Chapter 4—Kat out of Hell
A/N: Well, the end of the Kat Dennings adventure is here. The title comes from a girl I knew who wore a shirt with “Sorry for having great tits and correct opinions” or something. It got me thinking about what the living embodiment of that shirt would be like.
Kat ran into the night. I chased.
I have memories of that night the way a man has memories of being punched in the head seventeen times. The whole experience is…a blur. Just fragmentary awareness of speeding up and down Big Bear Blvd, smoking Dad’s tires, horror paralyzing my mind, just trying to fucking find her before…
The night loves the chased more than it loves the chasers. It’s one of the only things that does.
My gaze flew up every alleyway and side street, seeing nothing, feeling nothing except my heartbeat slamming against the steering wheel through white-knuckled hands. What if she killed herself?
As this horrible night wore on, the thought echoed into a shout. What if she killed herself? What if she killed herself? What if she killed herself, Zack? What then?
I had the MINI Cooper S’s top down. Wind stung my cheeks: this was my first awareness of crying.
The streets jumbled away mindlessly and endlessly, unrolled scrolls of Halakha too arcane for even Mom to parse. This tiny tourist town suddenly seemed like a vast moonlit spiderweb strung glinting between the mountains. One with my sister caught inside it.
At least I don’t have to wonder what the worst day of my life will be, I blinked, suddenly dizzy with tears, as I scanned wind-swept side streets for my sister’s skirt and bowknot. It’s this one.
(I was wrong. An even worse one was coming.)
Kat hadn’t killed herself. I found that out when my phone rang at midnight.
“Hello? Is this Zachary Dennings?” A female voice spoke.
“Yes?” I swerved to the curb. A horn honked at my back—a Mack rig as it swept past my shoulder, deluging the MINI Cooper in exhaust. I threw up the world’s most exhausted middle finger, long after it had gone by.
“Your sister’s at the bar, waiting. She says she left her phone in the handbag in your car.”
“Um, wow… okay…” I glanced right, seeing that handbag. I was about to ask Who are you? when the voice placed itself in memory: green hair, bored eyes, wet shiny bubblegum going snap. It was the barmaid who’d seated us. I couldn’t recall her name, and may never have been told it.
“Yeah, so we’re, like, trying to close up here, so if you could come get her…”
“Got it. On my way.” Click.
I threw the car in DRIVE and sped back to the bar, wishing I hadn’t hung up so quickly. I needed more intel. Was Kat okay? Scared? Hurt?
Waiting for you. What did that mean?
Waiting with a smile? A knife? A grave?
A person is never just waiting.
I parked outside the bar, and ran in. My footsteps echoed weirdly in the empty bar—a bar without a hundred bodies packing it like living sound diffusers. It was like I’d become a different person.
My sister sat belly up at the bar, crosslegged on a stool, chatting to the staff. The sight of her alive crushed me. The waitress and bartender looked almost equally relieved to see me approach—a little Kat Dennings goes a long way.
“Kat?” I sidled up the bar, alongside Kat.
Kat spun around to face me. Her black eye triggered a flinch response. Because it was my black eye.
“Heya, bro!” Her smile was broad, playful, and insincere. “I was just telling everyone what happened to my eye!”
“Um…”
She lunatic-grinned. “…How I was walking down the street, not looking, and took an SUV’s side window right to the face. It was at eye level! Someone needs to make those raised suspension kits illegal, like yesterday!”
An SUV? I fell silent, suddenly aware of all the eyes on me. I felt them like crawling tentacles.
Kat faced me, and slid her hands on my shoulders. Fingers curled, going tap tap. “That’s what happened, isn’t it, Zack? I walked into a car’s side window?”
Back it up or die, her eyes seemed to say.
I nodded. “Sure. That’s what happened.”
“Okay! Now let’s make like an amoeba and split!” Kat hopped off the barstool, and looped her arm around mine. I found her manner chilling. Cartoonishly happy, if the cartoon is Ren and Stimpy. The world’s thinnest mask over the world’s harshest, coldest anger. “Does anyone know where we can find a hotel?”
The green-haired waitress glanced suspiciously from Kat’s black eye to my face. She’d heard us fighting as we stormed out of the trivia night, heard the table go crash when I’d kicked it.
“Miss, are you sure you’re safe?” Safe with me, she meant. “If you want, I can call a—”
Kat waved her away. “This is my brother. Of course I’m safe. We just need a place to stay the night. We’re from LA, you see, and it’s too late to drive back.”
Kat turned to face me, and I flinched again.
This time it wasn’t the bruise. I saw rage there: a fury so deep it went into the bones and into the marrow.
“We need to talk about some things alone.” Her stare punched through me . “Don’t we, Zack?”
My sister and I found a Holiday Inn Express just off the boulevard. They had precisely one single-occupancy room and charged like a wounded bull for it.
I lugged our bags down the hall in a daze. In my head, I assumed I’d be back home by now. Suddenly, it appeared, I was taking an unplanned little holiday.
The light overhead didn’t work, plunging the hallway into darkness. We hunted for our room number, reading the numbers off the doors with our hands like they were Braille. The electronic keycard didn’t work when inserted one way, didn’t work the other, and somehow worked when I tried the first way again. I stepped inside, flicking on the light switch. I grimaced in distaste. There are roomier closets.
I set our bags beside the bed, then squared up to my sister.
“Okay, sis. We’re alone. Let’s talk about what happened tonight.”
She brushed past me.
“Kat, are you okay?” I asked as she kneeled, unzipping the pouch that held her makeup kit. “Did I hurt you?”
Body supported on one knee, head down, hair curtaining her face, she began humming something. I realized it was “1,000 Miles” by Vanessa Carlton.
I continued speaking. “I’m sorry for what I did. I know that sounds shitty and not enough or whatever. I know you don’t have to forgive me and I’m not asking you to forgive me but I just want you to know—”
Kat stood and slapped me.
“Shut up.” She grinned like a lunatic. The black eye seemed to explode off her face, with the stark lividity of clown makeup.
I recoiled, shocked. My insane clown sister had moved like a striking cobra. Her hand’s savage white crack echoed deep in my bones. I couldn’t tell if it was a playful slap or a meant-to-hurt slap or one positioned on the edge of both.
“You didn’t hit me,” Kat’s eyes smoldered behind a swoop of hair that had settled into a black blade. “I walked into a car.”
I cringed. “Be real, Kat. There was no car.”
She smiled a strange and horrifying smile. I could not decipher it, or the mind behind it. All I knew was that our relationship was now in totally uncharted territory. Here there be dragons. “I walked into a car.”
My mouth opened. My mouth closed. What’s she doing? What sick fucking game is this?
One I was too exhausted to play. Too heartsick.
“I’m not doing this, Kat.”
Her smile grew bigger and stranger and wilder. “Wrong answer. Let’s try again. I. Walked. Into. A. Car. Do you agree or disagree, Big Bro? Think carefully. What you say next might prove very important.”
She settled into a familiar posture. Arms crossed, head tilted to one side. Her debate-me pose. Argue with me, her eyes said. Play my game. The same game we’d played—her with relish, me with frustration—since we were five years old, and continued playing after we’d begun our incestuous relationship, arguing as we had sex on our parents’ bed. I groaned. No, Kat. Now’s not the time. It has never been less the time. It was late, and I was tired. The idea of yelling about nonsense with my kid sister made me want to unalive myself. Forgive me, Kat. Or don’t forgive me. We just need to close the book on this.
