siscon for romantics

Penny: how busy are you on a daily basis scale of 1-10

Liliana: the fuck kind of question is that?

Penny: the kind that comes with a job offer

that gives me pause for a long moment. i chew my nails while i think, and you bounce your knee on the other side of the screen impatiently. i type out my response in a rush and press send before i can think twice.

Liliana: 1. what's up?

Penny: Moss and i just landed a big job renovating a house and i need like five extra hands for the next few months. can you be two of them?

Liliana: fuck it, better than sitting on my ass. yeah, let's go.

>-<

i meet you at the work site at 7am, just like you told me. there's a dyke i don't recognize that, based on the hair color, is probably Moss. there's another bitch almost as big as me, maybe an inch or two shorter and a few pounds lighter with graying hair and visible wrinkles. rounding out our little group is a scrawny kid what feels like half my height and a quarter my weight. he looks like he can barely swing a hammer, but he's got a well-worn toolbelt and is paying keen attention to you as you break down what we're going to be doing for the next several months.

i tuck it all away as you talk, filing each room and what we're doing there away for later. i start to build a list in my head, one that you and Moss already have, of everything that's gonna be needed. working by myself for so long it's become habit, keeping these lists in my head as i go. there's not always time for me to stop and write down what i'll need, erasing and starting over and over and over. it's easier if i keep it in my head.

"Moss, take Leo in the truck and go pick up the lumber. i want him to see where we get it and watch you with the guy. you wanted to learn, kid, so we're gonna give you a crash course over the next few weeks. keep your eyes up and your ears out, don't be lookin' at your phone while Moss is showing you the ropes. they're not gonna slow down for you, okay? if you can keep up we'll keep you on until the end of the job."

the kid, Leo, nods intently. you hand out assignments like they're divine pronouncements, and you seem a little arrogant with it for a moment until i catch a glimpse of Moss mouthing along with you now and then, clearly going over the assignments even in the moments before you say the words. you're not taking charge, i realize. they feel like divine pronouncements because you didn't plan this out on your own.

you finish it all off with, "Lily, you're working with me today. we're gonna be gutting their living room. it's been cleaned out already, we just need to get to work."

i blink, sure that you were going to keep me at arms' length. it seems like the safe move, right? like what you should do. but you call me Lily and tell me what we're doing so casually like you paid it no further thought than any other work assignment, and without thinking i'm grabbing my bucket of tools and following you to the living room.

we get to work. it's mindless stuff, just ripping up flooring and taking down drywall. we're fucking gutting the place. mindless but satisfying work. we don't talk much while we go, masks and bandanas and goggles blocking most chance for it. after an hour or so of prying up floorboards you put down your prybar and pull your mask away. by the time i realize you've stopped working you've already grabbed two water bottles from the other room and brought them back. you hand one to me.

"thanks…" i say, somewhat incredulous but incredibly thankful. i take the bottle and twist it open, gratefully draining half of it in a couple of gulps. a satisfied noise escapes my lips, and you can't help but watch the little drop of water that trails down from the middle of my lip to my chin. you close your mouth and swallow thickly when i bring an arm up and wipe the water away.

"yeah, 'course."

i lean back against the windowsill and take a couple more sips of the water before asking "so am i allowed to talk to you or should i be awkwardly silent for the next few weeks?"

you scowl, i think good naturedly, and say "you're just as much of a dick as ever."

"okay so Sarah!" i start with a shit eating grin, your grumpiness all the permission i ever needed.

you actually laugh, a little bit startled that that's where i'm starting but not at all surprised. "Sarah… what about her?"

"was she bluffing or not?"

still laughing, you wonder "bluffing about what?"

"when i left," i say, brow furrowed a bit, "she threatened me with, like, legal action? she said she knew some very good lawyers. was she fucking bluffing??"

you pull your laugh back until it's just a chuckle, enough that you can say "i am so sorry to tell you this Lily, she really does know some very good lawyers. she's used them to help friends of ours all over town. she works at a marketing firm in downtown, they have their own legal team. and she went to school with like three or four lawyers that she's still friends with. it sounds like she's being edgy but i think most of her close friends are lawyers?"

i whistle low, appreciative. the spitfire wasn't just bluster. good.

