I must always practice kindness, especially with people I dislike, I remind myself as I gaze at my reflection, repeating the virtue of kindness while studying my reflection. My eyes appear shallow, not prominent or strong enough, so I add thick black eyeliner to enhance them. Much better.

“Bell, hurry, I need the washroom,” my older brother, Gary, calls. He changed this year, from mean to whiny wimp. Bully to bullied. He yells again, “Bell, hurry.”

He entered public school for grade twelve, stating that it resembles the university experience. In other words, he did it to have better access to public school girl sluts. However, he discovered the hard way that public school kids do not put up with his shit.

“Bell, please.”

Now, he cries in his room at night. Mom and Dad refuse to transfer him back. They say he needs to toughen up.

“Bell?”

Gary taps on the locked door. Grrr, I have not finished yet - kindness, I must practice the virtue of kindness, with everyone, so I unlock the door to let him in.

“Jesus, Bell, you’re naked,” Gary exclaims as he rushes in but pauses and gazes at me.

A week ago, I thought I needed to wear clothes in front of him, but now, I know siblings can do this without sinning, so I tease him with high hopes that my older brother, the one I grew up with, will return and fulfill my desires. The sniveling wimp stays dominant, so far.

“I’m not done - yet,” I force myself to remain calm and add more eye shadow.

I mentally repeat, ‘Kindness.’

He dances the pee dance, avoiding my naked body. My real brother remains buried deeper than I originally thought. I lean forward to pretend to adjust my eye shadow and he smacks my bare butt.

Finally!

“Right, well hurry, because I have to pee.”

His gaze travels up and down my body as he checks me out. The bastard has returned. Kindness has helped uncover my real brother. The strong one that taught me bravery and toughened me. I mean, fuck, I let him stare. I love my brother. Secretly.

“It’ll take the time it takes,” I brush my curly brown hair.

Does he stare at my breasts? I love my breasts, my best body part, firm and high on my chest, with puffy red areola. No, he stares at my bush. I need to shave again, the stubble has returned.

“Come on, Bell, I need to pee.”

Nope, the whiny wimp has returned.

Last year, he would have picked me up and thrown me out. Or onto his bed. Fuck, such a whiny wimp.

“I’m not stopping you,’’ I chuckle at his embarrassment.

I need darker lipstick. I need something more severe than cherry red, my darkest color.

“Bell,” he continues the pee dance.

I turn on the water to taunt him before remembering - kindness. I need to show him kindness. I pretend to wash my hands and then turn it off. “G, your choice, piss in the toilet or your pants, I’ll be late if I don’t finish this.”

I hope he pees his pants. He made me piss my pants at my fifth birthday party. Older and bigger, he has tormented me for years.

“Fuck, Bell, you bitch,” he drops his pants, pulls his dick from his underwear, and pisses.

“All done,” I toss a wet face cloth to him. Instinct moves his hand, saving his face from the rag, but his pee stream jerks and covers the toilet and his sock.

“Fuck, Bell!”

I walk away laughing. Now, Gary must change his clothes and wash the toilet. Payback!

Guilt wells up in my heart. Kindness. I took a vow of kindness. Shit, I turn around and head back to the washroom. “Sorry, G, I’ll clean the toilet.”

He finishes and puts his soft, but fun-sized, snake away. How much will it grow?

“Thanks, Bell,” Gary, grateful? No fucking way. Maybe kindness does work.

I rummage under the sink pulling out the disinfectant spray and two rags. Gary stares at my ass as I back up, causing my heart to flutter. Has my real brother returned? Will he do something?

I wiggle my ass. Either the old version of Gary returns, and we play together, or I torture the new Gary, either way, I win. No, kindness - I need to show kindness to my brother.

Ms. Barrett word’s echo in my mind, “As siblings, we could engage in family affection.” Old Gary would have shown affection in how my body wants, but I must show kindness to new Gary.

I shuffle to the toilet and spray blue disinfectant on the pee puddles. I give Gary one rag and wipe with the other. With little space beside the toilet, we bump into each other as we clean, leading to him pushing me away. I retaliate with a kick to his leg, unbalancing him, and sending him to the floor.

Gary’s eyes narrow, but he wears a grin from childhood when we had fun together. He lunges awkwardly but effectively, causing me to fall on my back, and he straddles me. A hard push doesn’t do anything to remove him. His hands shoot to my armpits, my most ticklish spot. Thrashing, and too weak to stop him, his tickling increases, and I can barely breathe.

“You’re mine now, Bell,” he lowers his face to mine, “I’ll make you pee your pants again.”

“I’m not wearing any.”

