Jake stirs behind me.

Keys hit the floor. A curse follows. Slurred. Angry.

My sister.

Jake sits up fast. "Fuck," he mutters.

The hallway light flips on, spilling into the room like a spotlight. I freeze.

Susan's stumbling around out there, muttering, her keys clattering again.

Jake's already yanking on his clothes. Boxers. Shorts. Shirt twisted and inside out.

He doesn't say a word. Just glances at me once, then steps out into the hall.

I hear his footsteps move toward the noise.

"Jakie," Susan sings, voice fake-sweet, thick with booze.

"Don't touch me." His voice is hard. Icy.

"Why are you being like this?" she whines.

"Because I know," he snaps.

Silence.

"What are you even talking about?" Susan tries to sound innocent, but her voice wavers.

"You're screwing that doctor, Susan."

Silence again. Heavier this time.

"No, Jake. I'd never. You know that." Her voice softens, dripping sugar. "Now lower your voice. You'll wake Becky."

He doesn't.

"I saw the fucking reel your friends posted."

Another pause. No denial.

I creep toward the door, still wide open from when Jake rushed out. I reach for it, slowly easing it shut, as quietly as I can.

But I stop.

Leave it cracked. Just enough.

"Jake..." she says, her voice smaller now. "I'm sorry."

More silence.

"Tell me," Jake barks.

"What?"

"Everything."

"Jake..."

"Tell me, Susan," he snaps, "or I swear to God, I'm out that door in a flash."

I shouldn't be listening. Seriously.

But I stay right there, ear to the gap, heart pounding.

And then I feel it. Warm. Slow. Jake's cum sliding down my thigh.

I bite the inside of my cheek. The timing, the way it hits me all at once, makes my chest tighten.

"He kissed me tonight. I... I pushed him away. That's all," Susan says.

Liar.

Jake's voice is bitter. "Didn't look that way in the video."

A pause.

Then Susan snaps, defensive. "Okay, fine. I kissed him back. But only because I was drunk. It was stupid. It didn't mean anything. I swear, Jake. It was the first and last time."

"Do you have feelings for him?"

"No. No, of course not. I only love you, Jake."

I flinch.

"Jakie, please. Honey..." Susan's voice is all honey and manipulation. The way she's always done it.

Jake, stay strong. Please, don't fall for it.

Then I hear it.

Kissing. Wet. Needy.

No!

He's kissing her. After everything. After me. It feels like a punch to the gut.

My body still aches from him. His cum still slick between my legs. I gave him everything. And he's out there, lips on my sister, while I stand here in the dark, loving him like a fucking idiot.

"Fuck me, Jake," I hear her say.

Thump.

The couch scrapes across the floor.

I shut the door.

I run to the couch and curl up. Fetal. Frozen.

I cover my ears. It doesn't help. I still hear them.

Her moans.

His groans.

The rhythm.

He gave in. Just like that.

With my wetness still on him.

His cum deep inside me.

And he knows I can hear it.

He knows.

Fucker.

I just lie there, staring at nothing, skin hot with rage. Heart pounding like it's trying to crawl out of my chest.

They finish. Eventually.

For a while, it's quiet. But then I hear it. Susan's giggle. Light. Smug. Fucking cruel.

Footsteps. The bedroom door creaks open, then shuts again.

A minute later, I hear a thump. The bed. They're at it again.

I taste blood from biting the inside of my cheek too hard. My entire body shakes.

I want to break something. Burn the apartment down.

And when it's finally over, when I think I can maybe breathe again, I hear the bathroom door open.

The shower turns on. More giggling followed by breathless laughter.

She's in there with him. No doubt pressed up against the wall, legs wrapped around him, probably gasping his name with that stupid fake moan of hers.

But this won't break me.

No. It's fuel.

Let them laugh. Let them fuck. They have no idea what they've started.

Jake will pay. So will she.

Even after the apartment finally goes still, after they've passed out in each other's arms, I can't sleep.

I just drift in and out of a daze. Too numb to cry. Too angry to breathe right.

But morning comes anyway.

The light creeps through the blinds, pale and cold, like it's judging me.

I push myself up, slow and stiff. My thighs stick together. It's still there. Him. But I don't wipe it away.

I won't.

Let it stay. Let it stain. Let it remind me.

I get up, cross the room, and yank open the dresser.

I grab one of Jake's shirts—black and faded. I pull it on. It slips over my head and brushes my thighs.

No bra. No panties.

Just that shirt.

A message.

Let him see me like this.

Barefoot, I walk into the kitchen.

"Morning."

Jake mumbles it without looking up. Susan's probably still passed out cold from her drunk disaster of a night.

He stands at the counter in shorts and a T-shirt, eyes locked on his laptop like it's life or death. Like I'm invisible.

Meanwhile, I'm standing there in nothing but one of his shirts. It hangs just long enough to cover me. And he doesn't even flinch.

I step closer and reach for a mug, then stretch just a little too far to grab the coffeepot. The hem of the shirt lifts, exposing the backs of my thighs.

Let him see. Let him remember.

Maybe he can still smell last night on me. Sex. Sweat. His cum still faint on my skin.

Jake steps back from the counter like I'm radioactive.

Coward.

I pour myself a cup of coffee, take a sip, then set it on the counter. Leave him standing there and head to the bathroom.

After a quick shower, I wrap myself in a towel and walk into the kitchen. My legs are bare, skin still damp, hair dripping down my back.

Jake glances up. Freezes.

"You should get dressed, Becky."

His voice is tight. Like he's choking on his own guilt.

I shrug. Let a slow smile spread across my lips.

"Why?"

He swallows. Hard.

"Susan'll be up any minute."

I tilt my head. Innocent.

"You think she'll care?"

Pause.

"It's not like you haven't seen it all already."

His face goes red, like steam's about to shoot out of his ears.

"Becky."

He says my name like it's a threat.

"I prefer Becks."

He steps closer. For a second, I think he's going to grab me. Bend me over the counter. Put me in my place.

God, I'd love that.

But he doesn't move.

I reach for the knot in my towel.

His breath catches. He gets it. The implication is clear.

I untie the towel. Let it fall.

"Oops."

I don't cover myself.

Just smile. Lick my lips.

His eyes darken, but he doesn't take a step.

Coward. Again.

I bend to pick up the towel, slow and deliberate. Toss him a wink, pure wicked promise.

"Just going to get dressed," I purr.

I don't wrap the towel around me.

I just turn.

Saunter off.

Hips swaying. Bare ass out.

Let him stare. Let it haunt him.

I disappear into the bedroom.

And leave the door open just enough.

First Heatwave ends here. But Becky's story is far from over.

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