"damn, okay. i mean, i knew she worked for that firm, but jesus she's really something. what are you two, exactly? her facebook page just had you in a bunch of pictures."

i'd done a little stalking on Sarah Fletcher's facebook page the day before i showed up, blazed out of my gourd on my bed just scrolling through all the pictures and ignoring the way my heart hurt a little bit every time i saw you in the pictures. before i even knew who you were and why it hurt.

you take a sip of water just to avoid talking for a few more seconds. then, deadly serious, "Lily, Mom and Dad can't know about Sarah."

i frown down at my water bottle. "i'm no snitch. besides, since when do i even talk to them? just- i won't say shit, okay?"

you sigh, a little abashed, then explain that "Sarah and i are partners. anything more than that is…" you pause. "probably not something sisters should talk about."

before i can think i blurt out "i don't give a fuck. talk to me." i stop myself from cringing, but barely.

that sounded kind of desperate, you think. you stop yourself from biting your lip, but barely.

stop, another part of you thinks, and it's such a stark contrast thought that it genuinely pulls you up short for a second. then another much more antagonistic thought, just tell her. don't make a big deal out of it.

“i'm her dog, she's my owner,” you blurt out before any part of you can second guess it.

what the fuck!

WHAT THE FUCK!?

i almost choke on my water. my recovery isn't very smooth, but you're too distracted blushing and looking away from me to notice. i don't really know what to say about it, so i don't say anything. i just finish off my water, crumple up the bottle, and get back to work. after another minute, so do you.

>-<

we have a bunch of moments like that, catching up little by little on the years we missed. i learn about your whole household, you learn about the last couple friends i have from school. i learn about your transition, you learn about boarding school.

you even tell me about Cleo, including what happened the night before i showed up. you avoid the dirty details about what you and Lena were doing, focusing on the terror of it. of the rattling doorknob and stomping feet. you're still avoiding talking about it, even though you know i know. the inference was easy enough, after the way Lena treated you, only given more credence every time i watched one of you talk about the other.

i grimace through the story and at the end of it say "jesus, girl. you did better than i would have. i mighta not stopped at pushing her. restraint is good."

"you say that almost like you're not restrained," you note doubtfully.

i hum for a moment. "maybe the last time you saw me… but… it's different now. i'm different, now. i…"

i trail off. you don't say anything, watching with distant fascination as my jaw works in thought, waiting for me to figure out how to say it.

"idunno, nowadays…" i scratch the side of my face and look away from you, uncharacteristically bashful, "i may have actually handled that better…? sometimes it doesn't feel like it. sometimes it feels like all that rage will come back at any moment. and it does. but i understand it better, so i can control it. i still would have rushed out there like an idiot to protect Lena, but… i don't know, i probably would have just shouted, nowadays."

"you really are different."

i look up, startled. "i- yeah. i am."

she is too… a familiar-unfamiliar voice whispers in my ear.

i shake my head, closing my eyes for a second. i'm not crazy. the devil isn't real.

i'm just as real as i always was… it whispers again. i clench my eyes shut a little harder. my chest gets tight. i thought i'd put this away for good. but a lot of things came free that night with Madeline. not everything fit back into the box.

"hey, you okay?" you ask, bringing me out of it a little bit.

"yeah, sorry," i gasp. when did i start holding my breath? i shake my head, "sorry. i'll be fine."

your head hurts and your voice changes pitch just a little bit when you say "let's get lunch."

"okay…" i say uncertainly. i hesitate for a moment, waiting to see if i hear it again.

it's quiet, for now. if the devil is still talking to me… i can't help but shake my head yet again, trying to dislodge those stupid old patterns instilled in me at St Michael's. the only thing i've never told any of my therapists since then is this:

i hear voices. one voice, in particular. the priest who pretended to be a psychologist told me it was the devil. when i was younger, when i was hiding this from Mom and Dad, it was the voice of my anger. every awful sick feeling, the black lake of tar constantly boiling over. at St Michael's, it protected me with careful practiced aggression. by the time i was out of school and on my own, the fire was smoldering but still burning. but now, ten years out from the worst night of my life, all the rage it embodied has burned out, leaving only ash.

leaving me… stop ignoring me… i can protect you.

shut up! you're not real! i demand, willing it to be true.

it goes quiet, at least for now. i don't hear anything more while we eat lunch, and you don't press.

