My older brother was due home any minute. He had left home and was sent to military school when he turned 13. After all the trouble he got into, my dad thought it best to send him away to stay out of jail. That kept Brandon from coming home until now. He decided to let the past go and come home for our mother's funeral. I hadn't really bothered with it all since I was a baby when he left.
I wrote to Brandon many times over the years, sending him pictures of me. Now here I was, eighteen and lost. Our mother had been sick for years, but by the time we found out what was wrong, it was too late. And when she passed away, I quickly wrote to him, letting him know he was needed at home. He called me within minutes of reading my letter, informing me he would be there.
I spent all day yesterday cleaning the house, airing out his room, washing his sheets, and making the house look inviting. I had hoped that Brandon would leave the military and stay home and get work. I wanted to do everything in my power to make him happy, to make him want to stay with us.
I heard the Uber pull up, then the door shutting as he got out. Placing the cookies I made on the rack, I rushed outside, throwing my whole body at the man in front of me. He caught me easily, his arms tight around my body. I cried happy tears. Brandon didn't let me down, carrying me into the house and onto the couch. I stayed wrapped around him, not wanting him to see my ugly cries.
"Missed you too, little sis," he said, placing a kiss on my forehead. I chuckled, removing myself from his lap.
"Missed you more," I retorted. We both laughed, his hand holding mine as he looked around.
"Things look different here. What happened?"
"I wanted to redecorate some. Make this place look like a home," I whispered. "Everything looked old and out of place."
"You did good, Raven. It helps that things aren't the same." I didn't question why, just nodded my head. We sat there silently, Brandon taking in the surroundings, myself watching him. Brandon looked visibly bothered by the house.
"I cleaned up your room, washed your sheets, vacuumed, and aired it out. I wanted to make sure you were comfortable being here."
Brandon nodded his head as he stood up. "I'm not sure I want to stay here." His voice was low as he spat out the words. "Too many things here that bring back too many bad memories." I jumped to my feet, walking until I was standing in front of him.
"I need you here. With me, for me. Dad is different. He comes home from work, barely eats, and then goes to his room and drinks till he passes out. I have no one, especially since Colin broke up with me."
"That just means he wasn't good enough for you." Brandon left the living area and traveled towards the kitchen. I followed close by, not wanting him to leave my sight. I was afraid that this was all a dream and I would wake up to find him not here.
"I know that now. But when he was here, at least I had someone to talk to," which was a flimsy excuse. Colin only cared about himself and would only half listen if he knew he was getting something out of it. When I wouldn't have sex with him, things went downhill. Then I found him getting his dick sucked by a cheerleader.
"Better late than never. You could have married the piece of shit and then found out he has women on the side." His tone told me something like this happened to him, or he knew of someone who went through it. I didn't question him; instead, I poured him a glass of milk and a plate of cookies.
"I made these for you. Brown maple sugar cookies. I found the recipe the other day and thought you might like them." He didn't answer me; a half-smile lined his face as he quietly ate the cookies. I left him alone, fixing dinner since Dad would be home soon.
I cooked the three of us a simple meal: pork chops with butter noodles and green beans with rolls. I took over cooking when my mother got sick as a way of helping her so she didn't have to worry so much. I liked it, and I got recipe books to learn how to make everything from scratch. My contribution to the family.
Dad walked in while I was finishing things up, taking the seat at the bar next to Brandon. Neither of them spoke; Dad was stealing side eyes at Brandon. Dishing up their plates, we just sat around not speaking.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Brandon spoke up. "What time is the funeral tomorrow?"
"11. It's a Saturday, so many people have plans already. I thought the earlier time would benefit everyone," my dad spoke softly. "How long are you staying?"
"Not too sure. I have a flight out tomorrow at 9. I can change it if you need me to."
"No, keep it. Didn't expect you to come to the funeral, so no need to stay longer," Dad spoke as he got up. I took the plate from his hands, and he went to his bedroom.
"Look at how little he ate, Brandon. A bite of each, but that is all," I exclaimed. "He's going to drink himself to death." I was generally worried.
"Give him time, Raven. He will come around." Brandon didn't seem worried at all, making me feel as though I was seeing something more. I relaxed my shoulders and took a few deep breaths. "Why don't you show me to my room? We can talk about you." I nodded, and we walked up the stairs to his room.