I stared at her, thinking carefully. Kat doesn’t want to talk about what happened. She wants to argue. Maybe this is her way of making peace? Allowing this nightmarish turn in our relationship to unwind back to its default state?
Harmless sibling bickering. Instead of not-harmless physical violence. Or not-harmless calling the cops.
I clenched my teeth, stewing on it. You don’t deserve a lifeline, Zack, but she threw you one anyway. Take it, moron. Argue with your sister. Argue all night if she wants.
So I copied her posture, crossed my arms, and jutted out my jaw.
“Kat, you’re delusional. You did not walk into a car. I hit you! I beat the shit out of you! And you deserved it!”
A thrill transformed her face. Eager, demented. Color pulsed into her cheeks. Game on.
“Fuck you, Zack! What have you ever beaten, aside from your cock to Dead Or Alive 3, nerd?”
“I kicked your ass!” I snarled. “I punched you so hard my fist nearly exploded out of the back of your head like in Fist of the North Star. And I’m glad I did it! So there!”
Her face reddened. Her pupils narrowed. Kat was becoming horny.
“Bullshit! Your weak little girl wrists couldn’t knock me out with a fistful of Benadryl!”
Back and forth with my sister. Fighting a war of words, two voices rising into screaming crescendos. Two knives, each stropping sharpness into the other. Familiar territory. Horrible territory, but familiar.
Still ranting at me, Kat pulled off her top, and let her chest jut out. Her nipples throbbed, like bullets loaded inside her bra. I watched her tits wobble, my dick inflating so fast that stars rampaged across my vision. A thick slab of meat itched and crawled down the leg of my jeans, reaching nearly ten inches down.
“Couldn’t, huh? Wanna bet?” I advanced on her, fists balled.
“Bet what? The money you don’t have because you lost it playing trivia?” Kat’s eyes flicked to my bulge-distended jeans, then back up. She licked her lips. Her nipples could have cut diamonds.
“You lost it!” I fumbled with my belt buckle, and pulled down my jeans. “Because YOU WROTE THE WRONG ANSWER! Idiot!”
“Did not, kissless loser virgin!” She unhooked her bra. Overabundant titflesh spewed out, sliding down her torso in a jiggly landslide.
“Stupid brat slut hole!” I yanked down my boxers, and my cock exploded out.
“Worthless Xbox-addicted jerkoff!”
“Huge-titted psycho retardo-whore!”
“Elephant-dicked, hyperspermic, arrested-development, subliminally-gay-and-won’t-admit-it poindexter!”
I loomed over her, fists clenched, dick throbbing. Ready for skin-on-skin contact of any sort. She was in my shadow, looking gorgeous, still screaming obscenities. I palmed her massive tits, making the heavy orbs explode and contract as I squeezed. They heaved with volcanic warmth. I reached behind her, grasping her big soft buttocks. They filled my hands like wobbly, pendulous throw pillows.
Snarling possessively, I grasped my sister’s shoulders and bounced her onto the bed.
She was still shouting as I threw her down. Still shouting as I climbed on top, bedsprings jangling discord. Still shouting as I mounted her, slapped my cock between her moist, dripping labia lips, and gunned it down into her.
SCHLUCK!
I gasped as my penis cleaved at her wet gash, bent slightly, then burst through to fill her body. My huge erection cleaved through her thick labia minora flesh, making her soft belly distend as her body filled with cock.
Kat screamed out—rage becoming ecstasy—as my penis fucked through her like a harpoon. “FUCK YOU!”
I powered into her, my erection hilting itself against her sucking walls. Her bulbospongiosus muscles gripped tightly, corrugated and alive with crawling ripples
The fucking began.
As I hammered nine-inch strokes into my sister’s greedy cock-slurping twat, I smashed my face in between her breasts. Clasping them upright with my hands, I let her enormous slippery orbs swallow my head in their fragrant, sweat-stinking gulch. Huge pink flesh-tanks slid up, bracing my ears like life preserver floats. I was drowning in a hot, quivering sea of my sister’s tits, while my hips flung in and out unseen behind my head, curving deep stabs into her.
SLAP! SLAP! SPLAP! SCHLOOP!
I gave it to her for twenty minutes, bucking my hips into her cunt. Breedfucking my hot busty sister, to the soundtrack of our flesh squelching together.
Kat climaxed twice under my drilling hips, screaming and ranting, thick pulses of squirt running down her thighs and pooling on the Tempur-Pedic.
My balls itched, and I was crashing into a bleak, dark orgasm. I screamed back at her as my cock slid inside, jerked, and began flooding her with slippery cum-worms.
As I pumped a load into my sister, I had an unusually stupid post-orgasmic thought. All is forgiven. Things are back to normal. I hadn’t broken anything fundamental, or at least nothing that couldn’t and hadn’t been fixed. This strange, awful night was over, and a new day had come.
I raised my head from her quivering sweat-moist tits, expecting to see her face smirking her I-win smirk.
Instead, hate swept over me like an arctic gale, snuffing any pleasure I felt.
Nothing was forgiven. The night was eternal. My sister lay folded inside my arms and wrapped around my cock and none of it mattered.
She was still lost to me.
Ten hours later…
Late morning in a strange hotel room.
SPLAT! SQUELCH! SLOPP! SKLATCH!
“Ugh! Dick me harder, jerk-off! Also…you’re STILL wrong!”
Kat’s body twisted on the hotel shower floor, spreadeagled beneath mine. Her mouth spat out pretty little grunts beneath my lunging, cunt-churning hips.
SKLOPP! SPLURCH! SPLRACK! BLURRK!
My cock churned a wet path through her twat as we fucked. Shower water rushed down on us from above, drenching our bodies. My sister’s skin heaved and roiled with her panted breath. Her flesh shined like lustrous blown glass.
She lay pinned by my hips, sprawled in lewd antisymmetry on the tiles. Tilting my head down from her yelling face, I watched my thick cock truncheon in and out, in and out, rutting her with brutal, sloppy force.
As I deep-dicked her on the floor, Kat’s massive tits jolted hard. Swinging forward, then sliding back. My fuck-slams rudely dumped them into her face—flesh piling up against her chin and mine, wobbling like huge balloons in the space between our faces. I loved fucking her fat, sloppy twat, making everything in her sinfully thick body jiggle.
“NO! YOU’RE WRONG!” I yelled down, punctuating the yell with my dick.
“I’M RIGHT!” She spat back up.
We frantically screwed, twisting like living sculptures as water vented a high-pressure scream over our bodies. Felt like fucking in a car wash. My hair was matted to my scalp. Her pigtails had disintegrated to a trailing black seaweed strands, the tips disappearing down the drain.
“GUH! CUUUMMMINNGGGG!” Her fuck-chute began crushing my cock with rhythmic rubbery pulses.
I breedslammed my sexy, busty sister against the tiles, nailing her through her climax. As it crested, I grasped her enormous breasts, squeezing them, filling my hands with her soft, blubbery tit flesh. I was astonished by the sheer bulk exploding out of my palms. Her boobs were Ralph Bakshi big.
“WRONG!” Kat gasped, lying in a puddle of water and bodily fluids, just getting torn open by my cock.
“RIGHT!” My driving hips had now inflicted three orgasms. Kat lay panting, twisted under me, fuck-drunk and broken by them.
Water ran from her beautiful face, merging with tears of lust or anger. She was hardly conscious, but her mouth spat venom on autopilot.
