Authors note: some quick hits. This chapter marks my 50th story on Literotica. I couldn't have timed it better as this one ends with a bang. Also a huge thank you to author Sydney Blake (How to save a life. The hottest romance series on lit!Check it out for yourselves)for doing a lights out job editing this chapter.As for my dedication: This reader has always stayed anonymous, but has commented many times and e-mailed me as well. He is by far my biggest Megan hater so on that note, this chapter is for "sparekeys". As for this chapter itself. SWB is a pretty grim story, and honestly not nearly as popular as some of the stroke series that are currently running right now. I am fine with that. From day one this has been my story written my way. Now that I am getting near the end, not only am I going to continue that, but am going to rev it up. The remaining chapters will not be heavy on erotica, but will be heavy in general. If you are a sensitive sort, brace yourself. For the next three chapters, ladies and gentlemen, the gloves are off. As always thank you for reading! Lovecraft68
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I sat in the back of the cab with my head down, using my long black hair to cover most of my face and the fact that I was crying. I'd managed to hold it back during the ten minute walk from Mark's office to the Biltmore. I needed a taxi and they were always circling the hotel, and this way I didn't have to wait in front of his building for one. It hadn't been easy holding it together, but I was getting enough looks as it was in my current ensemble. Had I started crying, people would have thought I was some distraught, strung out prostitute. Not that I hadn't had some experience with that particular situation back in the day, but I would never want it thought of me again.
Within a minute of reaching the hotel, I flagged down the cab. I noticed the driver passed an older couple and a guy in a suit so he could pick me up. I got in and gave him my mother's address. The driver, a big greasy looking guy in his fifties, took one look at me and asked, "How you gonna pay for this?"
I rolled my eyes. Under different circumstances, I would have told him to go fuck himself and gotten out. Right now, however, all I cared about was getting back to my parents' house so I could hide in my old bedroom and cry. I reached into my purse and pulled out a hundred dollar bill and showed it to him.
He smirked, "Business must be good."
I smirked back, "It always will be because there are always fat, ugly men who can only get laid if they pay for it."He gave me a dirty look, but put the cab in gear and quickly pulled into traffic. I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror and winced. So much for trying to not look like a mess; I had already been crying at Mark's office, and my allegedly waterproof mascara had run in black streaks down my face. My good old manic panic Goth foundation had held up, however, so I now looked like a sick, sad clown straight out of a Marilyn Manson video.
Sliding over to the right corner of the seat, I let my head drop, my hair fall over my face, and my tears flow. I was devastated and confused. What had just hit me the last two hours? My father, the pictures, Mark's lies to save me. As if that wasn't enough to take in, Mark put me on the spot. I did love him. I knew that now. Not that I should have needed my brother's sacrifice to make me realize that. Those feelings had been there for years I had just pushed them aside, telling myself I would ruin my brother, and pretending the feelings weren't there. This time around, Mark took all my excuses away from me. He pointed out that I was sober, successful, and, most of all, he told me how he felt. My mind was still reeling. How, exactly, did my brother think we could pull this off?
I told him I loved him, sort of, by simply saying yes. Had I just kept my big mouth shut, we might have been able to sit down and talk things through, like we had planned. Instead, I put a fatal "but" in there, and my exhausted, emotionally spent brother did what he always did when he was hurt, he lost it
I did my best not to react to his rage. My brother had been through a lot in the last year, and I had not been there for him. As much as the Winthrop trial had helped his career, it had taken everything else from him. Mark had tears in his eyes as he numbly told me how my father told him no one ever wanted him. I now knew why he was avoiding Mom, and it was wrong; she loved Mark dearly. Unfortunately, I knew too well that feeling of being unwanted, of knowing that no matter how good life was now, that we had been given away, as if we were unwanted pets. For my brother, who had already been dealing with the heartache of missing his chance to be with me back then, hearing those things from Dad caused him to believe them.
I was also struck with guilt, hearing how badly he missed me, and how he so desperately wanted to be with me. I've never regretted moving to Chicago. I would not have achieved as much surrounded by nothing but painful memories. But in leaving all that pain, I left behind the best part of my life. Mark, who, of course, told me to go ahead and do what was best for me. Had I not been the selfish bitch he had rightly accused me of being, it would have occurred to me that sometimes, Mark said things because he felt it was what I wanted to hear, not because it was how he really felt.
So as Mark got more and more wound up, I just sat there and listened, trying to wait for an opening. That is, until he started really going off the deep end and talking about us fucking others and ending it by throwing my words from twenty years ago in my face: "We're not for all the time."
