Chapter 15:🌶️ Unbearable Closeness

The next morning...

Lying in the darkness, the thought returns, insistent, like a truth I refuse to face. This isn’t just desire. It’s not just those pictures, those words exchanged in the privacy of our virtual conversations. No, it’s something deeper—something I don’t have the strength to name.

With Emmy, everything felt simpler. She was this fascinating stranger, mysterious, confiding in me without filters, without walls. Our conversations were an escape, a space where I could be someone else, and where she seemed more herself than ever. Over the weeks, with every word, every confession, she awakened emotions in me I didn’t think I was capable of. I loved her way of seeing the world, her humor, her fragility hidden beneath her provocations. Without realizing it, I’d grown attached.

But today, I know Emmy is Emma. And that’s where everything falls apart. Because with that truth, everything becomes forbidden. It’s no longer just her pictures or her words that haunt me—it’s her. All of her. Everything she showed me as Emmy is now entwined with what I know of Emma, my sister, and I’m lost in the mix.

I don’t know how to handle what I feel anymore. Is it attraction? Is it something else? All I know is that these feelings shouldn’t exist, and yet they’re here—undeniable and painfully real. I’m trapped between the virtual image of her that captivated me and the reality of her presence, here, in my life.

And that’s what’s tearing me apart: it’s not just her body I want. It’s everything she is, everything she revealed to me in those messages. That person who seemed so free, so vulnerable at the same time. But how can I accept this without drowning in shame? How can I look Emma in the eye knowing I feel all this, knowing I think about her this way?

I wish I could erase it all, go back to before I realized Emmy and Emma were the same person. But it’s too late. What I feel is here—burning, unrelenting—and I have no idea how to make it go away.

Friday passes in a blur, the hours slipping through my fingers like grains of sand. I sit through classes, vaguely listening, but the essence of it all escapes me. The professors’ words echo around me, but they don’t stick. My mind is elsewhere, consumed by my recent exchanges with Emma—exchanges that have taken a turn I never dared to imagine. Desire and guilt intertwine, coiling inside me and creating a tension that’s unbearable.

Between classes, I pull out my phone to check my messages. Nothing new from her. But by late afternoon, a notification finally pops up.

Emmy (text): “Just wanted to let you know I’ll be busy all weekend. Not sure I’ll be able to reply. I’ll miss our chats ... So to make up for it, here’s a little something for you. 😘” Another notification follows immediately after, revealing a selfie of her in a bikini. She’s smiling, carefree, radiating an effortless lightness. A mix of frustration and desire floods through me, gripping me tightly in its hold.

Before closing our conversation, she sends one last message.

Emmy (text): “I can’t wait to talk to you again in a few days ... Don’t forget me too quickly! 😉” I stare at the photos for a moment, unable to tear my eyes away. My mind drifts again, imagining Emma in that bikini this weekend, hoping I might catch a glimpse of her wearing it ... The thought hits me suddenly, sending an uncontrollable shiver through my body.

By late afternoon, we all pile into the car for the trip to my grandparents’ house. The mood is cheerful; my parents seem thrilled about this family getaway, and Emma chats with them enthusiastically. She’s sitting up front, a smile on her face, her hair falling freely over her shoulders, and I can’t help but notice how beautiful she looks—even in the simplicity of her casual outfit.

The contrast between the intimacy of our virtual conversations and the physical closeness this trip forces upon us unsettles me more than I’m willing to admit.

The drive stretches on, but my gaze keeps drifting toward her. Her movements, so simple and unremarkable to anyone else, stir a tension in me that I try to hide. Every time she turns her head to say something, when her laugh rings out, or when her eyes briefly meet mine, a subtle shiver runs through me. I find myself watching her as though every little detail of her presence is imprinting itself onto me: the way she brushes a strand of hair back, the faint curve of her smile ... everything feels heightened, like I’m noticing for the first time the quiet beauty that makes her so captivating.