>-<

for the first time in the two weeks that we've been working together, i watch as someone offers a break and you keep working. normally you are just as much of a tightass about breaks as Moss is, constantly insisting on them at frustratingly regular intervals. we almost fought during my first week because i was going to keep working through lunch and you insisted i put down the tools and eat with you.

and now today, Moss calls for lunch, i start to walk toward them, and you keep working. i don't even notice it for a couple minutes, already two bites into my sandwich i stop and look back down the hall where i can hear you still going.

"the hell?" i wonder faintly.

Moss supplies an explanation, "she gets like that now and then. especially around this point, when we start figuring out whether we're really ahead or behind on the job. it's looking like we're behind on this one and… she must be feeling it. she get all distant and quiet today, too?"

i take another bite of my sandwich, then nod.

"it'll come and go. she gets these moods, sometimes. Lace has some theories, but i don't like it when she psychoanalyzes our friends. Penny in particular."

"why's that?"

"why's what? i said a lot of stuff just now."

"why Penny in particular?"

"i… hm. maybe i shouldn't talk about that to her sister."

i scoff, "fucking whatever. i'm gonna go make her take a break."

"she won't like that~" Moss sing-songs behind me.

i take my sandwich with me, a couple more bites between the kitchen and the master bedroom you're currently at work in. i don't pay any attention to what you're doing past whether it's dangerous for me to interrupt. once i figure it's safe, no buzzing whirring power tools or swinging hammer, i call out, "hey Pen-Pen!"

you flinch. she shouldn't call us that.

my brow furrows at the reaction. "hey, you good?"

"don't call me that, please," you say, and your voice is strangely smaller, pitched slightly higher. you've shrunk into yourself just a bit, shoulders hunching up a little and face turned away from me, not blatantly, just… not aimed at me, aimed instead at the wall behind me to my right. i remember this.

"wh- okay. sorry, Penny."

"no! sorry. i- can you leave me alone? we need to get this room finished by the end of the week so that we can move on to the stairs so that we can take time off at the end of the month and that won't happen if i take my lunch break today, so i'm just going to keep working," you demand, uncommonly direct. you still don't match my gaze, faced firmly Not At Me, but i remember this. i remember when you used to be like this, at alternating times. usually when Mom was around. i thought it was some kind of mirroring. i'm not so sure now.

don't let her go. push.

so i push, because that's all i really know how to do, even if i hate listening to that voice, "no, come have lunch with me. we can work late today, Lee would kill me if she found out i let you skip lunch."

"i-"

"come on, Penny, i'll-"

"stop calling me that!"

"what?"

"sorry!" you flinch. "sorry, i just- sorry, i need to-" and you start to step past me but i hate the way you look scared of me and maybe it's a terrible idea but as you go i reach out and grab you, pulling you into the room. you're strong, but i'm what feels like twice your size and even though you protest with a shrieking laugh "Lily!!" i cackle too and pull you further into the room, doing my best to set you down gently despite your swinging legs.

"objective has changed: leave no survivors," i grin, grabbing at your sides. you shriek and try to pull away but i'm strong and big and maybe, even if i don't know it, you kind of want to be here, laughing in my arms.

you gasp and laugh hard, and you start to buckle in an attempt to get away but something overtakes me, some sort of impulse i can't explain away, so i switch from just tickling you to grabbing you around the middle and scooping you up almost like a cat, and you giggle a little harder and pull your knees up so you're dangling in the air and i breathe deeply, smelling faint traces of cucumber shampoo and itchy sawdust. for a moment i'm lost in the feeling of you pressed up against me as you are, we haven't hugged or been this close in so long, only the brief tear-filled contact upon our reunion, and we were never really very tactile before that, not the way either of us were with Lena, but now, with you in my arms, surprisingly small pressed up against my chest, i wonder why we weren't, and my head dips and i can't stop myself from practically nuzzling into your hair, but then you squirm again and i come back to myself. i can't help but start to let you go.

thankfully you notice and put your feet down, and i pull away. i don't fail to notice the way you trail after me for a split second before you seem to also come back to yourself. you clear your throat; then, voice changing once more, you say "sorry, yeah. let's. let's get lunch."

i tell myself i don't notice the way you adjust yourself when you think i'm not looking.