The world pauses, our gazes meet as boy and girl, not brother and sister. His bulge grows closer to my chin while his palms touch the edges of my breasts. My skin burns where his hands rest.

“Ahhh,” the moment breaks, and Gary runs from the washroom. Too bad, I wanted to see his penis erect. Such a wimp. How can a guy change so much?

Mom and Dad leave for work. Dressed and ready for school, I join Gary, with his puffy and swollen eyes, at the breakfast table. “Have you been crying?” Never, ever, have I seen him cry.

“I gotta go,” he says as he jumps up from the table and rushes away.

Moments pass before I shout, “Gary, what happened?” but he has gone.

I grab a banana for breakfast and sprint after him, as wrongness and dread consume me. I need to know what happened to the brother I used to have.

He walks with purpose, not once glancing behind him, making him easy to follow, although I stay off to the side and have my hoodie pulled up, just in case. He turns into a back lane. Since transferring to the public school, he’s acted strangely.

I peek around the corner, not sure what to expect, maybe a drug deal, or a secret girlfriend. Gary peers up at two huge, scary men. My eyes would only come to their chests. One wears a simple plaid jacket with long, greasy hair. The other wears a white tank top, his defined arm muscles covered in a jagged, ugly, black tattoo, accenting his prominent veins. He has an angry red scar on his shaved head.

Gary hands them my gold bracelet, explaining where some of my jewelry went. Shit, drugs? No, they pocket the trinket without giving him anything back. It also explains why Gary doesn’t wear his gold chains anymore. I just thought he finally outgrew that phase.

I lean out too far because the long-haired lumberjack yells, “Who’s that?” Gary and the other guy spin to stare at me.

“Come over here, Darling,” the long-haired guy steps in my direction.

I spin to leave, but Gary’s fearful voice stops me, “Fuck Bell, get out of here!”

I can’t leave him. Maybe my new ‘kindness superpower’ will save the day.

“Hey guys, what are you doing?” I smile at the pair. ‘Kill them with kindness,’ With my chest thrust out, I stride to them, stepping over oily puddles and around discarded garbage bags.

“Your girlfriend’s fuckin’ hot,” Scar guy leers at me. I don’t correct him.

I swing my hips to bounce the skirt of my school uniform. I half grin as three sets of eyes stare at my creamy thighs, exposed in my short skirt, and the bounce in my step. The bright white blouse and matching knee-high socks force their gaze to my thighs and what’s between them. My stupid, ugly, black shoes squeak, threatening to undo the magical effect. ‘Fuck Mom, I told you I needed new ones.’

“Hey guys, what’s up?” I swallow my fear and smile at them.

The hippy guy attempts to stay classy, trying to smooth talk me, but fails, “Your boyfriend owes us money and his trinket barely covers the interest.”

“Leave her alone, she has nothing...” Gary begins before Scar Guy doubles him over onto the ground with a fist to the gut. My eyes widen in fear, ‘What have I gotten myself into?’

“How much?” I ask, but do I want to know? Do I care? I hate my brother, except I don’t.

They smile at me. They can see and smell my fear. They want me afraid.

“Maybe you could cover his debts,” the hippy dude’s voice drips with fake elegance.

Up to this year, I would have laughed at Gary, curled on the ground with Scar head’s foot on his head. Now, I need to protect him. Shit, his softness has corrupted me.

Fucking kindness! Everyone can act virtuous under easy conditions, but only strong people can act virtuous under duress, like this moment.

“Bell, no,” Gary mumbles from under Scar guy’s dirty boot, forcing Gary’s reddening face further into the slimy ground.

“Let the little lady decide for herself,” Scar head sneers at me.

I could walk away. If I do, Gary will get hurt, but if I stay, I will get fucked for Gary’s debts. How much do I love my brother? Enough to let these guys fuck me? Fuck, kindness hurts. Why did I take the vow of kindness? No one would know if I walked away, except Gary and I. Gary already said I should go. I could turn around and leave, but I would know, and I couldn’t live with that weakness.

What a person does in times of crisis determines their true strength, it defines them.

Besides, if they rape me, I will not only not have sinned, I will have saved my brother’s life.

Would they do me at the same time or take turns? Could I give my virginity to these thugs? Do I have a choice?

“Ok.”

“What, little girl?” Scar head leans in closer. His alcoholic breath smells horrible. Who needs to drink this early in the day? Fucking loser.

An action hero would give him an uppercut and knock him out, but as a catholic schoolgirl, not a superhero, I do the right thing, “Yes, I said, yes.” I reply as I try, but fail, to meet his leer. Instead, I scrutinize dirty clothes soaking in a colorful puddle nearby.