I do my best to appear indifferent, to join the conversation whenever I’m pulled into it, but my thoughts are elsewhere, entirely focused on her. A mix of excitement and nervousness builds in my chest, and I already know this weekend will be hard to navigate. Emma is right there, so close, yet I can’t stop thinking about everything we’ve shared in that virtual world—the side of her I’ve started to see differently, more vividly, more intensely.

Suddenly, she turns around and catches me lost in thought.

Emma: “Hey, Brice, are you asleep or what? We’re supposed to be having fun this weekend, not taking naps!” I force a smile, masking my unease.

Me: “Yeah, just ... a little tired, that’s all.”

She shrugs with an amused smile, letting it go, and turns back toward the front. Her laugh and carefree demeanor linger in my mind, intensifying that underlying tension.

We arrive at my grandparents’ house in the early evening, the sky painted in soft hues of twilight. They greet us enthusiastically on the doorstep of their large home, their faces glowing with warm smiles. After heartfelt hugs and affectionate greetings, we step inside and settle into the spacious living room for aperitifs. The room, bathed in a gentle golden light, is perfectly arranged, with trays of carefully prepared appetizers waiting for us.

The atmosphere is relaxed, and soon the conversations flow, giving the evening a pleasant rhythm. My grandmother, ever curious and attentive, starts asking her usual questions, particularly about Emma and me, clearly eager to hear about the milestones in our lives.

Grandmother: “So, Emma, how’s university going?” she asks with a kind smile. Emma: “It’s going great, thank you, Grandma!” she responds enthusiastically, sharing a few lighthearted anecdotes about her professors and classes. She’s vibrant, smiling, and filled with an energy that I can’t help but admire. As she talks about her friends and her future plans, her eyes sparkle, making her already radiant smile even more captivating.

I take a few sips from my glass, trying to focus on the conversations without letting my thoughts drift into forbidden territory. But she’s right there, so close, and her laughter, her voice, stirs something in me that I struggle to conceal. Her presence amplifies the underlying tension I’ve been carrying since our last exchange, leaving me in a constant state of unease.

After a few rounds of light conversation, my grandmother turns to me, her signature attentive smile warming her expression.

Grandmother: “And you, Brice? Law school must be keeping you busy, right? How’s it going for you?” I nod, doing my best to appear composed.

Me: “It’s going fine ... a lot of work, but I’m managing.”

Then, remembering the recent talks about my upcoming internship, I add:

Me: “I’ll be starting an internship at a law firm soon, so it should be a great experience.” My grandmother lights up at the news, clearly thrilled.

Grandmother: “Oh, how wonderful! An internship in law, that’s such an important step for you. You must be proud of yourself!” She looks at me with genuine interest, and I respond with a modest smile.

Me: “Yeah, I’m really looking forward to it.” Time moves on, and the conversation around me grows more animated. My parents jump in, adding a few words about my progress and the discipline required by my studies. They seem proud, but I struggle to stay focused—Emma’s presence keeps pulling at me, refusing to let me concentrate.

She, on the other hand, remains radiant, effortlessly absorbed in her conversation with our grandparents, as if nothing else exists. She responds enthusiastically to their questions about university, talking about her “classes” and “projects” with a confidence that almost makes me smile.

But I know better. I know she spends far more time on ForFanOnly than on her coursework, that she prefers posting provocative photos and engaging in virtual exchanges to attending the classes she’s neglecting. She’s selling her image, her body ... and yet here she is, smiling, almost innocent, in front of our grandparents, who don’t suspect a thing.

The minutes tick by, conversations weaving in and out, but I do my best to stay composed—to hide the storm raging inside me. Yet the tension doesn’t let up. It grows with every passing second, fueled by this obsession she stirs in me, this forbidden attraction I no longer know how to control.

After a few glasses of wine and in the middle of a lively conversation, my grandmother, looking slightly apologetic, announces a change in the weekend’s sleeping arrangements.

