The Pact

What the bloody fucking hell did I get myself into here? How did I keep coming across females who slept with their family? Was I wearing a fucking sign on my back? Was it tattooed across my forehead?

I walked to the end of the porch, my morning run suddenly abandoned; I leaned over and grabbed the rail and tried to crush it in my grasp. I wasn't really trying to do damage ... just trying to get it to recognize me. I needed to make an impression on that wood; crack the paint, score it, SOMETHING. I needed to prove I was really here. I needed to prove this wasn't some fucking sick dream, some sick fucking perversion of reality. I needed to know this was real and I wasn't lying somewhere, in a coma or worse, dying, and this was some last gasp of my brain.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!" I screamed – but that was all in my head. My mouth opened, but wouldn't work. Nothing was working. My hands were clenched along the railing but I was doing no damage, making no mark. It was all hopeless and futile and...

I sagged to my knees, my hands still clutching that railing. I felt ... wasted. Empty. Alone. I looked up at the sky, but I didn't really see anything. I didn't want to see anything. I felt ... impotent.

It wasn't a good feeling.

Calm. Relax. Quiet. The words scorched through my brain, but they had no meaning. They were just sounds, noises I had once heard.

Calm Relax. Quiet. The words held no power over me. There was no center for me to find because there was no me. I had finally lost it. I was no longer in charge of the asylum.

CALM. RELAX. QUIET. I was hanging on those words, trying to imbue them with meaning. I needed them. I needed them as an anchor to a world that just plain wasn't making sense any longer. I needed them to find myself because I had lost me somewhere along the way.

CALM! RELAX! QUIET! I let those sounds fill me. I let the meaning of those sounds suffuse me. Not the fucking meaning you can find in a dictionary; their meaning to ME. I let them anchor me in the storm of emotion going through me. I wrapped them around me, letting them calm me. The black rage that was boiling in the pit of my stomach like bile, seeking a way out, trying to own me yet again. That would not do. I needed this, the center of the storm.

I opened my eyes on a world suddenly devoid of color; the greens and browns and yellows and reds fading to differing shades of gray. I listened to my breath, measured it. In. Out. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. I closed my eyes and lifted my face to the sun, just rising over the plains; its tongues of reds and yellows arcing across the sky.

I felt myself settle. I felt the control return to me. It had been a close thing. With a deep breath I bottled my rage, my anger, my love, my hate ... all my emotions. As I blew it out, I imagined all of my emotions blowing out of me with that breath.

I rose. I felt renewed. In control. My emotions were in check. For now.

I turned to the end of the porch, my steps slow and even, my forehead creased in disbelief. I simply couldn't believe it. I had to be dreaming. There was just no way I could have hit upon another incestuous family. My wife ... and now my administrative assistant? Was I just a victim of bad luck or was I somehow drawn to these people? Or maybe incest was far more prevalent that I'd known...

Calm. Relax. Quiet. It was more than my mantra. Right now, it was my life. I force fed myself that refrain, trying to find a quiet place in my brain but I'd pushed it as far as it could go ... and it wasn't nearly enough. The emotions I'd hoped to blow to the winds returned ten-fold; I felt them crashing around and through me. I could feel my anger just below the surface threatening to consume me. Everything I'd gone through for the past few months, all of the anguish and crushing pain, all of it was rising within me, boxing me in, pushing the walls in on me, over me, under me ... I was losing it, falling, a dark chasm opening at my feet and threatening to consume what little of me was left.

I struggled within myself, trying to find some last corner of conviction and faith but there was precious little left. I needed the conviction that I would make it through this and the faith that I would be able to eventually rise above it. I needed the hope that had been crushed out of me the past few months ... but I couldn't find any. I needed to learn to control myself before I lost control completely. I needed to control the warring halves of my mind before there was none of my brain left; but I could feel the schism as it seemed my very soul split

This was Amber all over again. This wasn't Amber. There was no history between us; Jeanie hadn't lied to me for the past five years. She'd brought me here for a reason. "It's my turn," she'd said. She had planned this, not considering how it'd make me feel. She'd offered me a family when I needed one. She'd offered me her family. It had been my decision to come. She should have told me. She should have explained things. Why? We aren't even dating. She owed me no explanation. Not yet. Maybe, if things progressed...

