I Need To Process This Ch 04

This is the fourth and final part of this story, so it would probably be more easily understood if you read Chapters 1, 2, and 3 before tackling this part. I'd like to thank everyone for the votes and comments on the previous three chapters. It would be great if you could comment and vote on this part, and on the overall story. I would particularly like to thank cageysea9725 for all of his advice and encouragement in completing this part.

I must have sat for a couple of hours thinking about me and Mel, about our past, about our future -- not that we really had one now. But eventually I stirred myself, got showered and dressed, and finished off sorting out the house. I was all done within a couple of hours. I called to arrange for the cleaning firm to come in on Thursday morning to give the house the once-over, then I took my bedlinen and Mel's to the laundry. I was now at a loss because everything had been done, so I rang Jim to see what was happening with the business, and to ask if he needed any help.

I don't think Jim really needed my help. He's not a nerd for nothing, and had doubtless already planned what needed to be done in my absence that week. But he took pity on me and asked me to come and help with some final testing on a new game that we were launching in a few weeks. That's the advantage of being in a long-term business partnership: Jim might be a nerd, but he knew me better than anyone.

Before I left, I booked a room for myself at the Midland Hotel for Thursday and Friday nights. It's a big Victorian railway hotel in the town centre, not far from the solicitor's office, and within walking distance of the restaurant where the after-funeral buffet would be held on Friday. The Midland was old fashioned, but I didn't want to stay at the Lodge and risk bumping into Mel all the time.

By mid-afternoon, I was on my way back to Manchester. The drive up there was one of the most depressing experiences of my life. I'd never been in love before, but I was in love now, and I didn't care that it was with my sister. However, after the previous 24 hours it was clear that Mel didn't love me. I don't really think she hated me, but she wanted nothing more to do with me and it would not surprise me if, after Mum's funeral, I never saw her again.

That thought made me cry.

I stayed in Manchester until Thursday morning, and although it was good being back at work and chewing things over with Jim, I felt very sad and lonely, especially in the evenings, and even more so when I got into bed. I didn't hear from Mel -- not that I expected to - and I resisted any temptation to call her. But I did think about her all the time.

I didn't conjure up sexual fantasies about her when I was in bed. Somehow, wanking at the thought of my naked sister seemed all wrong now. All I had left were my memories, and the torture of knowing that I had done the one thing I promised never to do. I thought about last Sunday, and time after time went over what had happened. All I could think is that I (we?) had had too much to drink over brunch, and somehow we had started fucking in our sleep.

No, I know it doesn't sound very convincing, but it's all I had.

During the week, I made up my mind that somehow I had to talk to Mel about it, to explain -- as far as I could - and to apologise. I was pretty much convinced she would never want to see me again after the funeral, but for my own sake I had to try to say sorry -- even if I failed miserably.

I left my apartment in plenty of time on Thursday, but the drive back took much longer than I anticipated, and I didn't get to the solicitor's offices until just before two. Mel was already there -- she's always early - in his waiting room, and there was a moment of awkwardness as we met for the first time since she'd angrily walked out on Monday.

She handled it perfectly (am I surprised?) by taking a step towards me and kissing me on the cheek. "Hello, Davie. How are you? I was worried you might not make it."

"I'm fine," I said. "Sorry I'm late -- there was a lot of traffic on the M6." She looked puzzled, so I explained: "I went to Manchester for a few days, sort some stuff out at work."

"Ah," she said with a smile. "Good thought. With your partner Jim?"

A slightly awkward silence followed, but we were rescued a few seconds later by the solicitor's receptionist saying that Barrett was ready for us. The conference table seemed laden with paperwork, all neatly arranged, and Mel and I sat opposite each other, with Barrett at the head and his paralegal taking notes at the other end. All very formal.

Our mother had been very diligent in managing her investments, and she had shares in upwards of fifty different businesses, all neatly itemised. Her will was also a model of efficiency: aside from a few personal bequests (notably £10K to her friend Billy), everything was to be split equally between Mel and me.

Even so, the whole process took almost three hours, because every investment had to be identified, talked about, forms signed, photocopied and distributed to both Mel and me. When we got to the end, the solicitor said that the value of the estate, taking a conservative valuation for the house, would be approximately two million pounds, although there would be a big chunk of inheritance tax to pay on that.

