Nobody's TwinMature

            A hook in my heart.

            The grief dug into her as a goad in the mouth of an animal. She sat alone, waiting with fading patience. The coffee shop was a nearly empty, foreboding place in the wintry night.

            The adolescent girl rolled up her sleeves, to hide the scars that marked her wrists. The bags below her eyes were deep and dark. She wore no make-up. Her hair was dyed a pale shade of mucose green, browning at the roots. And the black paint upon her short nails looked weathered.

            No body. Nobody.

            Wind stirred the room as a young man entered. She watched. Her heart leaped, as always, only to fall further. Thoughts brought her out of it, Physical resemblance only.

            A shag of dark brown hair, like a crown of broken chestnut shells. Pale skin, as of a sunless winter. Tall, tense-shouldered. And his smile, weak and modest.

            He took the opposite seat, and made firm eye contact, What'd she call me here for?

            She did not like his eyes. Her grip tightened around her hot chocolate. They were soberingly sad, and reminded her of what she had lost. Looking down, she broke the silence, "I wanted to return some things of his."

            His eyes grew tall, harshness in his voice, "And how will you remember him?"

            "His child grows within me," she answered. Her face became red, and she averted his gaze.

            The cashier at the counter pretended not to listen.

            "Adie, you're sure it's his?" he asked, Only sixteen.

            "There hasn't been anyone else, Jack. That is not how I grieve," she stated, As much as I'd love to take you by the collar.

            "D'ya plan to keep it?"

            "Umm... probably." Definitely.

            "How ya gonna cope, Adie? Drop out? Get a job?"

            Yes, "Only if I have to."

            "You seem to say it's how you'll remember him."

            Definitely, the thought echoed like a mantra in her mind. And she knew that there was new life within her.

            He looked at the denim bag on her lap, "You've waited a month, Adie, to return his possessions?"

            "Yeah," Adeline said, "somehow I didn't think, didn't believe, that he was dead."

            I know, I felt it too, he smiled, "It's okay."

            "Look, Jack," she told him, "the two of you are twins. I can hardly look at you without tearing up."

            He remained silent.

            "Have they caught the filthy bastard who took his body?"

            "No," Jack looked down at the table. His gaze was followed by his fist, slamming against it.

            Adeline took a long sip from her cup, savouring the warm, chocolaty scent. Then, she slid the denim bag across the table.

            He looked in, rummaging through miscellaneous objects, "I'll be sure to wash these, before I wear them."

            "Ewww," she whined. Too much info.

            "What's this piece of wood for?"

            Excuse me!? she frowned, then realized he wasn't talking innuendo, "Oh, that? I don't know. He left it at my place, he left all of this."

            He took it out, a crude wooden crucifix that came to four sharp points.

            "Jake found the Lord, before his de-- err... before his passing." Death.

            Jack frowned, "My brother believed in science, not in epic novels that belong in the fiction session."

            She stood, affronted, "Apparently, you didn't know him as well as you thought. Keep the bag."

            Jack watched as Adeline left the Tim Horton's outlet, cup in hand. The bag before him fell against the table, and lovers' mementos reached towards him. He rested his head upon his hands, and reflected upon all that had been said.

 

 

 

            Where am I?

            A youthful male woke upon a sheetless mattress. Clad in only t-shirt and underwear, he found himself sandwiched between a woman's folded legs. They squeezed against him, and then released. He could feel the head of his erection bobbing up and down between her calf and thigh.

            No, not here! Not her!

            She clenched it firmly in the pit behind her knee, and laughed softly. Curls of dark hair fell around their necks. The soft fabric of a brazier rubbed gently against his left-side ribs.

            A muted groan came from his mouth. He failed to move, finding that his arms and legs were lashed down, secured some place unseen beyond the mattress' edge.

            The woman's head rose to his ear, whispering, "I found you, havin' had fainted in your back yard." Her leg moved up and down, "I thought I'd nurse ya back to health, Jack."

            Jack.

            "Is something all right, dear?"

            "Yes, everything."

            "That's what I liked to hear," she told him as her left leg kicked open, and passed down past his loins.

            Pain shot up his spine, from his stiff, downward member. And he let out another stifled groan.

            "And, now?"

            "Yesss, every--fuckin'  thing is all right, Wendy."

            She moved down, dripping upon him, to the foot of the bed. Everything is all right? Says the virgin.

            He strained his neck to look down at what she was doing, yet he knew before the lips met his flesh. His stare at the ceiling became intense, and his breathing became heavy.

            Between smiling lips, Wendy's tongue taunted his glans. And with long-nailed, delicate hands, she withdrew his testicles from the pocket of his briefs. Then, she pulled it firmly up his waist, fabric tight around his prostate.