This was another family I could never be a part of; another window I would never be able to breach. There was no hope of a future here; I'd always be second best. It hadn't even gotten that far. I was attracted to Jeanie but we weren't a couple; we had no past ... and maybe no future. Still, the potential was there. Jeanie had said she'd loved me; she'd fought with her sister because she had fallen for me. Love wasn't enough; love could never be enough. No, it's not enough. But it is an essential ingredient.

I'm setting myself up for failure. There could be no success without the attempt; the only failure is to never have tried. I already tried; I failed. I'm a failure. I couldn't even keep my wife. She failed me; I didn't fail her. There was nothing wrong with me. Keep telling myself that, buddy. Keep telling myself I'm not a failure as I lose another one to her family. This needn't be either or. I could still have a family and allow her freedom. No. I can't. That isn't me. It isn't me ... but love sometimes requires some sacrifice. I am not that man. I'm not jealous, but I must be first ... and in this situation I'd never be first. Why couldn't I be first? Jeanie was arguing the point with her older sister because she thinks she loves me...

Do I really want to start down this road? Do I really want to take that chance again? I don't know, do I? I'll always be looking in if I don't try to climb through the window...

As my mind did battle with itself, I sunk down into the two-seat glider situated at the end of the porch. As my headache coursed through my brain, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. I was so tired of fighting myself; I felt like I was on a treadmill, running as hard as I could and getting nowhere.

I had sunk the past three months of my life in my revenge. I had lived in there, reveled in it and meanwhile my life had stopped, ended. I was in the same spot now as I had been three months ago. Was it worth it? Had I accomplished anything?

Yes. I had to be honest. I had. Not emotionally, not constructively but my revenge is the only thing that let me get through the past three months without slitting my wrists. I needed this revenge; needed it like I needed air to breathe. I needed for Amber to fully realize all that she'd stolen from me. I needed her to share at least in some small part the pain I'd felt. I couldn't live with anything less.

But I was on empty. There was literally nothing left. I had no more of myself to give. I had to let go of something. I couldn't let go of my revenge ... not yet, not now ... but if I continued ... if I kept going ... I was going to end up a shell, filled with nothing but anger and hate.

This was it, then. This was the end. I went through my list of contingency plans and all of my thoughts of further revenge and locked them in a small box in my mind. I could leave this as it was; I had to leave this as it was – if not, my anger would take over and I'd be lost. I could live with what was already planned and it would satisfy me ... always assuming Amber and her family left me alone from now on. The love I felt for her would never die; it couldn't. True love was forever and some small part of me would grieve forever for what might have been ... but it was time to move on. It was just time; time to try to let the anger go.

I allowed my eyes to open feeling oddly cleansed. I felt as if a burden had lifted from me. The rage wasn't completely gone and I worried that it would never be fully erased but it was at least lessened. Manageable. I still wasn't comfortable in my own skin ... but I could see a path to where I could be. Eventually. It all depended on me.

Jeanie was hesitantly walking towards me, her arms clutching her stomach and tears streaming down her face. Her eyes were turning red, as red as her hair, so I knew she'd been crying for more than a few minutes. She looked pitiful, her body trembling and shaking with sobs, and my heart went out to her in spite of myself.

My gaze was naturally drawn to her dress or, more accurately, her lack of dress. She was wearing her sleepwear, a thin nightshirt that came to mid-thigh and she hadn't bothered with a robe. Strangely, all I could think about was how cold she must be; we were in the southern part of the U.S. so even at Thanksgiving it wasn't exactly cool, but it was cold enough. She looked so vulnerable inching her way down the porch to me. I was a bit confused to find myself wanting to get up and comfort her; to hold her, to dry her tears, to keep her warm.

Why? Why did I feel this way for her? I felt betrayed. I felt foolish. I felt hurt. Beyond all of that, I felt ... something ... for this girl?