She’d slid sideways, inadvertently planted her huge ass atop the shower drain, blocking it. Hot water was rising around us, driven by the pounding torrent of the overhead shower, churned by our thrashing bodies.
I slowly sucked my cock back out of Kat’s pussy, then heaved myself back in, burying my cock in her wet squelching heat.
She climaxed a fourth time, exploding upon me with hard crippling jerks. Her pussy throbbed as it spat out sister-cum that seemed as copious as the hotel shower water it was mixing with. I kept fucking.
In. Out. In. Out. A grinding, seesawing rhythm consumed us—I fucked her cunt with lunging, ball-cracking strokes, drawing moans from her throat as I crushed her.
Gray shower water howled down on us both, scalding my back. I was too lost in my sister’s cock-squeezing guts to care.
I made her cum again.
As her spasms settled, I realized my sperm was beginning to rise.
I dragged my cock out of her snatch with a loud SCHLORKKK. It bobbed and swung through the air, huge and thick, strands of her squirt streaming down its veiny shaft.
“Put it back iiiiiiinnnn!” Kat keened needily over the spraying water.
“Sorry, Kat! Brat sisters don’t deserve dick!”
“Yes we DOOOOOOO!”
I used my knees to slide up her slippery midsection, climbing her torso with lunging humps of my hips. Shuffling into position, I slapped my erection between her breasts, and began titfucking her.
Kat’s pumpkin-sized boobs wobbled as I plunged my cock between them. The vast warm masses engulfed my shaft, blanketing it under their pink, slippery bulks.
What the fuck…, I thought, blinking shower water from my eyes. Nine and a half inches, and you can’t even see it with her tits around it.
Quite a party trick.
My hands squeezed her blubberous funbags, sculpting them into a gripping mouth that churned and gaped as my cock slid through.
As my load squirted through my tubes, I accelerated my hips, pounding her tits into heavy wobbling blurs. Massive doughy breasts splashed and distorted, their bulks shockwaving and oscillating as I pounded them with my orgasm-throbbing penis.
“UGGHHGHHLGAAAGH” I cried, hips bucking and blasting. “CUMMING, YOU FAT TRASH BITCH OF A SISTER!”
I snapped my hips forward with a series of wet plunges, slam-fucking my gigantomastic sister’s breasts. Each hip-thrust slammed into a wall of titflesh packed a foot high. I fucked earthquakes through them—earthquakes that rippled back onto my cock, wracking my penis with unbelievable spasms.
My crotch went SPLAT! against the base of her tits, and the first rope spat out of me.
“GUHHH!”
The head of my cock jabbed from the tops of her breasts. My glans yawned, and cumshots blew out of it with the force of bullets.
Splirk! Spurg! Splort! Splorg!
I busted super fucking hard inside my kid sister’s chest. It wasn’t the biggest load I’d shot between Kat’s boobs in the last few days—only a meager six-roper—but it was super dense and heavy. I heard shots go WHAP and SPLAT as they arced from her tits and pounded against surfaces—the shower wall, the fittings, her forehead.
Pulse. Pulse. Pulse.
My cock bucked, contractions twisting it slantwise as her breasts acted as shock absorbers, pulling it back to center as I spewed out my balls inside a cradle of her flesh. A final weak rope drizzled away inside her cleavage, then I collapsed back onto my ass. My cock tugged out of her tit-trench with a loud, obscene squelch, oozing out cum as thick as melted cheese.
“Anyway, I win the debate.” I panted, my prick softening into a hose between my kneeling legs. It nearly reached the floor. I admired the thick clotted ropes I’d pumped across the shower stall, and my sister’s face.
“What was the debate again?” Kat wiped cum off her face, and slung the glutinous mess down the drain. It spiraled in twisting white. My load was so dense that the strands barely dissolved as hot shower water washed over them.
“If a refrigerator is warmer than the outside air, is it still a refrigerator?”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Were you for or against?”
I shrugged. “I don’t remember. I won, though. Trust.”
Kat sat up, and swept her gaze around the shower. She frowned at the devastation I’d caused.
“Eww, Zack! This is really gross! Does your body literally do anything except make cum? Tell it to make some muscle for a change. Look at how skinny you are!”
“I’m not skinny.” I panted with some indignation as she pinched my belly. “I’m shredded. Look at my six pack.”
She slid a finger over my midsection. “Those are your ribs, Zack! You’re starving!”
“They’re abs!”
“You don’t have abs, nerd!” She squalled, combing my sperm from her hair. “Your body is absolutely devoid of any muscle whatsoever, aside from your dick! You’re manorexic!”
I smiled, leaning into her space and looping my arms around her bulky thighs. Her chubby, stubby legs wriggled. Each was thicker than my waist. “Could a manorexic brother do this?”
I picked up Kat by her hips, and dropped her back down to the tiles. SPLASH! Water exploded, and an avalanche of sexy sistermeat jiggled as she landed on the tiles. She squealed raucously. Good fun.
“Ow!” she squalled. “That hurt, Zack…”
“What really hurt?” I sneered. “This?”
I lifted her up and threw her down. SPLASH!
“Quit it!” She kicked out. Her pink and chubby legs were slippery with soap and cum.
Another erection was swinging up between my crotch. Flinging her around was making me hard. Again. Oh God, how long will we be in this shower for? Maybe this is one of those hotels that meters your electricity…
I lifted Kat a third time.
This time, I threw her extra high, and drove forward on my knees at the same time, punching my hips against the fork of her crotch as it flew upward.
I calculated correctly. Our genitals crashed together, with enough force that my prick popped inside, filling her hot, hungry depths with my shaft.
Kat fell to the shower floor. And she dragged me down too, like an anchor with huge tits. She hit the tiles with me on top of her, and my cock inside her.
SPLAAAAAASSHHHHHHH!
The weight of two people flung a storm of shower water against the stall windows. It was an explosion.
“Gotcha, sis,” I smirked, my cock flexing in her gooey, slithering cuntal tube.
“Asshole.” She whispered as I folded up her legs, pinning her knees against her huge breasts. They ballooned out to her chin, expanding to the size of deep dish pizzas.
I began fucking her hard, pounding her sexy cunt.
SPLUSKWAAT!! SPLUCK! SPLAT! My glistening cock tore in and out, rippling her water-slick flesh, making her tits sling twenty-inches up and down her chest. Kat screamed as I rammed her cunt with no mercy.
SPLORK! SPLUT! SPIK! SQUIP! SQUOOM! SPWIRK! SPWUCK!
“OOOHHHH YOU BIG DICKED ASSHOLE!” Kat’s mouth torrented out filth. “STOP! NO! I DIDN’T MEAN IT, IDIOT! START! START! STAAAARRRRTTT!”
Teeth clenched and muscles blazing, I stabbed my dick into her again and again, grinding in and forward, humping her yielding flesh into a storm of jiggles. She shrieked in pleasure, filled with my flexing, contorting cock.
Her hips surged as she orgasmed. Her pussy pulsed, gripping me tightly. I stopped humping. For a moment, I watched my beautiful sister’s eyes flutter as she squirted like a pig. A wet orgasming fuckhole, a pair of huge squished tits, and a gasping face. My perfect actress sister, everyone!
“Uh! Uhh! Uhhh!!!” Surging clenches rolled through her genitals, bathing me in her slippery, musky heat. I gazed down at her heaving flanks, marking the point where my cock fucked through into her snatch. Her chubby pubis was visibly distorted by my penis’s bulk.
