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Horikita Suzune has always been antisocial. She found little joy in socializing and playing with the other children. They were not intelligent or academically rigorous like she was, like her parents expected; so, in place of amusement, she found irritation in their proximity. Time, instead, was spent on studying day in and day out. And now she is where she is: valedictorian. All alone.
Nobody seems to understand her. Her classmates all latch onto the fad of friendships, hiding secrets as they smile and laugh with one another. Many pity her, but why should they, when they are the ones who ought to be pitied? There’s no need for fakeness when you have a goal to reach. (She will catch up to her nii-san one day.) Although she does feel hungry sometimes. It is within those sometimes when the light lingers on her classmates, their eyes filled with false fullness, and that is precisely when she knows she is going insane.
Her brother used to understand her. He used to be kind to her, taking great patience as they played together; he could braid her hair for hours, her formidable, dependable brother. Then she graduated from elementary school, and he grew ashamed to even look at her, rising in sudden agitation at her every attempt to get him to glance back. What changed? Why push her away so suddenly? Her brother, so far away. She knew she needed to chase him.
She would be alone like him. But why the pity? Was it her fault for wanting that image of him again? To feel his love? She doesn’t need pity.
-
The sky is dark and without edge. With her breath, floating faintly like clouds, she carves into it the semblance of a tree, then the white pavement under her feet. Sharp maple leaves are reprimanded for racing past her spotless uniform; then the birds. Suzune looks up. It is stormy, she notes, and so she hastens her pace, leaving the sprinkling conversations to thud against the ground.
Her house arrives quickly. The black-haired girl stores her shoes and enters her room, sliding the screen door smoothly in silence. With a delicate finger, she retrieves The Brothers Karamazov from her bookshelf. Literary analysis was by far her greatest weakness; while logic dictated maths and patterns predicated history, the purpose of prose was something she struggled to fathom. Or perhaps, something she struggled to care for. Even then, if anyone were ever to ask her for her thoughts on such literature, she would always have an answer.
Her brother had picked the same book earlier in the week. What did he see in it? Did he agree with whatever moral was present in the story? She is looking at it now: the length, the age, the title, The Brothers Karamazov. Slowly, she opens the page, hit in the nose by the sour stench of time. What was her nii-san doing, reading books like this?
Suzune pictures her brother again: tall, a well-washed face, black-framed glasses, a crafty voice. For a moment, she can sparsely see him turning around, warm-crimson eyes looking at her. Clever eyes. With the book in her hands, she sees them clearer now. How intelligent he is - she can hear his voice ringing in her ear like a college professor, and he would say the most wonderful things, promising wit and thrill, warmth and friendship.
Errrrk…
The creak of the front door interrupts her musings. Delicately setting the book down, Suzune tiptoes into the hall. Her brother is back, his friends slapping him playfully before quickly leaving. He is wearing the same, drab uniform as she is, spotless and crisp, although the tie is a little looser today. In his hand is a thinner, more colorful book, which he bashfully sets down on top of the getabako. Seeing what she has needed, Suzune resolves to return to her room.
Errrrrkk…
Her brother, Manabu, turns around. He is swift in his action, and in a split second of vigilance, he catches her gaze. The surprise leads hastily into reservation; his eyes narrow, he straightens his uniform. Suzune swallows as she, too, fiddles with her skirt.
“Nii-san– ” she gasps; her lips are trembling with words to say. “You’re back.”
He nods, glancing away. “I am.”
He sets down his schoolbag and stores his shoes. He cleans the lens of his glass, making a subtle note of the book that has been set down. Suzune’s eyes flick to it too. She feels as if she has something to say, some idea forms inside her head - an odd, disjointed flavor that has yet to hold shape - and she begins to maneuver her mouth.
Then, her parents call for him, and he hastily leaves the scene. (The book remains.) With her head stuffed full of cotton, the black-haired girl grapples with her next move. She is a girl with much integrity, and she can just barely see the contents of the cover from where she is standing.
She thinks for a while more. A better look will do no harm.