Why? Why did my heart beat faster whenever she was near? Why did the sound of her voice fill me with happiness? Why was I willing to sacrifice, to take this chance? How could I be willing to take the chance that she would hurt me ... maybe even hurt me more than Amber had?

"I'm ... I'm ... so ... so ... so ... sorry," she sniffed, tears still streaming down her cheeks. "Please ... please ... don't hate me. Please. Please don't."

"Hate you?" I asked, feigning incredulity. I was trying not to let the bile of my anger rush up and out of me. Sadly, though, I didn't hate her. I was ... discontent ... but there was neither hatred nor malice in my heart for this young woman. In fact, there was, oddly enough ... a different emotion stumbling somewhere below my notice. "Why would I hate you?"

"I can't understand what the hell is going on, so how could I possibly hate you?" I wanted to add, but didn't. I was drifting, aimless. I was floating away, never to return. I felt that chasm opening again, felt myself teeter at the brink ... and, god help me, I used this woman ... this girl ... as a rock to keep me from falling. I needed an anchor to hold me back from the abyss and she was the only one available.

Somewhere deep inside, I could hear a dry chuckle echoing. A part of me was amused by this whole thing; not a laugh out loud or even chuckling amusement but rather a relieved amusement. For a few seconds there, when I'd run out to the porch, I was scared I was going crazy.

"I ... because ... Olivia ... Rachel ... I ... I'm so-so-sorry," she cried again, her tears welling even more. "I shou-should have-have t-t-t-tol-told you..."

Suddenly, I knew it was just too far. I couldn't let her suffer like this any further; I couldn't let me suffer like this anymore. It wasn't funny and I was just causing her pain ... pain I wasn't sure she deserved. Sure, she'd offered to bring me here ... maybe under false pretenses ... but I was the one who'd agreed. Which of us was more at fault? And what fault was there?

I took a deep breath and came to an instant decision I hoped I'd not regret. I couldn't live my life under a rock. Maybe this was a bad idea – but it was an idea. I couldn't hide from what happened with Amber and I was scared shitless it was happening again, that history was repeating ... but I'd never been one to shy away from chances. It was what made me a good businessman.

I stood up quickly and held her by her upper arms. I looked deep into her eyes, ducking my head, keeping my countenance serious. "Why should you have told me, Jeanie?" I asked earnestly, my voice soft and just loud enough for her to hear. The truth was that we weren't at that point in our relationship. We'd not even dated much less gotten to the point where we could share our sexual history with one another. "When should you have told me? On your resumé? When you invited me down here? On the way down here? When?"

"I-I-I j-just do-don't want t-t-to be l-like Amb-Amber," she sobbed, hanging her head.

"The situations aren't even remotely similar," I said soothingly. I slowly led her back to the glider I'd been sitting on and sat her down and then sat next to her. "Amber ... Amber kept me in the dark for all the time I knew her. I told you before ... on the way up here ... I didn't expect her to just come up to me and tell me she was sleeping with her brother. I don't blame her for that. I wouldn't have expected it until we got serious with one another. But we ... you and me ... we haven't even been on a date yet. This ... whatever this is ... it's nothing like what happened between me and Amber."

"You ... you don't hate me?" she said, her eyes filled with the barest spark of hope as she glanced up at me before dropping her face back towards the ground.

"No," I said firmly, keeping my eyes on her. I was just a little surprised that there was no argument from within me. There simply was not hate there. "Not even remotely. What you do ... who you do it with ... it's not really any of my business. Who am I to judge?"

"I want it to be your business," she said so softly I almost missed it. Her tears were beginning to dry up as she looked up at me. "I've ... I've been ... attracted ... to you since that first day when you interviewed me. I knew you were married so I tried to ... to stay away, but..." Her voice trailed off as her eyes turned back to the ground.

"Well, we might have to discuss it then," I sighed softly. I sat back in the seat, my eyes staring out into the fields across the unpaved street.