Stuffed with cock, Kat’s eyelashes shuddered in ecstasy
“Breed me some more.” She panted in a voice that was a raw wind. “Breed me again and again.”
I split her open, splaying her labia like the petals of a glorious flower. Legs thrown wide open, pussy gaping like a mouth, gulping down my cock. Her pussy lips seemed alive, sucking at me. Her legs scissored shut against my ass.
My sister kicked and bucked, twisting like a fish hooked on cock instead of metal. She kept trying to twist herself off the dick skewered right through her body, pressing her to the bathroom tiles.
I pounded her, slamming her to the floor with bone-jarring drops of my hips. Focusing on the rising surge of pleasure incipient in my spine, uncoiling through my crotch as I shattered her with the force of my crotch-thrusts. Water gushed and splashed. It merged with the sounds of our fucking. A language of liquid and skin and sin and blood and cum.
I was about to ejaculate again on the shower floor. More… more… almost there…
“I’m gonna cum, Kat…”
“Put it inside me,” she twisted her body, spitting out words.
“UGHH!” My cunt-pounding cock was slamming in and out at hip-blurring speed.
SPLUNT! SPLUNT! SPLUNT!
A tingle itched its way down my spine, settling in my prostate. Pressure built and released like steam, howling through my epididymis.
My sister climaxed with a bestial grunt. Her eyes bulged, her crotch jerking against me as her pussy burst.
I crashed our hips together, joining her in unholy release.
My cock leaped and then spewed baby-batter into the narthex of her sucking, squelching cunt. I gripped her tits as explosions of sperm depth-charged inside her. Blast after blast after blast. My pretty, stacked sister moaned as my cock fired thick splattery ropes of jizz into her womb, slathering her eggs with genetically-related wrigglers.
I ground and flexed my hips, emptying my balls to the dregs. I fell forward onto her, my dick still sunk inside her, splaying her labia meat apart like Excalibur. My cock throbbed, oozing out glutinous sperm-worms.
I lay with her water-slick tits beached like whales on each side of me, bobbing in the swirling shower water. Neither of us could talk.
I finally pulled out, feeling my cum glugging out of her pussy and circling the drain. I held her. She spasmed violently in my arms, her tongue lolling free of her mouth.
“Sorry, Kat.”
No reply. No sign that she had heard. I began to wonder if I’d even spoken at all.
“I’m sorry for hitting you. Please forgive me.”
Her lips remained shut.
In that moment, lying on my sister while we both drowned on the floor of a hotel shower, I would have given anything for anything. And Kat gave me nothing.
Was what I’d done forgivable or not? I needed to know this. I would have loved yes, would have accepted no. But my sister had found a crueler punishment for me: a question mark. Forever.
Well, so be it. Maybe I deserved nothing but the worst.
Water drummed down. I lay atop her heaving, fleshy body, feeling suddenly miserable. The world was too heavy for me.
No forgiveness. No release. No way out.
We’d just spent a tense night together.
Sleep was almost impossible on the single-size bed. Kat’s tits were inescapable. I had thick fat boulder-sized piles of jigglemeat in my face, wherever I turned and twisted. I swear those things were following me around in bed like snakes, trying to push me off. We ended up fitting our bodies together like those elaborately-carved wooden scrollsaw statues that come in two pieces and slot together a specific way. Her ass pressed inside the hollow of my midsection. My chin rested on the rondure of her neck.
Constant bodily contact with my sister’s flesh roused erection after erection from me. Each time, I had to fuck out another load, otherwise my dick wouldn’t go down.
We’d screwed upon our arrival at midnight. Aggressive, high-tempo “Mom and Dad are in the next room”-type fucking that we did so easily even when Mom and Dad were in the next city, and nearly the next state. Kat screamed. Her hands formed fists, thumping my back, until I splattered out a massive load of wrigglers. I heard my sperm bubbling out of her afterward as we lay in the dark.
We woke again at two, and fucked again. I pronged my sister to two orgasms, creampied her hard, then fell asleep atop her sweat-drenched breasts.
At six, I woke with her head planted on my crotch. Loud slurping sounds throbbed in the air as she sucked my prick. I reached down and began fingering her wet snatch. We tumbled to the floor, where we sixty-nined until we orgasmed together, groaning and spewing out slippery rivers of cum against each others’ bodies as we thrashed like slack bags of meat..
Kat and I argued as we fucked. About anything. Whether those cans of compressed air were a ripoff or not, whether buildings with a floor beneath the ground counted as multi-storey, whether the rapper Chingy would have a long and successful career (I regret to say that I took the “yes, of course he will” side of that argument), and many other things.
We debated everything under the cosmos while having shitty orgasms in a shitty hotel suite.
We argued about everything, except for that.
Once Kat had sucked and titfucked me on the floor, I’d crawled back into bed and promptly slid into a deep and thundercloud-heavy unconsciousness.
I’d woken alone in bed, the sun in my eyes. I’d lifted my head from the pillow, hearing water running from the suite’s bathroom, seeing Kat standing naked alone in the bathroom, brushing her teeth before the mirror. Her engine-block of an ass had bulged out massively, exploding like a bomb. My heart had thudded as I’d watched shiny, beautiful tresses spill down the voluptuous slopes of her body, gathering on her shelf. Big dangling tits had wobbled and jiggled as she brushed—obscene clapping boulders that had drunk so much of my cum—swaying in a way that was clearly visible from behind. They’d almost rested on the counter, eighteen inches from her collarbone.
Lust had started crawling through my veins, flooding fire through my cock. I’d had to have her, again. White lust roared up in me in a blind surge. Kat had spat water into the basin, then spun the faucet handles on the shower. She hadn’t heard me sneak up, hadn’t seen me approach in the mirror like a horror movie monster.
Until I’d pounced on her, flinging her against the shower wall. CRACK! I’d gripped a handful of assmeat from her thigh, and tugged her pussy into view. I lifted her thigh, and planted my throbbing dick inside her three seconds later. She squealed in shock. gripping the metal of the shower handles, fingers jerking tight, tanking my thrusts with her bratty teenage ass. Then she’d slipped, and we’d tumbled atop each other.
Then the debauchery on the shower floor occurred.
I ejaculated a second time, then I’d gone back to bed, leaving my orgasm-trashed sister drooling on the shower floor.
I drowsed, the sun rising past a cracked window. Late morning.
As Kat emerged from the shower, I feigned sleep.
I saw her glance my way through slitted eyelids. She stared at me with cold, brutal fascination. Like I was morgue meat and she was a precocious medical student, already thinking about the first incision.
She reached for her phone and dialed. “Hello? Mom?”
She spoke quietly, and kept glancing my way.
“…Yeah, the audition went really well.”
I let my mouth twitch, and hoped she didn’t see. So well it never happened.
Mom said something to that I couldn’t hear, and Kat began uneasily confabulating.
“It went so well that the director wants me to stay another day, and uh, do it again. Just to see if I can do it twice… Yes, that’s normal… It’s a Hollywood thing, Mom. I’ll be home in a few days, promise… In a hotel in Big Bear, with Zack. Yes, I’m paying for it. Or he’s paying for it. Zack says hi. Yes, he’s staying too. No, you can’t talk to him. Bye.”
Click.
I lifted my head off the pillow as Kat ended the call.
“Hey.” I said.
“Hey.” I saw dark hair, and green eyes with no time for me. “Didn’t know you were awake.”
“So we’re staying here?”