Suzune scampers to the getabako. A girl is posing in a promiscuous manner on the front cover, as if announcing to the entire world the dimensions of her body. A nearly identical face peers cheekily in from the side; the girl transcribed into a male. A sudden chill washes over her; what was her nii-san doing, being so confusing like this? One of his friends must have pressured him into reading it; yes, her brother would never read something so filthy out of his own free will.
One of the pages is folded. The black-haired girl waits again, waiting for any sort of sound within the vacuum of space– she decides to take the book. She needs to fill in the newly missing pieces of the puzzle.
Closing the door to the room (needless), she returns to certain privacy. The book is clearly new. Flipping quickly through, the dark ink flows into her mind. She swallows. Her fingers do their best not to crease the pages (futile) as she goes forward and back; the end, then the beginning. And always, returning to that creased page which she cannot tear her eyes from.
Bitter disgust drips into her mouth and dips into her veins. Horikita Suzune does not understand. She starts over, flips again. So much so that she feels her emotions twist her chest, cloyingly so. Again, again; by the end, she knows what she needs. At least, she thinks she does.
-
“What are you doing with that book?”
His voice carries no anger. It quaves a little in panic; one could taste the slightest pinch of disdain sprinkled on top if they so pleased. All of himself is restrained, Suzune complains, despairing to herself. They are still wearing their school uniforms despite the depth of the night.
“Nii-san– ”
“Get to the point.”
She sighs. If she had the courage to follow through with her plea– The colored manga is shoved defensively under her elbow. What was she doing?
“Give it back. Or do you want me to take it from you?” His voice remains calm.
“Sorry.”
The black-haired girl musters what little she has in her body and keeps a steady view of her brother’s outreached arm. It is empty, no encapsulation of anything other than the air. His stomach growls; he readjusts the coat tied around his hip.
“Nii-san– were you the one who creased the page?”
“Suzune,” he says with visible anger now. “This is my friend’s property. I need to get this back to him as soon as possible.”
But he is staying, just long enough. He is watching.
“Did you– read it?” she asks quietly. There is something she needs answered; not that. Her shoulders cave inward, realizing preemptively the danger that would surely come. Finally, she can not bear to scrutinize her brother’s face, and she looks down at her socks. She laughs shamefully.
“Nee-san…” his voice is grating on the edges now. It’s husky, carrying none of the aristocratic flavor within her visions. “It is inappropriate for someone as young as you to read this material. Do you understand?”
Suzune nods.
“Now… give it back to me.”
The girl posits another glance. His face is tinged with a faint red, hardly a color compared to his eyes. When he readjusts his jacket- she notices it.
“Nii-san– I want it too. That happiness; I want to be happy like that, too.”
His fist clenches. His face is a tableau of all of the men in the news, the mad ones in history, but slowly she sees fullness return to his eyes. She decides that this is not a loss.
“Have you gone mad?” Manabu accuses.
If he has gone down that road already, she would follow him; without question.
At Suzune’s silence, her brother hesitates.
“You—” He pauses, as if needing to catch a breath he had lost. His pure, crimson eyes arch upward with his cheeks; his pale skin glimmering under the light. Suzune laughs along. He is finally here. She’s arrived at the end.
Then a stormy sob nearly bursts from her chest, as she finds herself with the final missing thread. The ever-lingering question remains indecipherable, dying finally in her throat.
-
“Are you sure you want to do this?” her brother asks again. “I do not wish to impose.” His face is so much lighter than before, filled with so much youthful vigor that she almost believes she is in a dream. But there are many things she is willing to set aside, if only to flip back into that page of her memory.
The once-pristine bedsheets shrivel up under their weight as she and her brother sit down. His room is flawless, a display of intelligence nearly equivalent to her imaginings, yes it does, and The Brothers Karamazov is sitting atop his bookshelf. Little white flaps of paper stick out from various pages. This is who he is.
“Nii-san, I want to do this,” she says with little hesitation. Manabu is happy, she is happy. Her chest is vibrating like the bow of a cello, fingers tapping the soft soft mattress to a praeludium; her stomach lurches and she feels the strong impulse to gag.
He turns away to hide; she knows it is his blush. “This, this is something I have never done before,” he stammers. Terribly unlike him. “However- ” The latter half needs not be said. “Is it cold in here? Should I turn on the heater?”