I wanted to tell him that I was in love with him, but he got me rattled. All I could think of was my journal entry when I had 'given' him to Cynthia so he wouldn't know how I felt. I said the word 'was' and Mark turned lawyer on me, treating me like a witness he had just crossed up. If Mark had been rational he would have heard the emotion in my voice and realized that I was still in love with him, but he was too far gone. When I tried to tell him he had told me to fuck myself. I was stunned; short of a couple of times when I had been wasted Mark had never spoken in that tone to me.
Before I could get anything out Mark had simply looked me in the eye and told me to leave. I had felt my own anger rising, but seeing the raw pain in my brother's eyes stopped me from making things even worse. I tried to tell myself he didn't mean it, that he would calm down and we could talk. I told myself that when we did I would simply tell him how much I loved him, take him in my arms and let him feel how much I did. We would still need to figure some things out but I needed him to at least know he was loved.
Sadly, I never got the chance. He stared out his office window while I sat there crying softly, hoping he would calm down and come back and hold me. No, that was the kind of thought, that made Mark seem right. When he came to me, I would hold him. After several minutes however, without turning around to look at me, Mark asked, "Why are you still here?"He spoke softly, but there was something in his tone that told me it was over. There would be no apologies, no making this right.
Standing up, I let out a sob, and as I did, Mark shook his head disgustedly. On that note, I turned to leave, when it occurred to me that I was going to take his car. Normally, Mark always took me back to the airport, but obviously this time would be different. Taking his keys from my purse, I tossed them on his desk so that he would hear them. When he still didn't turn around, I felt my temper flare at being dismissed like a child, but I was smart enough to simply turn and storm out of his office.
Now sitting here in the cab it hit me that this had been my own fault, Mark had warned me that something's were better left unsaid, but I had pushed. I took a deep breath and seeing that we were already at the exit for my parent's house I tried to pull myself together. I had no doubt Mom and Dad were both home, and I had no idea how I was going to get past them to go upstairs to my room.
As we pulled up to the house I saw that as I had feared both cars were there. I paid the fare, then stood on the sidewalk for a minute staring at the house. If I went through the front, I might run into Dad. I had no idea how I could look him in the eye right now, knowing what he had seen. Not only that, but knowing that, in his mind, it was over, while in reality, I had just fucked my brother in his office not two hours ago.
This made my heart sink; Mark seemed to think no one would ever find out about us. I disagreed, but even if he was right, and we could pull it off, I would need to tell my parents. I could not lie to them for the rest of my life. Mark, by his own admission, had made this even more difficult by lying to my father. The cat had been out of the bag last year. Had I been around, I would have come clean and admitted that we had been and still were lovers. I would have taken whatever repercussions there were. Who knows? Maybe that would have brought Mark and me close back then. No. I was with Laura, and believed I was in love.
With a sigh I walked along the side of the house. I would take my chances with my mother. I reached the back, and taking a deep breath entered through the back door. Feeling like I was back in my teenage years and sneaking in after curfew, I stood in the small hallway listening at the door that led into the kitchen. I didn't hear Mom's small TV going and, opening the door entered the kitchen. To my relief it was empty. Once again, just as when I was teenager, I slipped my heels off and quickly made my way towards the stairs that led upstairs. I didn't have a car and my parents would never know I was there. I had made it half way to the door when Mom's voice stopped me cold.
"Megan?"
I didn't answer right away. I just stopped and let my head slump down, as if I were that teenager who had just gotten caught. I heard Mom coming up behind me and with a resigned sigh, I turned to face her.
"Megan, why are you..." Mom stopped when she saw my face. "Honey, you're crying! What's wrong?"
"I..." I stopped, unsure of what I was going to say.
"And why are you dressed like that?" Mom asked, looking me up and down. "Well I..."
I had nothing. The events of the day had left me completely drained. I tried to push my exhausted mind to come up with yet another lie to my mother, but the well was empty. I started to try to say something about a date but what came out was a sob as my emotions finally overwhelmed me.
"Come here honey!"
Mom immediately came over, reached up and put her arms around me. Feeling foolish but unable to help myself, I put my head down on her shoulder and started crying, not just the tears that had been trickling on and off since I had left Mark, but full, gut-wrenching sobs. Mom didn't say a word, just held me and gently rubbed my back.
Even as I continued to let myself go, I could feel that old familiar comfort of my mother's embrace. In the midst of my despair, I remembered how many years I denied myself this embrace, denied my mother the chance to help her daughter.
My sobs increased as I pictured my brother alone in his office, with no one to be there for him. I knew by now Mark's rage was gone and that he was as upset as I was. I could feel my brother's loneliness, as if it were my own, because for years it had been.
When my sobs finally died down, to just the occasional embarrassing hiccup, Mom stepped back from me, and, taking my hand, led me over to the kitchen table."Sit down and talk to me"