“Yup.” Kat’s face was heavy, fleshy, and sensual without makeup. Her black eye had already started to heal. “We’re staying here.”
Then she started texting someone.
But she glanced my way, and she shielded the side of her phone with her hand to stop me seeing. Which was funny, because I wasn’t even looking.
I wondered who she was talking to.
Mr Dennings seethes with frustrated lust, reading the texts.
im sorry dad
i am still thinking about what to do about zack
i will come home when i am ready
im so confused.
plz dont rush me
He wants to rush her. He has planned everything out. Planned it with utter diligence. Why wouldn’t you rush something so perfect? So inevitable?
Disaster nearly struck yesterday, when she found his hidden camera. Luckily, she believes her brother put it there. A misunderstanding that Mr Dennings has been quick to exploit.
His son, caught by the videotaped evidence, will go to prison. Then, once he has divorced his wife, Kat and he will be alone together in the house, with their father-daughter relationship blossoming into whatever new form G-d (and his own heart) decides.
But everything relies on Kat. She must come home, and testify against her brother. Or at least not interfere when he files a complaint with the NYPD.
He has spoken to a lawyer friend. The hidden cameras constitute invasions of her privacy: this alone is sufficient evidence to arrest his son. He has edited the invoices so that Zack appears to have made the purchases. He is ready to call the cops, and begin the criminal process.
But Kat must testify.
Without her word, Zack will deny everything, the forged evidence will swiftly unravel, and it will become clear who actually planted the cameras.
Perfectly, fatally clear.
I need to get her back home, he thinks.
He hears his wife calling. A lightbulb on the upstairs landing has gone out. He sighs, and fetches a stepladder.
You must have patience, he tells himself. He itches for Kat. Burns for her.
But for now, he must wait.
I lay in bed, watching my sister pace toward me.
She was naked from the shower, and still faintly wet. The edges of her body glowed in the light flooding through the open bathroom door. It caught her hair, and made it shine.
She climbed into the bed, and leaned over me like a thing divine, some Botticelli-esque creature risen from the deepest reaches of the sea.
She stood over me with her back to the bathroom light, flinging a halo around her. I could barely see her lips move.
I’m gonna—you.
I didn’t catch the third word. I hope it was thrill.
I shivered as her fingers settled on me, gripping like claws. I glimpsed her smile in silhouette. Vulturous and predatory.
She swept a thick thigh over me, then followed with the rest of her body. She gripped my skin like I was a mountain she was clinging to.
Straddling my torso, Kat’s hair trailed across my chest with the cold heaviness of seaweed. I shivered. Her lips hunted for mine, found them.
As we kissed, she gripped my body with the press of her thick flesh-heavy thighs.
Her tits draped across me, slick and enormous. They piled over my chest, draping in heavy, pendulous sacks of Kat, their masses pooling in my body’s concavities and hollows. Her aroused nipples throbbed on my skin, tracing lines of water as she dragged herself into brother-fucking position.
The kiss didn’t break.
She reached down and gripped my penis.
After shooting out so many loads, I assumed I was exhausted.
Nobody was more shocked than I when Kat’s hand closed on a penis that was rapidly rising to full erection.
It swelled with my heartbeat, veins pulsing against her hand.
Kat removed her hand.
Huge balloon-breasts slapped in, filling the place her fingers had been.
We fucked over and over for two more hours.
We screwed leisurely on the hotel bed. Once with her on top, once with me on top, and once sideways—our bodies fitting as closely together as my cock fit into her twat.
I was utterly numb, and barely inside my own body. My dick slid to the bottom of her cunt in slow, bone-jarring stabs, each heavy impact of her hips causing her to grunt….but I felt nothing. No pleasure. No satisfaction.
My cock was numb from a mixture of overuse and sleep deprivation. I had ejaculations that were little more than rubbery, nerveless spasms. My dopamine receptors were shot, and I continued fucking right through them. I don’t know if they even counted as orgasms. Certainly, my mind didn’t regard them as such.
Her breath had a dead, mechanical rhythm, panted hot in my ears. Her hips rolled up and down with a mechanical quality, like flexing pistons. She sounded like a ticking clock. A train wooshing past right on schedule. A bloodless sound from a bloodless source: a heart that can only push blood.
Finally, we broke apart, gasping and wheezing, bodies slick with sweat and cum. I fell from the edge of consciousness.
This time I slept for many hours, dreaming that I was circling in a witch’s cauldron full of dead bones. Kat stood laughing above the bubbling cauldron, swirling it with a ladle the size of a coffin-plank. I screamed as I spun around and around in the steaming brew. Screamed and screamed. I couldn’t tell if I’d gotten stuck in the cauldron by accident, or if I belonged in there—my body seemed to be coming apart, and soon I became sure that the dead and rotting bones had once been mine.
When I woke, it was late afternoon.
Kat sat at the hotel table, wearing a polo shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose her chubby pink arms. She was texting someone, focusing hard, thumbs blurring on her Nokia flip-phone. The cold blue of the phone shone over her face, painting it the electric blue of a Californian storm in summer, with the sun pounding through behind it . I could not decode her expression.
She saw me watching, and waved at me, favoring me with a cruel little smile. A sinister constellation of teeth flashed beyond her soft pink lips.
Fear rose in me.
Danger was out stalking. I felt its tread.
My sister hated me. It was not a game. I was a person utterly despised. I’m sorry, Kat. I said this many times, and would say it many times still. Always to the same result: Kat would just pretend I hadn’t spoken.
I smelled pizza. Kat had ordered takeaway…with my money, it appeared. My wallet lay on the kitchenette, bank cards ripped out and left out in a glittery plastic strew, mixed with lint from my pocket.
“You look great.” I told her.
She rolled her eyes. Compliments bored her as much as arguments excited her.
“Shut up and eat, dweeb,” her black fingernails gestured at the pizza boxes weeping grease onto the counter. I smelled anchovies and mushrooms. “Get naked. I wanna fuck some more. And just so you know, the last two rounds were pretty lackluster.”
“Is it time to go home yet?”
“No.”
We ended up rutting on the floor like animals. The air echoing with the resonant slap and heave of our bodies.
Want to know what an axe sounds like, when it falls on your neck?
It sounds like nothing at all.
One night in Big Bear became three days.
Three days became a week.
We upgraded to a larger and cheaper hotel, but Kat had clearly decided that we would not leave the town. She did all but bar the door. Surely tomorrow we’ll leave , I’d think as I lay down to sleep each night. And each morning, I’d wake up to hear her on the phone, confabulating another set of lies to Mom or Dad.
The producer put me in touch with some agents who are flying out to meet me. Can I stay one more day?
Zack pulled his ankle. He’s not supposed to move for twenty hours. Sucks, was really hoping to be on the road today…
Mom and dad always agreed.
They’d always spoiled my sister, giving her what she wanted.
And now, I had no choice but to give her what she wanted, as well.
I’d punched her. I’d done a seriously bad thing. And even though the days gained a Lynchian unreality—nothing quite real, nothing quite fake, a world of shining but thin glass, and if I put a foot wrong, it would go right through into some ruinous nothingness beyond—I understood two things as the truth.
First, my sister was rightfully very angry with me. Second, she was extremely close to destroying my life.
If I displeased her, she would make a call—to Mom, to Dad, to the cops—and my life as Zachary Dennings would cease and my life as Inmate #53234 begin.
As the days marched past, we did some tourist stuff. We kayaked in Boulder Bay. Played minigolf at Big Bear Discovery Center. Biked down Gray’s Peak Trailhead.
