you weren’t ever going to actually give your little sister alcohol. it was a funny idea to tell her the drinks you two were having were spiked, you know about placebos and other people who’d pulled this prank on others — you just wanted to see your sister pretend to be wobbly and make a fool of herself for the night.
but the haze in her eye looks almost real. she doesn’t wobble around, or start hiccuping, she isn’t even giggly like you expected. she just looks so desperate. her head heavy on your shoulder, she tells you she doesn’t feel good, that she needs you. her breath is warm against your neck, her hands are wandering.
but it doesn’t mean anything. it can’t possibly. she’s just drunk. she’s just drunk, you say to yourself, as you lift her up n into your lap. she plants herself there, grinding down ever so slightly. she pulls you into a slow, needy kiss and it’s so real. but shes just drunk. she doesn’t feel this way. you’re sisters, you think, slipping your fingers below her shirt, heart pounding out of your chest. she’s just drunk. she’s just drunk.