Bravery means confronting your fears. I stand taller and stay brave, I shift my gaze, now meeting the leer, daring Scar head to do something. His red eyes widen, but he smiles at my challenge.

“Excellent, come with us,” the hippy guy offers his hand. I glance at it and then down at the boot on my brother’s head. Scar head laughs but removes it and his arm snakes around my shoulders, as the hippy guy retracts his calloused hand.

Scar head’s strong arm forces me forward. I might enjoy the strength that radiates from him, but I know his secret, a scared little boy, play-acting as a man, while adrenaline courses through my body, and my fear grows into a powerful aphrodisiac, he does not excite me anymore. Lust flows through me, and the menace they exclude heightens the desire for these boys to take me at the same time, one in each hole, but I will wait for a real man to take my virginity.

“Mr. Hassen will like her,” the hippy guy chuckles and slaps my ass.

“Young, cute, with a nice rack,” Scar head’s hand tightens around my shoulders.

The two lead me to a dented metal door, with no outside handle. The hippy kicks the door a few times before stepping back. It opens out, revealing a black tunnel with a small red light at the end, something like what my girlfriends and I have always imagined the tunnel to hell would look like. A large shadow of a man, partially illuminated by the outside light, holds the door for us.

Scar head, with his arm still around me, guides me in. Hippy follows.

My fear and lust grow in tandem. Along the short hallway, we pass four doors before going through the door at the end, the one with the small red light above it. We enter a stage before taking a small set of stairs to a table, where the most handsome man sits eating breakfast. The bacon and eggs smell delicious and my stomach reminds me that I missed eating.

“Who is this?” he asks in a low, smooth voice, like thick butter, but with a sinister undertone.

Is he the mafia? All the movies have led me to imagine that he will kill me. I hope the three take me first, over the table with all three holes filled. My knees grow weak in fear and lust.

“She’s here to pay Gary Sattenkurt’s debt,” Scar head guides me to sit across from the mafia boss.

We scrutinize each other. Mafia-man has well-cut, mousy, brown hair, which compliments his severe facial features. His brown eyes never blink. He wears a blue, casual, collared shirt, with the top two buttons undone, showing off his Saint Christopher medallion and gold chain.

“Are you hungry?”

I can only stare at the scary man.

“Get her avocado on toast.”

His scrutiny moves from my face, to my chest to my hands, and then back to my eyes. I don’t mention that I hate avocados. The hippy guy leaves while Scar head sits at the table. Scar head and the mafia guy have the same nose. Maybe brothers?

“It’s kind of you to take over your boyfriend’s debt,” the mafia guy doesn’t blink enough.

“He’s my brother,” I need him to know the truth.

He nods to pretend to care. He finally ends his stare and returns to his breakfast.

“Gary owes us a lot of money,” Scar head says in an attempt at a menacing voice, that sounds childish.

The mafia man nods his head and cuts a piece of bacon. Holding the piece up, he asks, “Tell me and my little brother about yourself.”

I pause to calm my mind, “My name is Bella and you’re the most beautiful person I have ever met.” Where did that come from?

“Thank you. That is kind,” he grins with only lips, his eyes remaining focused.

No one speaks. The hippy guy returns with a piece of toast and avocado on it. I push the green puke stuff off and bite the gross dry toast.

“Do you not like it?” Mafia man asks.

“I hate avocado and there is no butter on the toast.”

“Well shit, Paul, get her buttered toast,” the Mafia man gestures to the hippy.

Scarhead bangs his hand on the table and points his finger at the hippy guy, Paul, “And some jam and coffee.” The mafia man finally eats the piece of bacon as Paul scurries away.

“What’s your name?” I ask and stare at his scarred hands.

“Luke,” Scarhead interrupts, as he leans and leers.

“And I am Jonathan,” the mafia man cuts another piece of bacon.

“Based on your outfit, you go to the local all-girls catholic school, or did you dress like this to fulfill one of my oldest fantasies?” Jonathan asks. He eats the tiny piece, and his white teeth flash in the club lights. Even his chewing radiates strength, with his jaw muscles flexing as he chews.

“And I assume you are the local mafia leader based on your scary sidekicks.” Jonathan’s eyes widen before smiling, while Luke growls at the ‘sidekick’s’ comment.

My sexual odor assaults my nose, threatening to tell everyone my desires.

“When does school begin?” Jonathan asks.

I pull out my phone to look, “In five minutes.”

He reaches out for my phone and I hand it to him before I think about it.

“After school, text me, and my - sidekicks - will pick you up.” He types into my phone.

Paul returns with toast and white coffee.

“‘Sidekick Luke’ and ‘Sidekick Paul’ drive this lovely lady to school. You can eat on the way, Bella,” Jonathan returns to eating.