Barrett said that he would let us have a detailed calculation once he'd finished negotiating with the taxman, which might take some months (I bet it would). In the meantime, Mel and I agreed with him that things should be left pretty much as they were for the moment. Personally, I thought it was going to take a while for me to absorb the fact that I was going to be quite wealthy. After handshakes all round, Mel and I left.

I hadn't really looked at Mel during the meeting, other than to nod or shake my head, and I felt awkward as we left the solicitor's office.

"Do you have any plans?" she asked as we walked out into the street.

I looked at my watch and said "I want to go to the laundry and pick up the sheets and stuff. Then have a look at the house, check on whether the cleaning company did their job."

"Ah OK." Mel paused, then asked, rather uncertainly, "Can I come?"

"Of course," I said. "Why not?" Mel looked as if she was going to cry, and I suppose I did sound a bit snappy. When would we ever get it right between us? I tried to smile and said, "Sorry, Mel. Of course you can come. It is your house too."

Mel told me she'd come up by train, so we went to the house in my car, travelling largely in silence. Fortunately, the laundry was open and I got the sheets.

Mel asked if I was staying at the house and I told her about the hotel. "Ah, OK," she said. There was an awkward pause before she continued, "Um, I'm staying at the Midland as well. Is that a problem?"

"Not for me, but I can see it might be for you." I paused, then nodded. "I'll go to the Lodge."

"No, no, please not on my behalf. You'd hate the Lodge -- there's nothing, no bar, no restaurant. And a rubbish buffet for breakfast."

"Really? Sounds crap. OK, the Midland it is, if you're sure." I paused again... now I was uncertain. I was about to say something about staying out of her way, but instead I said, "Maybe we could have dinner tonight?"

Her face lit up and she smiled. "I'd really like that. Yes, let's have dinner." It almost sounded as if she meant it.

The house looked fine, so we went to the hotel. Mel had already checked in, and while I was sorting my room out, she went off to freshen up. We agreed to meet again at 7:30. I wasn't really looking forward to it, but there might possibly be a chance to talk about what had happened on Sunday. Or at least, a chance for me to apologise.

In the event, dinner was a really pleasant experience. We walked to the Italian place where I'd first told Mel I fancied her. It seemed like years ago, but it was less than a couple of weeks. So much had happened in that time, mostly good but ultimately catastrophically bad.

Surprisingly, our conversation over the meal was very easy. We chatted about the will, how clever our Mum had been and what we might do with the house, about the funeral the next day and how we both wanted it to be a celebration more than a wake. It was lovely, but I felt we were both treading carefully to avoid waking the elephant in the room -- a different one from the beast we'd disturbed the previous time we'd been in this restaurant, and an altogether bigger presence.

As we waited for the bill at the end of the meal, Mel smiled nervously at me. "This is nice," she said. She looked tired, and for the first time I noticed the dark rings under her eyes. Maybe I'd not looked at her properly? And she looked achingly beautiful. "I was worried that we might not be good friends any more, you know?"

I resisted the temptation to reach over and kiss her. "I hope we'll always be good friends, Mel," I said quietly.

I had a last sip of my wine, and decided to give it a go. "Can we talk about last Sunday, please? It's just that-"

She held up her hand and shook her head. "No please. Not now, Davie. Maybe tomorrow, after the funeral. I can't handle it at the moment." At which point the waiter arrived with the bill: perfect timing as always.

I settled the bill, and we left the restaurant. Outside, Mel slid her arm through mine, which felt so good, and said "Sorry, Davie. Please understand. I need to keep it together, for Mum's sake. Let's be friends. Please? I hope we'll always be good friends as well, Davie."

She gave my arm a quick squeeze and I felt the fullness of her breast against me. I immediately banished the inevitable thought.

"Like I said, I want us to be friends always, Mel. That's why I wanted to talk. But we'll leave it over there, until another time."

She gave my arm another squeeze and smiled her thanks.

"So," I continued. "What happened with the divorce lawyer? Or maybe you don't want to talk about it? No problem if you don't, of course."