But mostly we had evil, mindless, idiotic sex, arguing as we tumbled into bed, still arguing as we tumbled out the other side.
I don’t know what expression I had on my face on our nature hikes. The one I saw on hers was glass-eyed boredom. She was just waiting for me to suggest leaving, and going back to our hotel suite for more sex.
Everything in life seemed so deeply boring except each other.
And we hated each other.
Friday arrived in our Big Bear hotel suite. I was so desperate to leave that I felt the need hammering against me. I was an animal in a cage.
Please, please, let us go home!
But Kat told me that we weren’t.
“We’re staying the weekend.”
Her catlike eyes flashed dangerously as she put down the phone. My heart plunged. It was Friday, and I hated Big Bear.
“Kat…why?”
“Because I say so.” Also, fuck you. Her stare kept saying words that her mouth didn’t. “There are some things I need to think about. And I like mountains. Mountains are neat. Don’t you like mountains, big bro? I bet you do. Almost as much as you like filming your sister.”
I bit my tongue.
Fucking my huge-breasted sister was fun, but I could do that in LA. I wanted home. Wanted to get out of this suite, reeking of sweat and cum and hostility, and back to reality.
My savings were vanishing down the drain, and anyway, what was the point of this? Staying holed up in this awful, hate-filled place? Being unable to have a conversation about anything?
Why wouldn’t my sister just fucking move on?
“Are you okay with that plan of action, big bro?” Kat’s voice was toneless and even, but as her dainty feet stepped forward, I felt an urge to flinch. You’d better be okay. Her face said with corpse-dead poetry. You’d better.
“I guess,” I grunted miserably.
“Good.” She began working on another layer of her braid, fingers looping, tucking and folding. “That’s what I like to hear. Sorry that you can’t sell films of me to porn sleazos like you’re doing at home.”
“I’m not.”
I hated how the denial seemed to become one with all the other pointless arguments—truth and nonsense getting slurried together in a cement mixer until no-one could tell them apart.
I stared out the window. The blue sky and leaf-green outside seemed so far away. There may as well have been a bar on the door, a chain around my ankle.
What was I, if not a prisoner already?
My sister and I had huge sex drives and fucked a lot even when Mom and Dad were in the house.
Alone, with nobody to hide the incest from, we were way worse. Fucking seemed the only thing left.
Days blurred together like a line of deershit pellets mashed into a single streak by a tire track. It was almost good, in a way. The fact that I was moronically pounding her pussy eight to ten hours a day meant I couldn’t even think about my predicament.
We gorged ourselves on takeaway and energy drinks, and ground our genitals together until the point of muscular failure. Day after day, night after night.
On some days, we racked up a double-digit number of sessions on that moldering hotel bed. One day, I fucked my sister twelve times—a number I cannot recall if I ever broke or even matched. Don’t try it. The last six cums weren’t fun at all. The twelfth all but killed me.
Sex became our identity. I became a cock, she became a cunt. Easier than being Zachary Dennings and Katherine of that ilk. Two people in the least healthy relationship since David and Bathsheba.
I felt gross and dirty even showing myself in public. I’d accompany her on some lame-ass hike in the woods, feeling like the sun was burning me like I was a vampire, a creature of darkness; a filth-encrusted goblin broken from Sheol, staring at a world of beauty and light that was not mine and which I would never belong to. And then my gaze would go to my sister—she looked guilty and ashamed too—I realized we both deserved to be in hell.
We were corrupt. Wicked. Born to burn. Maybe there was no hell, but that was fine. We’d built one on Earth.
When I fucked Kat, I saw hatred in her eyes, staring back from pools of makeup and sweat. She did not love me. She could not even pretend to. We were just two horny teenage idiots, grinding our genitals together until our brain cells leaked out our ears along with all other fluids.
Eventually, I was sick of sex with her. The sheer monotony of it, the voidlike lack of meaning. The fact that it was all a game on top of a secret on top of a lie on top of a fantasy—so many layers of artifice that it felt like my real identity was just one more mask.
It was the constant arguing that got to me. Do you know how exhausting it is to fake anger and yell for no reason? For hour upon hour? Over nothing? Does .999 equal 1? Is Tom Cruise taller or shorter than Napoleon Bonaparte? Who cares! Fight, fight, fight!
To Kat, sex without fighting was like Asian food without MSG. Missing a vital ingredient. The meaner I was to her, the more she thrilled to it.
I wanted to be nice to my sister. But whenever I did, she turned into a vicious weasel.
Whenever I showed consideration or compassion. Whenever I tried to leave the awful abusive asshole brother role she’d assigned me when I’d punched her in the face.
She wanted me to be a piece of shit. So long as I behaved like a villain, acted the awful abusive asshole who’d punched her, she tolerated me. But as soon as I tried to redeem myself…that’s when the knives come out.
One day Kat went shopping in San Bernardino. I took a nap because we’d done it six times. My next memory is of sitting up, and scratching my tousled head. It seemed to be mid-afternoon. I heard Kat talking close by.
She sat on a wooden chair, her legs crossed prettily. She was talking on the phone. Perhaps it was her stiletto-sharp voice that had woken me.
“Not today, Dad…maybe tomorrow. We’ll see. Let me deal with it my own way…”
She’d dressed in a black turtleneck sweater and jeans that were too loose at her ankles and too tight at her ass. She’d put on a fresh face of makeup. She’d rebraided her hair. She looked like a beatnik lesbian slam poet.
“You look cool,” I said when she hung up.
Her eyes became razors. “Excuse me? Did I ask?”
“Nah, it’s a compliment. Free of charge.”
“Why, though? Are you trying to manipulate me into something?”
“No. I just thought you looked cool.”
“Gee, thanks. I was hoping you would approve. I do everything just to earn my scumbag brother’s approval.”
I was sick—sick down to my bones—of hostility and negativity and screaming the worst things in the world at my sister.
“Kat, stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“I don’t want to do this…” I pleaded, desperate to escape.
“What’s ‘this’?”
“Can’t we just be nice to each other?”
She tilted back her head. I don’t know if she intended for the healing remnants of her black eye to hit the light, but they hit and hit hard.
I saw murder behind her stare, rising forward. She was holding a lot of rage in check, and kindness would unleash it on me, full force. I think Kat wanted to make me an asshole, so she could be a bitch.
I reached out to comfort her, and she slapped me.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t ever touch me…like that.”
I pulled my hand back. My insides congealed into a single raw wound, a mass of emotional pain.
She shuddered. “You can fuck me. But don’t touch me. Don’t touch me like you’re a good guy.”
She picked up her phone, and made a show of reading it. Then a bright, crazed smile cracked open her face .
“Heh,” Kat said. “Aaron posted something funny on MySpace.”
“Who’s Aaron?” I glanced up, running the name across our list of friends. No bells rang.
“Remember the trivia night? He was on the team that beat us. When I went shopping yesterday I gave him a blowjob.”
This seemed like a pretty unfunny joke to tell.
Kat shook her pretty head, smiling with all the sickness of hell. “Not a joke.”
Then she showed me a photo she’d snapped on her phone. My sister was grinning, skirt rucked up, kneeling before a guy on a gravel carpark. A penis was in her hands. A penis that wasn’t mine.
“I gave him head,” she tossed her black locks. “And his two friends. Got a problem with that? Bro?”
I felt an urge to scream and another conflicting urge to cry. They both welled up in me with such force that they clashed and cancelled out, Mr Burns style.