Did I want to pursue this? After what I'd just found out, was this something I could feel comfortable about? Could I live with what I knew? What happened if we got serious? Would I be able to handle her sleeping with her sisters if we were serious about each other? Would she be able to stop if I couldn't? I was at odds again; I both wanted to try this and didn't want to bother with it.

First things, first. Did I want to pursue this? My eyes glanced back at the young woman sitting next to me, her hands twisting in her lap, her eyes on the ground. She seemed so small all of a sudden, so unlike the dynamic woman who stood up to our clients, who managed most of our office.

I realized that the question wasn't even relevant because if I hadn't wanted to pursue this I wouldn't have come down here. Somewhere, on some subconscious level, beyond the obvious attraction I felt, beyond the dangers of an office romance, I had wanted to spend time with the attractive red-head beside me. It had only been three months since Amber and I'd ended ... and I was ready, once again, to take a chance. The only question was if this was the chance I wanted to pursue ... and I realized that deep down, I'd already answered that question.

"Are you sure?" I asked quietly, my thoughts surging through my head. "I mean, what happens if we get serious? If I ask you to stop sleeping with your sisters? Could you handle that?"

She looked up into my eyes and, seeing the serious question in them, closed her own. With her face still towards me, she took a deep breath and spoke slowly and carefully. "I love my sisters. I love being with them. I love ... I love making love to them." She opened her eyes. "I think I could stop, though. If that is what you want, I could stop."

Before I could say anything, she opened her eyes and continued. "But you need ... you deserve to hear everything. I want to hold no secrets from you."

She sat quietly for a second, her chest hiccupping with the occasional sob. "It wasn't supposed to be this way. I told you we moved here when I was 13, right? Well, as you can imagine, I didn't have any friends at first. Eventually, I made a very close friend with a girl my age named Audrey." She looked across the road, where an old farmhouse was set a few hundred feet back. "She lived there, with her mother. Her father and mother were divorced; her mother had inherited the farm so they kept it. They hired hands to work it. It was very pretty back then; Mr. and Mrs. Raeforth have let it run down a bit, of late."

"She wasn't happy," she continued, sniffling. "Everyone thought she was, but she wasn't. She hated that her parents were split up. She blamed herself ... and they didn't help. Whenever they'd get together, whenever her father'd get her for visitations, her mom and dad'd yell at each other and they'd yell at her. Each of them tried to get her to spy on the other, each of them would drink and blame her for their problems. She hated being there, hated living there, she wanted to run away but she wasn't even 14 years old ... where would she go? She felt lost and didn't know what to do about it."

"I'd known her for about 6 months when she committed suicide," Jeanie continued, her voice going ever so slightly softer. "Her mother found her, lying in the bathtub, her wrists slit open and dried blood all over the floor. She left a note for me in our mailbox; she told me not to worry about her, not to cry. She said that she was ready for whatever came after and that I should be happy for her ... but I wasn't. I missed my friend."

"I'm sorry," I said softly. There was such pain in her voice, such sorrow, that I felt any words I used would be inadequate to comfort her.

She nodded in acknowledgement. "Moving here was great for dad but not so great for mom," Jeanie said wistfully. "Dad fit right in, but Mom had a really tough time adjusting. They started arguing, yelling at each other. Everything got so tense ... and I couldn't help but think about what had happened to Audrey; what had happened to her parents and then to her. I wondered if history were repeating itself somehow. If whatever had happened in that house had somehow spread here. I wasn't sure I could take my parents getting a divorce."

"Dad moved out to the bunkhouse for a bit," there were new tears in her eyes now. "I ... I started getting depressed. I wasn't sleeping because I was having such horrible nightmares. I would cry myself to sleep at night, wake up from a nightmare and cry some more. I hated being in this house, hated being in this town, I hated school ... everything."

"Rachel had just turned 16 at the time and she heard me crying myself to sleep one night," Jeanie continued. "She came in and comforted me. She tried to leave when I started to settle down and sleep ... but every time she'd just get out of bed, I'd wake up and start crying some more. Finally, she just crawled under the covers with me and held me as I slept. I didn't have any nightmares that night, just snuggled up with my big sis."