“No. I think- I think this is fine.”
Her brother fiddles with his belt. His thick, powerful fingers unbuckle it with ease and it falls onto the bed with little more than a clink! Suzune’s hands also get to work. She is swiftly reminded of her tiny skirt, the ironed, blue fabric wrapped like a snake around her hip and landing just above her knees.
It really has been a while since she exercised. (Was she getting too fat?) Come to think of it, her legs were already quite exposed… They were chubby-ish, giving off a little bit of warmth as she began squeezing the skirt a little ways down. Her long, black stockings remain, at the very least.
Manabu’s blazer is thrown savagely and without direction; it misses the mattress entirely. She glances up to make a clever quip; perhaps he could even be impressed by her wit. Then her eyes land on that predictable area. His underwear is a pure white, accentuating the shadow, his powerful legs exposed.
Currently, he is amidst unbuttoning his white undershirt. “What are you waiting for?”
“Nothing.”
Her arms have gone stiff, as if placed into ice for too long; she wills against it and takes off her blazer. With a firm pull, the ribbon gets undone and she unbuttons the collar. Wincing, she feels the almost disappointed gaze of her brother looking down at her newly matured body.
She has done this routinely every single night, so why was she struggling so much right now? In fact, should she not be more exuberant? Nii-chan is here, watching. Her fingers feel for the ridges of the buttons, and a chill brushes against her breasts as the undershirt opens up.
Looking down, she winces at the lumps of flesh and skin, moving up and down so freely like slaughtered pork come to life. Her upper stomach expands and contracts with each breath. White, unblemished skin catches the dim light of nii-chan’s room. Goosebumps are already forming as she scrutinizes her lower body.
“I never took you as one to wear such a style of underwear,” he comments, breathing erratically. If she is calm enough to lavish in the empty air, she could be able to feel the warmth of his breath on her back and her shoulders.
Suzune grimaces. Her black-lace underwear has frilly ornaments and the fabric is so thin that it is nearly see-through. The shape of it is a little daring, using less fabric than a modest girl should wear, and highlighting the fullness of her thighs. Pressed up by the normal, they set like dollops of whipped cream.
Manabu is already finished when she gets up. He shares with her the smooth skin, but she can see the toned muscles built up from hours of training. Undeniably attractive.
“Do you need help with…?”
She blushes, almost shooing him off defiantly. “No, I–”
He frowns slightly. “ –do need some help.”
After letting her chest bob down into the suddenly-cold atmosphere, there is only one thing left to do. She pulls her underwear down her legs, dropping the item carelessly onto the floor. It’s a little dirty.
-
Her chest is pressed against the covers, consuming her body warmth with a starved haste. She feels the position is incredibly awkward; her back arches upward and her legs are bent to support the opening of her ass. Although, there is solace in the fact that nii-chan is also struggling with their first time.
“Nii-chan, is this good?”
He grumbles and she wishes so desperately to see his face.
Abruptly, a sticky, wet sensation enters her vagina. Or was it called something else? A rough hand squeezes her ass, as his tongue presses more forcefully against the internal surfaces of her body. It feels like a finger scratching an itch; a warmth sent to relieve a garden of its weeds. He itches her ravenously.
It’s gross; she shouldn’t be here; she’s cold. A beg rises up her throat that she needs to swallow down as her jaw clenches hard. It’s as if a slug’s corpse is being buried up her body. Her brother is situated behind her and she can almost feel the little hairs on his chin as he forces his way deeper. His skin is warm. However strange the sensation is, it feels a little comforting, she decides.
A sudden impulse makes shivers go through her body, eyes watering. She squirms and squeals like a toddler. God, she hopes she didn’t just piss herself. Immediately, she wants to swallow it back down into her throat and cut off her tongue; but aren't people supposed to moan like that? Suzune had no idea it felt so…
Manabu’s tongue is removed from her ass, and her body is empty again.
He seems to be humming something, or was that another one of her delusions? Shadows begin to blur together, her tousled hair is left to pollute the covers; her black underwear is so near that she can smell it.
“I- ” Before she can protest, she feels two fingers squeeze up her hole. The stretch is too much, too abrupt. It hurts.