She paused before replying. "It was awful, to be honest. I'm not good at hating." She explained that the lawyer had said Mel had to blank out any sympathy for Doug, and that every time she thought of him or heard his name, she had to think how much she hated him. That was apparently the way to get the best financial settlement. No pity.

"I can't do that, Davie. We were together for nearly 16 years, married for more than 12. We did things together. It's not his fault it fell apart, any more than it's mine. I just want a fair share, but if that means hating Doug, I don't think I can do it. I can't do it."

I shook my head slowly and said with a smile, "You're an amazing woman, Mel. I do like you." She smiled back, and squeezed my arm again. Again, I felt her breast. Bloody hell!

"So how did you leave it? With the lawyer woman?"

"She's going to keep it very simple, nothing over-the-top, and wait to see what Doug's lawyer comes up with. I suggested that Doug and I have a get-together to talk about it, but she was dead against that. No meetings alone, she said. Probably worried that I might call the divorce off, though there's no chance of that. Anyway, I just sit and wait -- she said she'd get back to me next week."

"It's unpleasant, but has to be done," I said. "Personally, I'd like to kick his fucking head in, but that might be slightly counterproductive. Satisfying though."

"Bad boy, Davie," Mel said with a smile. We arrived at the hotel, and stood awkwardly together in the lobby.

"Would you, er, would you like a nightcap?" I asked, nodding in the direction of the bar.

She looked at me, giving it a moment's thought before saying, "No Davie, thanks, not tonight. Maybe tomorrow? I'm off to bed." She reached forward, hugged me closely, and kissed me gently on the cheek. "You're a lovely man, Davie. Thanks for being kind. Breakfast at eight?"

With that she was off, striding down the corridor in the direction of her room.

I was left, yet again, with the memory of her soft breasts pressed against my arm... but overlaid with the mental image of the elephant.

I climbed into bed feeling a bit happier about our relationship, although I knew that we'd never get back to where we'd been a week or so before. That was gone forever. Thankfully, though, I slept soundly, and woke feeling rested and ready for the day. Or as ready as I would ever be.

The funeral was at 11:30, so I had plenty of time. After a quick shower, I strolled down to the high-ceilinged restaurant. Mel was already there, sitting at a corner table, and she gave me a sad smile as I joined her. We dawdled over breakfast, the room full of the buzz of business people arranging their respective days. We talked about saying goodbye to our mother, and a sadness hung in the air, despite our wishes to make this a day of celebration.

I went back to my room, shaved, then showered again, and got dressed in my funeral outfit. Mel and I had agreed that there were to be no black ties or drab suits, and no long faces, so I wore a dark-red jacket and blue trousers, with a bright patterned tie. I probably looked like a circus clown, but I didn't mind: Mum would have liked it. I went down to the lobby to wait for Mel. She arrived about ten minutes later looking amazing in a dark-green dress with a full skirt.

The funeral was just as Mum would have wanted it, with a packed crematorium, a minimum of pomp, no cant, and lots of smiles. Mel had asked me to give a speech -- "You were so good at my wedding," she smiled -- so I did. Again, though I say so myself, I was pretty good at it, although at times I had difficulty in holding it together.

Afterwards at the restaurant there were a few tears but lots of smiles, and endless people to talk to. Mel and I split the room, circulating and making sure that we spoke to everyone, occasionally coming together to have a sip of wine and compare notes. Eventually people started to drift away, although, as is the way with these things, there were a few who stayed to the bitter end. One was Mum's friend Billy, who was absolutely distraught. With Mum's death, he'd lost a real friend, and I'm not sure how many of them he had.

Eventually even Billy left, and Mel and I strolled back to the hotel. It was only 4:30 but we were both tired, so we decided to retire to our respective rooms, have a rest, and meet up for dinner at 8:00.

I went back to my room, where I undressed and had another shower. As I got into bed, I closed my eyes and immediately thought of Mel. I could picture her rising above me, naked, with those heavy breasts swinging in my face. I groaned, shook my head and tried to drive the image away, but I was rock hard within seconds.

She was so fucking beautiful, my sister, and I could taste her pussy in my mouth, feel her hard nipples, see her lovely face. I stroked myself gently, slowly, imagining her sucking me, licking me. Quickly I felt myself approaching release and pulled back, prolonging the delicious agony, but I couldn't do so for long and hot cum splashed onto my belly.