"That's how it started," Jeanie intoned, her eyebrows rising as she looked at the ground; they were still red and wet with unshed tears. "Not right away and, to be honest, not all at once. It was little things, inconsequential things. Her arms around me, at first. Then we were huddling together, her leg between mine. One night I woke up ... it was late, dark ... and she was there, inches from my face, her own eyes opened, looking at me. I felt so much love just then, so safe in her arms ... that ... I don't know what came over me ... but I kissed her. She was surprised at first, but then she kissed me back. That's all that happened, that time..."

"That was the beginning, though," she continued, searching my eyes for any recrimination. "After that ... we started kissing each other whenever we were in bed together. It just ... felt right. She was comforting me, holding my demons at bay and I was so happy and loved and ecstatic to have her there. One night, though, I woke up to the bed swaying ... and I could see Rachel in the moonlight, her nightshirt raised to her hips, her hand in her panties ... she was moaning softly, grunting as her hand moved. I asked her what she was doing and she yanked her hand out of her panties and I could see it glisten in the moonlight. I didn't ... I had never ... masturbated ... before. She showed me, though. She showed me what she was doing, how I could make myself feel so good with my hands..."

"Then, one night, not too long after, we were side by side in bed, the covers at our feet," she continued, her eyes staring unseeing out into space. "We were naked, or close to naked, each of us only had on our panties. I was amazed at the breasts that Rachel had; mine were just these little bumps but Rach had TITS and I was envious. I'd look at them as my finger was rubbing my clit, my other hand swiping up and down my slit on the outside of my underwear. It was feeling so good and I was so close ... and then ... Rachel reached one of her hands over ... and cupped my little puffy breast. She ran her fingers over the skin, flicking softly at the nipple. I was so close ... so close ... and then ... then Rach did something I would never, ever have thought of. She bent over and took my nipple in her mouth..."

"I'd never cum that hard before," Jeanie whispered. "I had such a huge orgasm that I saw stars. It was as if I could feel every single cell of her tongue on the tip of my left nipple ... and every single cell shot off individual fireworks inside of me. It was amazing..."

"When I woke up, Rach was smiling down at me, her face above mine by a few inches," Jeanie smiled, remembering. "The kiss we shared then was ... it was different. It was ten times as passionate as any kiss we'd shared before. She had her tongue in my mouth, licking lightly against mine, her body half over me. She was stroking my side, the side of my breast, my waist. She moved her leg in between mine and rubbed my pussy with her thigh and I ... I ... it felt soooo good ... that I started humping against her ... and the orgasm I had on her leg, moaning my release into her mouth, was just as strong, maybe stronger, than with her licking at my nipple."

"The next night, we didn't even bother putting on our nightshirts ... or our panties..." she smiled, her eyes off in her own memories. "She taught me what she could do with her fingers on my pussy that night. It was glorious, her mouth alternating between my lips and my breasts, her fingers dancing on my clit and down my pussy lips. I shuddered my way to at least three orgasms that night but it could have been so many more ... I lost track of a chunk of time that night."

"Then, it was my turn; my turn to have my fingers for the first time on a pussy that wasn't my own. She instructed me, telling me what to do to make her feel good. I felt my lips on her nipples and I felt a hunger inside of me that I had never known. I couldn't get enough of her tits; I tried to almost swallow them. I could hear her moaning my name, could feel her hand on my head, the other gripping the sheet on the bed. I could feel her heat, her breathing, I could feel how wet her pussy was on my fingers and could hear her heart beating against my ear. And when I finally made my sister cum, it was the best feeling in the world..."

"But we were caught," she said, glancing at me. "Olivia had heard us. She thought I was in trouble, thought I was having another nightmare ... but when she came in, she saw Rachel and I pleasuring each other. She came in and closed the door quietly, but it didn't matter as we likely wouldn't have heard her ... we were in our own world, Rachel coming down from her orgasm and me suckling on her boob in ecstasy."