It’s no secret that my sister has clinical nymphomania and is extremely sexually promiscuous. Incredible how she’s kept her hundreds of sexual partners a secret from mom and dad.
Guys chat her up in the street or at the mall because of her chest. Many of them get her phone number. And then, evidently, our street number. I’m not a saint. Other people get to have their own lives. But no brother wants their sister to be the town dartboard. I think this partly fueled my resentment of her: that she’s had so much sexual experience, while aside from her, I’ve had none. But it was amazing that even six to twelve times a day wasn’t enough to stop her from sneaking out and banging strange guys. Just to make me mad.
I lowered my head. A groan of misery left my chest.
“Don’t tell me that.”
“He was the one sitting at the back of their table. Blond hair.” Kat smirked as I clenched fists. “I got to talking to him while you were driving around Big Bear for no reason. His dick’s not as big as yours, but he’s actually really cool and nice. Unlike you.”
“No he isn’t!” My voice crescendoed. “Those guys were dicks to us! And even if he was nice, you didn’t have to fuck him! That’s disgusting.”
But Kat was just bouncing up and down like a toddler. Just so fucking happy she’d gotten under my skin. “Oh, I’m sorry, Zack, did I bring infidelity into your very moral and upright brother-sister relationship? Burn the witch!” She rolled her eyes. “What a hypocritical toolbag you are, Zack.”
Hypocrite or not, I was heartbroken by that. My heart felt like it had been shotgunned dead in my chest.
I know that’s absolutely ridiculous.
“I’ve screwed other guys too, while we’re here. Wanna know how many? Wanna know what they did to me.”
“Shut up. Shut up!”
“Wanna know how nice they were, next to you?”
I was falling apart, and close to tears. The worst part was the glee on my sister’s face.
Yay, an argument. One way or another, she always gets what she wants. Kat was even pulling off her beret and sweater, because she knew what came next. And I guess I did too, because I was taking off my shirt. We were ready to metamorphose into the next stage. Two idiots screaming and screwing.
“Fuck you.”
“Seriously, Zack, fuck you.”
“Fuck you too.”
She seemed on the verge of tears.
This isn’t fun anymore. It can’t be for her, and it sure isn’t for me.
That night, I heard my sister crying. Gentle, snuffling tears. I turned my head and saw her body quivering under the sheets.
I felt bad. Please don’t cry, Kat.
I reached across.
My hand was swatted away.
Mr Dennings has received an odd text from his daughter.
Its okay dad. i won’t need your help with zack. ive figured something out.
goodbye.
Goodbye? Goodbye is an odd word for his daughter to put on a text. An odd word for anyone to put on a text.
Confused, he scrolls back through his message bank, reading the dozens of texts he has received from her.
She has never ended a text with “goodbye”.
He texts back.
?
But there is no response.
Kat, your brother is a criminal. We need to bring him to justice, or he will victimize someone else. If you will not cooperate, I will act alone.
I hope you understand.
When there still isn’t an answer, Mr Dennings sighs, and dialing.
I have enough evidence, he thinks, as the call to the police connects. I do not need her after all.
Monday morning. A gray dawn rose to mark our tenth day at Big Bear.
Kat decided it was time to go home.
We spoke about five words to each other as we went about our routine.
We had two rounds of lifeless, listless sex on the bed. Then we went out to a bistro, and availed ourselves of the all-you-can-eat breakfast. Then we returned to our suite, where we had sex on the bed, then in the shower. Kat had her usual crop of orgasms, but didn’t smile. Her climaxes came and went like sneezes. She seemed determined to never be happy again.
“I want to go home,” Kat said as she slugged her monster tits into the 30JJ cups, tugging them into place where they pinched.
I nodded, trying not to seem relieved. “Fine.”
“It’s not fine,” she snapped, flinging clothes in a travel case with curt flicks of her fingers. “I’m just saying I want to leave.”
“Whatever.”
I gazed around at the suite, which we’d destroyed. I was shocked at how much damage we’d caused in a week of nearly nonstop fucking.
Plaster had flaked from the wall where the bed’s metal headboard had pounded against it, night after night. The window curtain had been torn free of several hoops where Kat’s hands had clutched the chambray fabric for support. The bedsheets were sodden with squirt, sweat, and ejaculate. There was a stain plastered across the ceiling—an unusually ambitious cumshot from an unusually intense titfuck Kat had given me on Wednesday. The window was cracked—we hadn’t done that, but if the hotel proprietor decided to accuse us of it, we wouldn’t have a leg to stand on.
“We have to clean the room.” I grumbled. “If they see this mess, they’ll probably make me buy the hotel.”
Thud. That was the sound of the door closing behind me.
I watched my sister’s shadow move across the frosted glass windows. Her mouth extended open in a black noiseless scream. A shudder wracked her shoulders, the last dam against a flood of tears.
She rounded a corner, then the screams began. Under them, I heard Kat’s fists pound against the side of the building.
“Why? Why? WHY?”
Something was badly wrong. Above and beyond everything usually wrong.
I sighed heavily, and went hunting for my sister’s Febreze Fabric Refresher. I guess I’m cleaning the suite.
We barely made the 10:00am checkout time.
We loaded our bags into dad’s MINI Cooper S, while trying to avoid contact with the front desk staff—we’d been served several warnings about loud noises through the night. We set off down the road.
We were coming home, it seemed.
Maybe she’ll leave what I did here, I thought. And once we’re back home, things will be back to normal. What happens in Big Bear stays in Big Bear.
None of my other irrational hopes had been granted in the past few weeks. Maybe this one would be.
In a gas station bathroom, Kat gave me a titfuck-blowjob. We still weren’t talking. Her eyes were livid. Almost murderous. She uncharacteristically spat out my cumshot into the sink instead of swallowing it, as if I was now toxic.
“Are you okay?” I asked her, as she freshened her breath. I got a disgusted eye-roll.
“I want to go home, please.” Then she averted her eyes entirely, as if afraid the truth would leak out.
I was a little bit on my guard as we drove out of Big Bear. I’m confident that this edge of caution saved my life.
Saved both of us.
We left Big Bear on HWY 18, passing Arrowbear Lake. Then we hit the San Bernardino Mountains.
Or perhaps they hit us.
We turned a corner, and a chilly gray abyss seemed to open up to the left of the car. We were 7,000 feet above sea level, and a huge number of those feet were now yawning away off the left-hand side, charting a plunge so deep that the bottom nearly vanished into fog.
Kat put dad’s car in neutral, and took the narrow, zigzagging roads at a speed ten beneath the limit and ten above my comfort level.
I gulped as we descended, my fingernails digging trackmarks through the fake leather. The steep mountainsides were existentially terrifying as they hadn’t been when I was driving. Unyielding rock on one side, a fatal plunge on the other. I tried not to glance left: the mist-fogged plunge triggered vertigo. I was on a rollercoaster. One with no safety rails and my insane sister as conductor.
Kat just stared ahead, ignoring death nipping at our flank. Her hands lightly touched the wheel, the nails freshly painted. Her expression was unyielding.
We swerved left and right, banking and turning, navigating a stalled Kent rig, edging past a rockfall that had slipped from the mountain’s peak above us. I tried to avoid panic on the turns, when our center of gravity lurched toward the edge.
Relax, you wuss. Your sister can drive. You’re not going to die.
I glanced at the car we’d just overtaken, and tried for levity. “Damn, that guy still has chains on his tires. It’s not even snowing!”
