waving and smiling like the good daughter I was. When they were finally gone I leaned against the door with a relieved sigh.
"Fucking hell." I mumbled under my breath, exhausted from my mother's farewell.
The harsh words echoed throughout the now empty house, reminding me that I was completely alone and free to do whatever I wished, at least for now. It wasn't the first time I had been home alone, but the novelty of being able to walk around in my underwear or swim naked without anyone knowing never got old.