Nothing really changed up here. Brandon's room was the same as the day he left. Our shared bathroom was between our rooms, and the only difference was all my shit everywhere. I opened his door, holding it wide as he stepped in.
Brandon looked around at all the shit he left behind. The same posters of women, the same books on his shelf, and the same twin bed. When his gaze stopped on the bed, he chuckled and looked towards me.
"Spiderman? Really, sis?" I cracked up laughing, his face showing amusement and shock over his new bed linens.
"You needed new sheets. And well, I had to choose a color, but I didn't know what color you liked. So, I was stuck between Spiderman, Batman, or Cars. Batman isn't special, and Cars was too, baby. That left Spiderman. And I got you pajamas to match." His smirk brightened my mood. "I wanted to get you a whole bed, a bigger one, but I didn't know how long you would stay."
"Raven, I have a home in the military. I'm barely thirty and have another good ten years in me." I was saddened by the news but pushed it away. I pushed my black hair behind my ear and turned around. I waited for Brandon to say more, but he remained quiet.
"I need a shower. I will go first, and then it is all yours." I immediately left the room, leaving the bathroom door open. I stripped off my dress after adjusting the water pressure and stepped inside. The water was hot, the droplets stinging my skin as the showerhead sprayed with a fever.
Washing my hair and body took no time, and I stepped out looking towards his room. Brandon was standing there, his eyes taking in the view of my naked, pink-hued body. Neither of us spoke; Brandon's eyes traveled slowly down my body before working just as leisurely back up to my face.
"Raven, put a fucking towel on," Brandon grumpily said. I turned on my heel and swayed my hips as I walked into my room. I left the door open as I approached my closet. I heard the shower turn on and Brandon's footsteps walking in. I grabbed one of Brandon's old shirts I kept, placing it over my wet, naked body. I usually wore his shirts, liking the softness they still possess.
Taking a seat on my bed, I pondered about tomorrow. I wasn't sure I would be able to make it through the whole thing without breaking down. I reached across the bed, my hand wrapping around the bottle of tequila. Taking it to my mouth, I took a generous sip, letting the clear liquid burn a trail down my throat. I drank another unhealthy drink, the liquid still burning.
Feeling more relaxed, I lay back and stared up at the ceiling. The only area that was white. I kept my room the same, a cheerful yellow. Yellow curtains, yellow bedsheets, and yellow carpet. The mural on my way was still displaying the sun, clouds, and rainbows with cherubs dancing around.
My eyes felt droopy, signaling how tired and exhausted I was. But visions of my mother, a healthy mom who did things with me, played in my mind. I could see her laughing, joking, and having a good time. Tears burned in my eyes, stinging my eyelids as I tried to keep them closed. But the visions turned dark as I saw her lying on the hospital bed, tubes and wires everywhere. Her pale face as she tried to put on a smile for me.
My tears fell silently, and I couldn't take the quiet, the feeling of being alone. I push up and off my bed, walking through the bathroom to Brandon's room. He was lying under the sheet, his hand feverishly pumping his cock. His eyes were scrunched up, as if he was about to blow any second. I walked easily towards the bed, stopping to watch the scene before me.
But he stopped. His hand wasn't moving, and I brought my face to his. Brandon's clear blue eyes were open, and they were gazing at me so intensely, I could feel it in my bones.
"I can't sleep," I said lightly. "Please let me lie with you?" I begged.
"Raven, it's not a good time," he breathed out.
"I need you," I said as his face softened. I pulled the sheet down a little, leaving his stiff cock covered. I curled into his body, slinging a leg around his hard-on, my hand still on his chest. I laid my head on his other pec and sighed deeply.
"This isn't a good idea," Brandon told me.
I trailed my hand down his magnificent body, under the covers, until I latched on to his enormous cock.
"Raven," his breath shallow, "this isn't right." I ignored his words, my hand pumping slowly on his cock, feeling every bump and vein. My thumb collected his precum, sliding it down the monstrosity. My hand was too small to fully hold him, my fingers inches away from my palm.
Brandon hissed as I slowly tortured him. I was fascinated; the feeling of holding a cock, his cock, made me wet. I rubbed my bare pussy on his leg; the friction built up inside of me.
"Can I taste you?" I asked him.
"Beg."