As I cleaned myself up, waves of guilt washed over me. I had to stop thinking of Mel like that. It was over, and I needed to get back to thinking of her just as my beautiful, kind and rather sad sister. It was going to be an effort, but I'd have to try. "I just have to try," I thought, as I closed my heavy eyes and drifted off to sleep.

I awoke with a start to the sound of my phone ringing, and realised that it was ten past eight. Fuck! I'd forgotten to set my alarm. I answered the phone and Mel said, "Hello. Did you forget we were supposed to be having dinner?"

"I'm sorry, Mel. Give me five minutes." I rang off and quickly got dressed in clean clothes, kicking my funeral outfit over to one side to be sorted out later. She had sounded a bit pissed-off, which was understandable, and I hoped our evening would not be ruined. She didn't look very happy when I got down to the hotel lobby, although she was polite enough. She also looked utterly beautiful, dressed in a white shirt and tailored blue jeans.

After a bit of discussion, we decided to head off to the same Italian restaurant, simply because we knew it. Mel was very quiet, and she didn't link arms, both of which were worrying. It didn't promise well for a nice evening together.

The restaurant was crowded, it being Friday night, and the corner table where we usually sat was already occupied. We were offered a couple of other tables that Mel didn't like before they eventually found us a spot just outside the kitchen and rammed up against a cupboard. Not my preference, but Mel said, "At least we won't be surrounded," which had the merit of truth.

Once we'd ordered, I tried to make small talk with Mel about the funeral, the buffet, the people who had been at the funeral, the Crematorium, the buffet (again)... nothing but one-word replies. It was probably the most painful and difficult time I had spent with her in the past couple of weeks -- even including last Monday morning, when she did at least talk to me. Well, at me.

Eventually I gave up trying. In any case, the noise from elsewhere in the restaurant didn't make for intimate conversation, and I was grateful when Mel said she didn't want dessert or coffee.

"Let's just go back to the hotel," she said. "Maybe we can have a drink there."

"That sounds like fun," I thought. However, we still had more than half a bottle of wine left, so I refitted the cap and took it with us - waste not want not, as Mum would have said.

The conversation on the way back to the hotel was stilted, almost non-existent, but at least walking along and avoiding the Friday night drunks took my mind off whatever was bothering Mel. The thought did cross my mind that I might never find out what that was -- surely it wasn't just me oversleeping or forgetting to set my alarm? And as for me apologising, it didn't look like that was going to happen either.

When we got back to the hotel, the bar was literally full to overflowing, with people spilling out into the foyer area, all talking in loud voices. Mel turned to me and shook her head, saying "Sorry, I can't stand that. Shall we go to your room and have a drink there?"

I wasn't sure how I felt about that, but I agreed that it would be better than the bar. When we got to my door, I opened it and let Mel walk past me into the room, where she simply stood alongside the unmade bed. I apologised for the state of the room and said, "Why don't you sit down, Mel. Wine OK?"

She nodded and sat awkwardly on the corner of the bed. I half-filled two glasses with wine, handing one to her. She nodded again.

I sat down on a small and uncomfortable chair facing Mel and said quietly, "Are we going to talk about it, Mel?" She looked at me, took a sip of wine, but didn't say anything.

I said, "When we talked about you and Doug and all that, we said we'd always be there for each other?" I made it a question, and she nodded and looked down at her wine. "We said we'd always talk. Well, we need to talk about this."

"It's last Sunday," she said. "I want to talk about last Sunday. And last week."

"Good, because I need to apologise--"

"No!" she said sharply, holding up a hand, but not looking at me. "I need to talk. I need to apologise. It's all my fault." She suddenly burst into tears, holding her glass of wine between her hands and sobbing uncontrollably. "Oh shit, shit, shit!" she said. "Why do I have to cry? I don't want to cry. Shit!"

I leaned forward and lifted the glass of wine from her hands, and put it on the dressing table. I sat down at her side and said, "Come on, Mel. It's OK. Why do you think any of this is your fault? Because it isn't."

She shook her head and pulled away from me, saying in an overloud voice, "It is my fault!" She looked up at me, tears running down her face, and said it again, almost whispering: "It's all my fault."