>-<

"we're gonna go to the zoo in a couple weekends. not this weekend, but the next. Lena's been begging to go and we got ahead of things on the job and i think we could all use a weekend off. you wanna come?" you ask me, near to the end of September.

yes. "no." fuck you! you want this!

i tried to put it away, back in the box, tried to silence the voice that tasted like ash every time it tried to speak for me. but it's only gotten louder. more insistent. she- fuck, it, it used to be so aggressive, the comparison to the devil was so clear, but now it's more insidious. a different kind of devil on my shoulder. now it's encouraging all those disgustingly indulgent impulses.

stop trying to shove me back in that fucking box, Liliana. i hate it in there.

i try to ignore your disappointed sigh and cringe internally, i can't do it. i can't spend a whole day with them.

you can. you want to. you're gonna say yes. i'll make you.

you can't, i think, my heart dropping into my stomach and the world beginning to tilt. the devil grins and my eyes start to buzz and my head hurts, and when i open my mouth i can taste the ash on my tongue, "sorry. yes. i'll go. text me the details."

and for a terrifying moment i'm not myself, until the devil lets go of me and i crash back into myself and the world rights itself just as you chirp "oh! awesome! Lena's gonna be pumped."

i breathe heavily. you don't notice. what the fuck was that? what just happened?? it felt like being possessed, like it wasn't me speaking, but it was still coming from my mouth, i opened my mouth and i spoke the words but i didn't say that! i wouldn't have said that, you and Lena are in too much danger around me-

do you know how stupid you sound?

i sit down heavily on the bench in the closet we were working on until a few minutes ago. you'd brought up the zoo trip on our lunch break the same way you brought me my lunch, so i have nothing to do but sit and reel.

what? i wonder numbly, trying not to think about the way it feels like casting thoughts into the void.

you sound like a fucking idiot, the devil sneers.

it's- it's not safe, i defend, somewhat weakly, not quite believing it myself. i feel small with the devil looming over me.

they're safer with us than with anyone else. we're the only person who can actually keep them safe, Liliana. you think i'd let you let Dad touch them like he did Mom?

i close my eyes against the memories. against what you never saw. what Lena never saw.

it's just me and the bedroom door and the way she screamed. it's just me and the bedroom door. it's just me. my breathing speeds up, but my hand finds the fidget in my pocket on instinct and pulls it out.

back and forth, my thumb rubs over it, focusing on the click and glide, back and forth, back and forth. me and the bedroom door. he can't hurt me. back and forth. he can't hurt me. me and the bedroom door. back and forth. me and the bedroom door. back and forth. he can't hurt me. back and forth. he won't hurt you. it's just me.

i close the bedroom door.

i open my eyes.

you look back at me with a worried furrow in your brow, and i flush bright red, not ashamed just… nobody's ever caught on to that before.

"Lily? you okay?"

"yeah," i say, honestly. "shit can't hurt me anymore. been through enough therapy to make sure of that."

"oh." you look away for a second.

my blush starts to settle. for lack of anything better to do, i take a sip of my water. talk to her about it. i bet she could use it, the devil whispers. i don't know why i listen. maybe i know she's right. maybe she's feeling less like the devil and more like…

"a few years ago i remembered some shit from home that i'd, like, locked away," i say plainly. it's just you and me in this room, we'd taken our lunch separately from the rest of the crew again. i continue, "i was already in therapy for some other shit, so i just… unloaded, one day."

i trail off for a moment, watching you watch me with careful eyes. it sounds unreal, what i'm saying, and you have a strange sense like it's a cosmic joke, like i'm about to say 'sike!'

but i don't. "went through some pretty fucking intense therapy about it. it's a good thing i had a friend who could keep an eye on me at the time, i kinda fell apart for a while. but i kept going to therapy, twice a week, for a full fucking year. and now… when i remember all that awful shit, it can't hurt me."