“Please!” She says nothing else as her body attempts to curl up. She whimpers like a little girl.
“Are you okay?” her brother’s soothing voice attends her kindly.
“It’s- it’s- ” Her voice breaks so she stops. Breathing is hard, her bones are shaking; she can’t bear to make any more sound. Why did she have to be so weak? Her elbows, too, begin to agitate as they sink further into the mattress.
“Is that too much for you? We have just started.” ‘Is that all you can do?’ is what he’s really asking.
“No. I can continue,” she replies quickly, words mixing into one another. Her stomach is filling up with something she can’t name. Lungfuls of air fail to dampen her rising energy. She bites her lip instead to feel all the pain from her mouth. Yet her mind drifts to what her brother could have felt in that moment - what did his tongue feel? Was her skin soft? The thoughts are shut down straightaway.
His fingers exit and she feels another poke.
“Please stop it! I won’t be able to do it!”
The image of her brother’s penis is fresh in her mind. How was she supposed to fit that inside of her when she could hardly bear two fingers?
“Please don’t do it,” she whimpers, quietly and hardly coherent. “Don’t do it; I’m scared.”
Her brother gets onto the bed. Warm arms wrap around the squeeze her torso and she can feel the almost comforting presence of her brother as he hugs her. She can feel his erect penis pressed against her spine.
He kisses her back gently. “It is going to be alright,” he says slowly. “You were always a determined, stubborn little girl when you were younger, were you not?”
“Y-yeah. I was.” She blushes.
“Then you can push through, like you have been doing all this time.” His voice is almost scolding, like her father when she’s failed an exam.
Suzune steadies herself, willing all the fear out of her voice. “
“Okay.”
A large hand rubs her ass cheek. It doesn’t go away. For a moment, she thinks she can endure it, that when she reaches the end Manabu will smile with her and they can finally return to their lives as studious brother and sister. Together.
His balls slam against her ass; she can feel the little spikes from his pubic hair, but what hurts the most is his penetration. The saliva does nothing to ease the friction as Manabu forces his way through her compact little hole. She shuts her eyes and bites her lips so that it can bleed and make her forget everything except that she needs a tissue. The tears no longer stop on her eyelashes.
Inch by inch, nii-chan leans so close that she feels his hot breath, rash with titillated ecstasy.
“Nii-san, stop it!” she screams. “I don’t- I don’t think I- ”
Manabu doesn’t respond. He begins to thrust, making the mattress jolt in each wake. Again, again. She tries to take deep breaths - weren’t they supposed to help people calm down?! He rams so deep that she swears her spine is breaking somewhere and she chokes out a sob.
“I can’t do this… I really can’t… I-I-I’m sorry…”
Was this something a good sister would say? Her fingernails are imbedding themselves deep into her palm, some of her hair is wetter and slick. Saliva and tears mix and flow down her chest, rolling around the islands that were her boobs. Heartbeats stab and shatter again her ribcage, weaving into needles on the left side of her head.
“Please… nii-san, I can’t- ”
“I am going to cum, and then it will all be over, will that be alright?” he says, nearly moaning. His voice is no longer clever; it is tainting by lust and a lack of breath, making it come out stringy and faint.
She had no idea what she was expecting, throwing herself into something so blind. She thought she would be arched back like that girl on the front page, chin and eyes tilted upward, mouth open and tongue out in a display of pleasure. Maybe they could put on their pajamas and cuddle for a while afterward, telling personal thoughts and stories, look one another in the eyes and share the fullness of the moment.
But she knows, despite her best efforts, she knows that after this moment, her brother will retreat behind that distant curtain, revealing himself again only when they strip themselves naked, when she says yes and he can discharge his bursting desire. She will be full again, emptied as time flies and in search of something- anything.
She opens her eyes, wincing as hot liquid leaks into her ass. The shadows are hazy from the distorting tears beading her eyelashes. Her brother, who would braid her hair, help her with homework, share jokes with her. Where did he go? What went wrong? Desperately, she scrutinizes the corner, the wrinkled bedsheets, her translucent underwear, as if the past could leap out from any-which-where, and she could turn back time with the slide of a screen door.
And Restart.