She was sitting on the bed, and I had been standing. Now I walked up to her, fell on my knees in front of her and lay my sobbing head in her lap, expecting her to shove me onto the floor.
Instead, she held my head gently and ran her fingers through my hair.
“Terry, there's no future for us. Why don't we quit while we're ahead?”
I lay my head sideways in her lap so I could talk. “There's a present. They'll probably blow up the world tomorrow anyway. Besides, we're not ahead. We're behind a week. We haven't made love in a week, and we haven't slept together since that first night.”
“I don't think I want to do that anymore. You can go play with your little wimp, whatever the hell her name is.”
“Pussy or something like that. I don't want her. I didn't in the first place. She foisted herself on me. All I want is you.”
“Besides,” she went on, “Mommy's right across the hall.”
“She's dead to the world. Two elephants mating in here wouldn't wake her up.”
“Thanks for the compliment,” she said.
“I wasn't talking about us. We sound more like an air raid test.” I got up from my kneeling position and lay on the bed, resting the back of my head in her lap and looking up at her.
“Your eyes are bloodshot,” she said.
“So are yours.” She stroked my hair again and sighed, still looking into my eyes.-,
“I hate you, Terry,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because you're so damn lovable and there's no reason for it and you don't deserve to be loved. By anybody.”
“I love you. That's a good reason to love me.”
“No it's not. Most people don't love somebody back. When somebody loves them they just take it for granted.”
“Most people don't love each other, period.”
“Besides,” she said, “I don't think you love me in the first place.”
“I love you in both places.”
“You've got a filthy mind.”
“How can I prove it to you?” I said.
“That you've got a filthy mind, or that you love me?”
“Both.”
“You already have, a few hours ago, when you raped that poor innocent girl.”
“I didn't rape her, she raped me.”
“It amounts to the same thing.”
“Look, Sandy, this isn't getting us anywhere. We've been waiting for weeks for the old girl to conk out like this. Now she finally ups and does it and we sit around shooting off our mouths like an old married couple.”
“Can you think of anything better to shoot off?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, unzipping my fly.
She unbuckled my belt and pulled off my trousers and underpants as I kicked off my shoes and socks. I rolled over and unbuttoned her blouse then ripped off her bra, sucking and biting her nipples after I had done so and pushing her back on the bed while she pulled off my shirt and I unzipped her skirt, slid my hands underneath her panties and pulled off all the rest of her clothes. We exchanged a long, hot, sucking, biting, fluid, savage kiss into which we poured almost as much energy as we were momentarily about to expend among our genitals.
These we joined and began to move hungrily- twisting, probing, pounding, pausing, gyrating-exploiting every nuance, every little trick we had developed over the weeks. I roved her body with my hands, inserting fingers into her asshole and wringing her buttocks, pinching and kneading her nipples, letting my hands play loosely up and down her thighs and sides and in her hair. Her nails were all over my back and buttocks, tender and tickling at times, tending to dig when the rhythm and depth of my thrusts intensified. My mouth was all over her mouth and ears and throat and hair, and she picked on my ears with her teeth, licked them with her tongue and sucked on them savagely. It was so good, I wanted it to last forever.
Then the light went on. We jerked up our heads. It was Mother, standing in the doorway, looking very woozy.
“Oops, wrong door,” she mumbled, and shut off the light.
Two seconds later she was back, instantly sober, wide awake, holding onto the light switch for support.
“What the hell is this? What is this shit? Get off her!” she yelled at me. “Get the hell off!” I dismounted and fumbled for my clothes.
“I figured you two brats were up to some foul, vile, revolting crime like this but even I didn't want to admit it to myself. Jesus Christ!” Drunkenly, she slapped herself in the forehead. “How could you do it to me? What kind of filth have I spawned?”
“Filth a few notches higher than the filth that spawned us,” Sandy hissed.
“You fucking bitch!” Mother yelled, and lunged at Sandy, but the effort was too sudden and she fell on her face.
“You're getting out,” she muttered as she pulled herself to her feet. “Tomorrow, slutface. You're going to camp and from there straight to the strictest boarding school I can find. I never want to see you again.”
“Gosh, Mom,” Sandy said. “That's the nicest present you could give me.”
“As for you,” she said, turning on me, “I ought to have you castrated.”
I ignored her, keeping my head down.
“Did you hear that? Castrated! I could have it done tomorrow!”
“Whatever you say must be true, since you're my mother,” I replied.
“Get out of here now, and go to bed.”
I turned to Sandy. “Good night, beautiful.”
“Good night, dear,” she said.
Mother was flying into another rage as I left the room, slamming the door behind me. I went into my room, undressed and lay down on the bed. I considered the following possibilities: killing myself; entering into a suicide pact with Sandy, killing Mother; committing suicide with Sandy after killing Mother; killing Mother and running away with Sandy; burning down the house; crying; going to sleep.
TWELVE
Sandy was shipped off early the next morning. I would have slept through her departure if she hadn't snuck into my bedroom while Mother was showering.
She threw herself against me and we wrapped our bodies around each other and kissed ferociously. Both of us were sobbing and I could taste our hot salt tears as they mingled at our mouths.
“Where is she sending you?” I asked.
“Camp Climax, I think. I'll write as soon as I get there.”
“She can't stop us,” I said, trying to convince myself as well as her. “We'll find some way…”
“I think she can, Terry. I don't see how it's possible for us ever to see each other again. She can prevent it.”
“She cannot. The first vacation-Christmas for sure. We'll be able to figure something out.”
“Christmas is such a long way off, Terry. Look what happened last night at the party. How can I trust you? It's bound to happen again and again.”
“I love you, Sandy. Trust me.”
“If only we weren't brother and sister. It would be so easy.”
“But it mightn't be as good as this.”
The shower stopped.
“Kiss me goodbye,” she whispered.
I took sick that afternoon and for the next few days I ran a high, delirious fever. I didn't leave my room at all. I refused to eat the food Mother brought to my bedside, dumping it into the bedpan.
The first day she was suspicious and refused to believe I was really sick, insisted I was faking, which I was at first. But I did such a good job of convincing her that I convinced my body as well.
She called in a doctor. Out of the depths of his scientific knowledge he prescribed that I stay in bed and get some rest. He got twenty-five dollars for this advice.
Mother's attitude changed. She forgot how mad she was supposed to be with me for catching Sandy and me in bed together. She became kind, solicitous, maternal, soft, feminine, tender.
The illness provided me with something to occupy my mind and body and served to lessen the jolt of losing Sandy so suddenly and unexpectedly.
After four or five days I started to eat and within a week I was back on my feet. Instead of using my health as an excuse to start attacking me again, Mother laid off. If anything she was more affectionate than she had been when I was sick. I grudgingly admitted this change in her, admitted it to myself, but remained sullen, irascible and aloof.