"how?" you ask, voice a little small. "how- do you r- it- it doesn't hurt forever?"

i look up at you in shock, finally taking you in. there's a glistening in your eyes and a flush on your cheeks and you're holding yourself around the middle in a way that i know means you're terrified. sitting up a bit straighter, paying more attention to you now, i tell you "no, it doesn't hurt forever. it doesn't have to."

"Lily," you gasp, moving from the doorway into the closet with me, "i- fuck, i- sorry, can i- tell you something?"

i greet you with open arms, pulling you to sit on the bench in the closet next to me. i wish there was a door i could close, but i'll have to trust that nobody will interrupt us.

"talk to me," i tell you.

and you do. i learn, through tears and hyperventilation, what happened to you. the details you hadn't admitted to anyone else. details neither of us could ever commit to page. i listen intently, pulling you until you're held safe in my arms enough that you can cry and i don't even think about the kind of position we're in, just filled with this desperate need to make sure you're safe.

"nobody will ever hurt you again," the Ash whispers.

that feels somewhat ridiculous to say, even in the privacy of your own mind, but… even though Sarah has her way with you, you're more comfortable with Lena than anyone else in the world. the loops and spirals of the pattern get wider, and slowly the fear and self-recrimination over what you're doing with your sister, how unsafe you feel she is, it all gets pushed further and further away by divine, radiant hands, your sister the saint levelling you out and keeping you from madness.

all you can do is give back, take care of her; helping her out of bed in the morning and brushing your teeth together even when neither of you want to, making meals for her on the days she barely has energy to stand at the stove, eating her out in the shower again and again, neither of you ever tiring of the routine, happy and safe and comfortable.

it's not always easy. but the two of you, you make it easier for each other. there had been a time when you were younger, a brief couple years, when this hadn't been true and all you did was make it harder. but bookending that time you hate to think about are memories of Lena. when you were younger, all the things that felt so normal, the way she'd bounce you on her knee before you got too big, her bathing with you before you were big enough for it to be inappropriate (and even for a time after that), the way you'd find yourselves entwined, cuddling closer than anyone else in the family, but it was normal for you.

and then again, on the other side of those two awful blurry years where the two of you barely talked and even when you did you fought. after you told her you were a girl, after things changed for the better. when you came back together; even after Lena left for college you kept talking. you remember those years better than she does, you've realized.

the only time she wasn't able to calm you down was during those two years. you were so mad at Dad for something you can't even remember now, and you came into the house and stormed into your room and started screaming. and Lena tried, god what a saint, she tried to calm you down but all you could do was scream because you wanted to lash out but you could never hurt our sister.

(for a little while, while you were 13 and i was 15, you restrained yourself because you knew i would beat the shit out of you for it. and then i left and you realized you had a crush on Lena and knew that you couldn't ever hurt her ever again, not even when you were at your angriest.)

and that brings us to today, a moment in between all the other shit, before you come to me again, when you come home in a rage. it had been a day full of inconvenience and delays and by the time you managed to even get anything productive done the day was already almost over. Moss wasn't with you, at least then you would have had some company through it all. instead you just boiled in black tar.

you're in a daze as you walk in, just pointless rage over nothing, the kind of idiotic overwhelm that your bullies called you autistic for, just red face and fists swinging. and you know how to handle it now, in theory. or at least you know how to let it explode in privacy. Sarah tries to greet you but you brush her off, and she doesn't chase you, sees the sweat on your brow and the red on your face and your lips tight, and she knows you well enough that she knows this is the kind of meltdown she can't defuse.

and for a moment, as you're turning the corner from the living room into the hallway where your door is, you think you're going to be alone for this. for the last five odd years while Lena was at school you have been alone. nobody in the house knows how to handle this.

except one person, now. because your big sister is back in your life, and for the first time in a long time you enter your room and find the one person who can help you. she's beautiful, radiant, you're looking at her with new eyes and you see exactly how amazing she is, how could you ever ask for someone more perfect than her? she's curled up on your bed, looking at her phone, one of her plushies in her arms.

the headrush of the meltdown overwhelms you and and drowns out all your other thoughts, so you whisper "help," to her and in a split second she's off of your bed and wrapping you in her arms, phone and plushie forgotten about, the need to help you overriding anything else.