            He was immobile. The smooth cords around his arms felt like cloth. I am caught in a spider's web. And I will surely be her next meal.

            Saliva gurgled against her throat and his flesh, as she gagged upon his tumescence.

            He had the sudden urge to put a hand on the back of her neck. However, the bindings held him tight and he recoiled at the thought, This is such a chauvinist bit of foreplay. She's choking on me for my pleasure.

            Wendy's teeth grazed the skin of his shaft, and he whispered out her name. Her eyes looked up, along his old bleached shirt, and watched the involuntary reactions on his face.

            "Ohh, that feels great," he told her, "I love it when ya bite down."

            Her head kept moving up and down, upon him. And whenever she came to the base of it, she dug her teeth into the hardened flesh.

            "Suck harder, babe."

            She came off it, gasping, and went back down. It sent a shiver tingling up his back. And, because her jaw was getting sore, she tightened finger and thumb around the base. And then, she began to suck as hard as she could, pulling off him. Wendy was afraid she'd pierce the flesh... so she came off him.

            "What's wrong?"

            The only answer was a sheepish grin on her face, as she crawled up along his chest. Stretched out over him, she could feel his erection against her thigh.

            "No," he told her. "I want my first time to be a bit more special than this."

            She smiled smugly. He has no control.

            "Wendy, this ain't how I wanna spend the night."

            "Jack, part of you says otherwise," she observed, rubbing her leg against him.

            "I'll yell rape at the top of my lungs," he told her, "in the most womanly voice I can muster."

            "Rape!?" she frowned. "That's not what I had in mind."

            His brow furrowed, too. And silently, he pulled his arms down. He had finally managed to pull the lashes free.

            That was when her face contorted, and the twin fangs fell from her gums to thin points. In an instant, her face was at his neck. And as he struggled to yell, and push her away, the blood drained from his loins.

            The sucking continued, as he screamed accusations of murder and rape in a shaky, cracking falsetto.

            "Meeeorw!" came a snarling meow, from outside.

            Then, the window smashed and a graceful figure landed upon the glass shards with great, poised agility.

 

 

 

            Jack came home, with a coffee in hand, to the sound of smashing glass and a screaming woman. His parents were away, on a ski vacation, so the house was all his. Thus, he was worried.

            Was that our house or the neighbours'?

            His key turned in the lock. He rushed in, almost spilling his coffee. And then, he saw the lights on upstairs. He set his coffee down on the carpeted steps, dropped the bag from Adeline, and jumped up on every second step.

            Down the hall, he could hear a fight. Wendy!

            He rushed into the doorway, and saw the mattress still bare from when he was changing the sheets. And across it, Wendy stood, bleeding from the neck. She did not notice him, and he said nothing.

            Then he felt the chill winter wind, and heard the door slam behind him. And yet, she remained unfazed.

            A voice came from somewhere unseen, "The man who fled, was not your lover."

            "Thank you," she said. "You saved my life."

            A short figure stepped through the broken window frame. He smiled at her, from behind his masked helm. It was of brown and black fur,  and looked like a cat's head. He extended a clawed hand, which was gloved in more fur of chestnut and shadow, "Call me Cinnamon."

            It was clear that she was expected to kiss his paw.

            She brushed curls of black hair behind her ears, and approached him, "May I give my hero a proper hero's thanks?"

            He eyed her nearly naked body, "I am but twelve." Be polite...

            She blushed, "I meant but a kiss."

            He responded with a soft purr.

            Jack had heard about the feline-boy in the newspaper. He had not believed. Now, Cinnamon was making stalwart eye contact with him from across the room. They were inhuman orbs.

            Wendy bowed her head, "Thank you, once again, Cinnamon."

            He winked at Jack, sniffing the air. Between the fur of his outfit, his skin was dyed midnight, and patched with a muddy brown.

            Wendy realized she was in but a bra, and bent down to pick up a wrap-around skirt.

            "I have his scent," Cinnamon purred.

            "Good," she answered. Darn!|

            And then, the masked boy turned, and stepped serenely back through the frame. A black and brown tail curled between his legs. And Cinnamon leaped off the roof's edge as if he weighed not.

            "What was that!?"

            She turned, on the hardwood floor. Oh, Jack is here. "Nothing. I'm just grateful."

            "Not that. I mean, why's my window broken?"

            "Some pervert-jerkface saw me changin'," she lied, "and tried to break in."

            "Local tween superhero scares away rapist?"

            "Something like that," she said. "Let's go to bed. How is Adel holding up?"

            Jack did not answer. He did not want to discuss his brother before bed. That was always what caused the nightmares.

The End

6 comments about this story Feed