Grandmother: “Oh, I just wanted to let you know, kids, and I hope it won’t be too much of an inconvenience ... but part of the house is under renovation, and unfortunately, the south wing with the guest rooms is unusable at the moment. You’ll have to share the guest suite.” For a moment, I freeze, her words echoing in my mind. Share the suite with Emma? The idea hits me like a jolt, and before I can mask my reaction, I feel heat rising in my chest. A tension settles in, subtle but almost unbearable. Right next to me, Emma lets out a light laugh, accepting the news with an unsettling ease.

Emma: “Oh, no problem, Grandma! We used to share rooms as kids—it’s not a big deal.” Her tone is so casual, so carefree, that it completely disarms me. She seems utterly unbothered, as if this proximity holds no deeper meaning for her. And yet, I can’t stop the thrill I feel at the thought of sharing this space with her, of knowing we’ll be in the same room at night ... My thoughts spiral, and just imagining it sends a surge through me that’s hard to ignore.

My mom chimes in, smiling reassuringly.

Mom: “That’s true, you two used to share rooms all the time on vacations! It’ll be just like old times.” Emma laughs again, shaking her head lightly, her carefree demeanor in stark contrast to the storm building inside me.

I force a smile, determined not to let anything show, but my mind is racing. This is nothing like before. The childhood memories I shared with her feel so distant now compared to the stark reality of today—the constant tension I feel in her presence. Sharing the suite ... I can already picture it: the confined space, every small movement of hers magnified by the closeness, the unavoidable intimacy of it all.

Emma: “Well, as long as Brice doesn’t snore too much, it should be fine!” she says with a laugh. I feel my cheeks flush, struggling to keep my composure.

Me: “Don’t worry, I’ll do my best,” I reply, trying to feign indifference, even though my heart is pounding in my chest. She seems to find the whole thing amusing, but for me, every word, every laugh from her only deepens the unease—the desire I can’t seem to suppress.

The conversation flows on, and the evening slides gently into dinner, with everyone exchanging stories and memories. Emma remains animated, laughing and chatting with my grandparents as if nothing has changed, while I force myself to engage, to keep up the façade of being as relaxed as everyone else. But inside, my thoughts are consumed by the night ahead, by the inevitable closeness I dread as much as I crave.

The evening stretches on, and despite the warmth of the atmosphere, the tension inside me only continues to grow.

Dinner is served shortly after the aperitifs, and we all gather around the large dining table. My grandparents, as always, have gone all out, with plate after plate of delicious dishes making their way to the table. The conversations flow effortlessly, the atmosphere grows even more relaxed, and everyone seems to sink into the warmth of the moment.

Emma, sitting across from me, joins in with enthusiasm, sharing funny anecdotes and bursts of laughter. I can’t help but watch her, captivated by how effortlessly carefree she seems. She talks lightly, her words punctuated with occasional glances in my direction, and each smile she sends my way feels both innocent and deeply unsettling. I try to focus on the meal, to follow the conversation, but my thoughts keep wandering to the night ahead.

Grandfather: “So, Brice, are you ready for that internship at the law firm? That must be exciting!” I nod, forcing a smile.

Me: “Yeah, I’m really looking forward to it. It’ll be intense, but it’s going to be a valuable experience.”

Dad: “That’s great! It’ll be good for you to get out there and see how things work in the real world. Who knows, it might even be an opportunity to make some connections for the future.”

Their words pull me back to the present for a moment, their encouragements grounding me. But the reprieve is brief. Emma, visibly happy for me, flashes me a genuine smile.

Emma: “Law really suits you, Brice. I’m sure you’re going to crush it.”

Her compliment, as casual as it might seem, immediately reignites the tension I’ve been struggling to suppress all evening. I mumble a quiet “thanks,” quickly looking away to hide my unease, but I can still feel her gaze lingering, her presence wrapping around me, undeniable and all-consuming.

The evening continues, filled with laughter and light conversations, the atmosphere soft and intimate. But deep inside, the thought of the night ahead—of sharing that suite with her—takes up far more space in my mind than I care to admit. I keep slipping into my thoughts, picturing the moment we’ll be alone, confined to the same space.