Lena hushes you, rocking the two of you back and forth. "let it out, baby."

there's nothing coherent for you to say, just a mess of syllables and sobbing, the black pitch finally bubbling over and out, and you squeeze Lena as tight as you can and in a tight voice she says "there you go," and you cry even harder, pushing your face into her shoulder as hard as you can, "oh babygirl," and she rocks you back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

"i'm sorry" you sob into her, your voice pitching a little lower, catching with a little more vocal fry than normal. part of you wants to let go of her so you can't hurt her anymore, but the part of you that's here right now in her arms can't let go.

"shhh, it's okay, don't apologize. just let it out."

and you do. you sob and squeeze and babble into her shoulder until all that terrible black pitch has been wrung from you. at some point Lena brings you to sit on the bed, still rocking you back and forth. the motion soothes, familiar patterns coiling around your heart and slowing the speeding vessel's pace until it matches hers.

you sniffle, and your sister leans over to your desk to grab your tissue box. you stay attached to her as she goes, but she doesn't protest at all, simply returns to her position on the bed and plucks a couple tissues from the box. "here, baby, let me…" she murmurs, wiping your tears away and even wiping your nose before discarding the tissues. voice still soft, she asks "better?"

you nod. "still feel… weird. but. i'm okay, i guess. i-" and for some reason you pause over the next two words, feeling suddenly unsure if you're allowed to.

"weird? Sarah said you mentioned you were feeling weird when we went to the park with Cleo? i thought it was maybe because you smoked too much, but now…"

"stone cold sober," you confirm.

"the same kind of weird, though?"

"mhm. i think so. or… kind of? it's… the same kind of different, i think, but i'm- it's not the same… different? i don't know if that makes sense…" you grumble discontentedly, frowning.

Lena hums. "not really… anything else? how do you feel, other than 'weird'?"

you hide your face in her shoulder and let your voice be muffled, "still feel… angry…"

"what about, baby?"

"idunno… just… angry. today was shit, and nothing went like planned, and it'll be fine but i'm just. angry. i don't know, i'm sorry."

"it's okay, love. do you want to talk about it? or do you want me to take your mind off of it?" Lena asks, and your heart starts beating a little faster. you nod desperately, not entirely sure which one you mean, but your sister always knows.

the idea of your sister touching you is at once intimately familiar and also surprisingly new, a sense you can't put your finger on that this is a first for you. your mind is still chaotic, but your sister brings your focus onto her. she starts by bringing her hand up to your chin and lifting your head until she can dip her head forward and lock lips with you.

your eyes flutter closed happily and you lean in further. your sister gives back gladly, kissing you as deeply as you want, pulling back when you do only to crash back together like waves on the shore, over and over and over again. you feel all that fiery rage start to ebb away, making way for something gentler, a smoldering ember of passion that you impart unto your sister through your lips, pushing forward until her head hits the pillow behind her and you start to climb on top of her because that's what you're supposed to do with all this energy and passion and excitement.

but your sister knows better.

"uh-uh, Pen. you do a lot for me, let me return the favor," Lena commands, and you want to let her but when she calls you Pen something makes you flinch a little bit, sure that that's not right. the thought makes your head go a little fuzzy in a way that would usually make you feel good but right now you just want to be you, and not…

"Penny?" Lena whispers not your name and you close your eyes to it.

"i'm… i don't…"

"do you want me to stop?"

"no! no, no i don't want you to stop, i just- why do i- why does that name not… feel… right…?" you're whispering by the end of it, shrinking into yourself for no good reason just scared and retreating like you said something awful.

and then Lena puts her hand on your cheek, and you can't help but open your eyes and meet your sister's, and so softly you barely hear it, she breathes "oh."

she smiles, a happy but tight sort of smile that you know means a hard question, the kind that always hurts right away but helps you in the end. she'd had this exact same look when she asked you if you were trans. and then she opens her mouth, and it does hurt to have it laid bare, this thing you didn't even know you were feeling, like she wrapped her hand around your barbed wire heart without flinching and pulled it all away until she could read the etching hidden on the back.

"you're not Penny at all, are you, love?"

and you can't help but cry, sobbing through the words, "i don't know who i am, Lena! i'm sorry!"

she brings you to her shoulder while she tries not to cry, herself, "shhhh, no no no, it's okay baby, it's okay. is this why you stopped yourself from saying 'i love you' earlier?" you flush; you'd been sure she didn't notice. you nod, a tiny little motion that Lena hums at. "listen to me. you don't need to know, right now. i love you. no matter who you are."

"okay," you whisper, though it's broken up by sobs.

"shhhh… you don't need to know who you are. do you know what you want, baby?"

you nod fervently, "touch me, please Lena, please, i- i don't know i just- i- i just want to feel you, please!"

she pauses for a second, pulling back to ask "are you sure? you're-"

you cut her off by pushing forward and kissing her desperately, an empty ache in your heart filled by the contact, and you whisper against her lips "please"

your sister knows that you mean it - always understanding you better than anyone - and kisses you back. she pulls back long enough to tell you that "okay. you don't have to do anything, love. this is your first time, i want to make you feel good first, okay?"

you nod, a little nervous, but go willingly as she pushes you onto your back and begins to undress you. you're dirty and sweaty, and you wish you had gotten a shower, but Lena doesn't seem to care.

her hands find your hips first, thumbs running back and forth in arcs just above your waistband. they push your shirt up just a little before the black fabric drops back down to conceal her fingers, and you start to whimper, "Lena…"

"patience, baby," she smiles up at you and you nod again, letting your head drop back and your hips buck up just a little bit. Lena giggles, pressing down on you softly until you let your hips drop too. once you've gone slack for her again she continues, her hands travelling up further underneath your shirt. you shiver and gasp, soft fingers teasing your sides for a second before they find purpose and begin to grasp at your shirt and lift it up.

you gasp as it goes, your mismatched blue-green eyes going wide. "please," you beg, the only word you can muster in this moment.

"arms," Lena commands, and you lift them for her like always. for a moment everything is dark, your bleach-splattered t-shirt only letting in the bare minimum of light from your already dim room. you hear and feel the bed shift, and you gasp when she pulls your shirt the rest of the way off and you catch a glimpse of her on the other side.

she's moved closer to you, her glasses gone and eyes wide, her mouth open in a little 'o' that you know and love and you smile at her with watery eyes, "i love you."

"i love you too, baby…" she whispers back, crawling forward until she's nearly on top of you and can reach your lips, kissing you deeply and asking nothing in return. "i love you so much, no matter who you are, okay? okay, baby? i- do you understand? tell me- tell me if you understand, love."

as she speaks, Lena gets more confident, sure that she knows you and maybe she does, because you can't help but cry out, "i do! i do, i know, Lena! i know i know i know i love you too!"

and she dives in to latch onto your neck, all lips and teeth and tongue and you know she wants you to stay where you are but you can't help the way your whole body twitches and bucks when she refuses to let go, sucking a mark into your skin that you know is getting darker and more bruised every second but you don't want her to get off of you you just want it to keep going, you beg "please please please pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease" over and over you repeat it and your sister gives more than you could ever ask for, only letting go for a second just to find another clear spot and start the process over. you lose track of how many marks she gives you before she finally pulls away to examine her work with a happy hum.

"mine," she purrs happily.

slowly, languidly, she kisses her way down your bare chest, stopping to nip and suck at your nipples. you groan and gasp beneath her as she swirls her tongue around one, then lets go with a soft pop. eventually, though, once she's had enough of her detour, she continues her journey downward until she reaches your waistband once again.

with a soft kiss to your tummy just above your belt buckle, Lena parts from you for just long enough to pull at your belt until it comes loose. "butt," she says, and you lift for her until she can get your belt off. you almost collapse again, but she commands "stay," and you do. deft fingers make short work of button and zipper, and soon enough your nasty sawdust-covered jeans are being flung, the same as your shirt, in the vague direction of your hamper.

you're already hard beneath your boxer briefs, though you hadn't even thought about that since she started touching you. Lena only pays it mind for a moment, long enough to rub you through the fabric and make you twitch, before she turns her attention to the rest of your body.

open mouthed kisses line your inner thigh as your sister makes her way down, then back up, then down, then back up, no goal in mind; only to worship you in the way saints do, with open lips professing their love.

you gasp and cry out when she uses her teeth. it all becomes a blur, just hands and mouths and whispered affirmations between kisses, your desperate cries answered by your sister's gentle love.

eventually, once you've gone overstimulated and batted her hands away and pulled her back up to you for cuddles, Lena asks "can i tell you a story?"

you nod, hesitantly. she speaks in soft tones to you, like when you were young and scared of the thunder and needed her to calm you down.

"i had a very close friend in college. we played D&D every week, it was one of the only things other than class i could drag myself out of bed for. and every once in a while, he'd manage to drag me out of bed to hang out with him. he was such a lovely person, but he was never really the same, moment to moment, and almost every time we were together i'd comment on all the weird ways he acted, and he'd quote Walt Whitman back to me, but always this one quote…" she pauses, remembering. then she makes a noise and assumes a very serious poetry voice, "'Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.)' it wasn't until senior year that he finally told me why he liked that quote so much. he told me he was plural. and he was so poetic about it, never calling it something so clinical and crass as multiple personalities. he told me they were all the parts of himself he couldn't be, pieces of armor he'd made into whole people, brilliant facets of a shining gem, and as he talked i realized it was all of them talking, each one describing it differently."

as she talks, your sobs start to slow until you've gone quiet and your heartrate has once again slowed pace to match your sister's.

"but i'm… i'm not…" you try to protest, suddenly once again a little less sure of who you are. you can't help but trail off, fairly sure that finishing that sentence would be lying. and you hate lying to your sister, no matter who you are.

"babygirl… it's okay, you can be."

that's really all you needed. permission from the one person in your life who can truly give it. permission to give in to the feeling that's been tugging at you every time that jagged edge of your heart caught on the softness of your sister, every time she wore it down with her words and her actions, and you think that if she were to look at your heart and pull up that jagged edge she'd find the empty pool of pitch that you came from now home to a pulsing glowing ember, a leftover of the man you were afraid of becoming, only let free in your angriest moments. and that's you. the part of Penny that she hated so much for so long.

the thought comes unbidden, unintentional, less accusation and more realization but nonetheless painful, the stupid boy.

"i'm not a boy," you growl through tears, and Lena seems shocked for a moment, stuttering before finding her voice, "okay! okay, that's a good start. you're not a boy. what else?"

"i feel… angry still. angry like Dad. i hate… i hate that i feel like him, but… i don't mind the anger. it feels… right. for me. i don't know," you grumble through it in a small voice, then scowl and look away.

Lena hums. "you're hardly anything like Dad, babygirl. you don't stomp around the place when you're angry, for one. you actually listen to me, you've never hurt any of your partners, you never scream at anybody in the house. whoever you are, you're not him. i promise, baby."

for a while you don't really know what to say. your head is buzzing, muted and muffled thoughts like they're coming from the other side of a waterfall, just indistinct colors and mumbling.

all you can muster is a simple, "okay."

you stay like that, for a while. angry and aimless and unsure. Lena talks you through it, telling you what she knows and trying to give you advice as best she can, half-remembered from a late night rabbit hole she'd gone down, articles and advice from people who really were, and even though she stumbles through it and goes slow, fighting against the brain fog, it does help, in bits and pieces.

"giving yourself a name can help," she tells you early on, and the thought burns bright in your mind.

a name…

Liliana

Sarah

Moss

Lacey

Cleo