Kat ignored me, made another turn, then another.
The roads grew narrower. The twists grew twistier. I felt fear hammering away inside me as the edge of the precipice crept closer.
Furthermore, I was starting to suspect that the signs looked very different to the ones we were supposed to pass.
“Uh, Kat?”
I saw a battered sign slanting away into space. The lettering was barely there.
Rim of the World Drive.
“Um…Kat…I don’t think this is the right way.”
My sister did not look at me. Her lips pressed out a flat line that was perfectly, geometrically horizontal, without a curving a fraction up or down.
I rummaged uselessly with a torn roadmap. “We’ve taken a wrong turn! Kat? Talk to me, Kat!”
“We haven’t taken a wrong turn…”
For a second, I didn’t recognize she’d spoken.
All of Kat’s harsh, bratty fuck-you had bled from her voice, leaving soulless wind and word.
It was a voice that did not seem to have my sister in it. A chill accelerated through me.
“…I’m just looking for a place where we can do it.”
Panic leaped up.
“Do what?”
But suddenly, perched on the jagged fang of a mountain, I understood. Oh God, imagine that being the last thing you understand.
“Found it.” Kat said.
My sister seemed far away, as if she’d already fallen to the bottom, and was waiting for me to join her.
I saw what lay ahead.
A sharp ninety degree turn in the road. Part of the mountainside at our left had been bulldozed away, graded flat, and tamped into a retaining wall, creating a small turning bay.
Anyone driving this road would need to brake, and three point turn, otherwise they would plunge through the a narrow guardrail—an aged, ragged W-beam that probably had the structural integrity of cardboard—and then off the side of the mountain.
I stared ahead, and saw death. Just a view of clear blue sky, and a fall from which there would be no way back.
BEWARE OF DROP! a sign said.
Kat slowed to a crawl, handbraking as we faced the sign and the guardrail and the edge.
She did not turn the steering wheel.
“Kat…what’s going on?” I felt color leave my face, my fingertips. There was no sign of anything beyond the edge of the cliff. It might have been the end of the entire world.
“Zack, I’m done. I’m unloved and living an empty life. I’ll never be an actress. Everyone hates me and I hate everyone.”
Her right hand clicked off the handbrake.
“I hope the next life is better. Or maybe there’s just nothing at all. That would be fine, too. Goodbye.”
The goodbye seemed to come from far away, as if she’d already fallen, and was beckoning me to join.
What? Words and their chill rolled over me like liquid nitrogen. I froze up at a moment I could not afford to freeze up.
Then my pretty, tormented sister gasped. Composed herself.
And stepped on the gas.
The MINI Cooper’s tires spun, found purchase, and then we were accelerating toward the edge of the cliff.
“NOOOOOO!!!!”
A raw bloody noise tore from my lungs.
Ignition blasting through it, the MINI-Cooper leaped like an eager dog, wheels skidding, spraying gravel, then catching again.
It lunged toward the cliff’s edge.
Velocity flattened me to the back of my seat. Blade-sharp mountain air rushed into my open, screaming mouth.
“KAAAAAAAAAATTTT!”
The edge was racing up like a wave on the beach. For a crystalline moment it was as if we were standing still, and stone was just vanishing away beneath our tires and before our eyes. A clear blue sky clawed out for us, claiming us.
Then I exploded into action.
I shoved my sister sideways, trying to break her foot’s contact with the gas pedal. Simultaneously, I locked a hand to the wheel, and ripped it left, trying to curve out left and extend the distance to the cliff. With my other hand, I racked the handbrake forward.
The wheels skidded but found no purchase. We continued to slide. The edge loomed close, approaching at terrible speed. The handbrake wasn’t enough.
I thrust my head and shoulders across the middle divide, and activated the brakes the only way I could.
By punching it to the floor with my fist.
The car jolted as the brakes crunched down. My stomach twisted, deceleration hit my chest like a hammer, and I was thrown forward into the dashboard. I felt an enormous mass of air vibrating the chassis of the car, vibrating into me, rattling my mind into disarray.
I was helpless as we powerslid forward, crashing through the metal guardrail…further…
I squeezed my eyes shut, glad I had no time to cry. Beyond the rail, we had about twenty inches of runway, then the fall began.
We’re going over! So close…if I’d just been half a second faster, I could have stopped her from killing us…
I opened my eyes.
We were neither falling off the mountain nor dead.
I stared forward at the perfect blue, which afforded not a glimpse of road or ground beneath the car.
We were right on the edge!
Kat began crying from the driver’s seat.
My sister was hyperventilating, her breath ruptured by chest-quaking sobs.
“Oh my God! Oh my God! Zack…what just happened?”
I got out, and gingerly stepped around to the front of the Mini Cooper.
One inch to the crumbling edge of the cliff.
One. Lousy. Inch.
The grille of the car was suspended out into space.
Then I pulled Kat out of the driver’s seat, and hugged her to my chest. This time, she didn’t fight. She fell into my arms like a warm winter coat.
“It’s okay, sis…” I whispered, rocking her against my body. “It’s okay…”
My eyes flicked over her shoulder, contemplating the car.
Carefully, I set the gearbox in REV and backed away from the edge. I’d been afraid of a sudden—and fatal—lurch forward, but the transmission cooperated.
Chunks of glass fell away from the MINI Cooper’s front as it chugged back down the road. Both headlights had shattered. Shards caught the sun, spraying fractured light from the mountain path into our eyes.
The guardrail had flexed and folded out as we’d smashed into it. As I reversed, it almost unflexed back to its original position. I idly wondered if we were the first people this had happened to. You could see every detail of the MINI Cooper’s nose plastered into it, like it was made of soft pasta dough instead of metal. Grille, bumper, headlight enclosures.
The useless-looking guardrail had actually saved us. It had taken away just enough speed to keep us on the mountain.
So. Motherfucking. Close.
I parked as far as I could in the makeshift turning bay. I didn’t care that I was probably gonna hold up traffic. My heart was trying to pound its way out of my chest like a murderer hacking through a wall.
With Kat sobbing and clutching herself, I inspected the car, found mostly superficial damage. Our lights were gone, and our Cali plate had gotten ripped off. I found it in the debris, and reattached it with a roll of duct tape from the trunk.
Driveable. Barely. Dad wouldn’t be happy.
Kat failed at killing me, but another parental figure might succeed. I imagined his reaction to seeing his beloved car in this condition. The drivetrain alone had cost thousands of dollars to install.
I guided Kat back around to the passenger seat, where she sat like a broken doll. Her face was ashen, even whiter than its usual shade. Her skin hadn’t caught the memo that she hadn’t quite died. I wanted to ask if she was okay, then thought that maybe even she didn’t know.
I posted up beside her in the driver’s seat, turned to face her, and eventually she whispered.
“Zack…what’s that…?”
I followed her pointing finger, and saw it.
There was a bit of damage that I’d missed. Probably because it had happened Inside the car.
A piece of the dashboard—one of the innumerable mods my dad had made—had gotten knocked loose. Either the impact or my body stretching into the driver’s seat had torn it away from the paneling, leaving it hanging free.
It dangled freely, connected by trailing electrical wires.
Confused and full of wonder, I lifted the panel and saw a hole drilled through it, and a lens mounted on the reverse side of that hole.
It was a micro-camera, very similar to the one we’d found in the fireplace at home ten days previously.
This one was filming us while we drove dad’s car.
Who…?
I gazed at the MINI Cooper’s dash. The modification had been clever, and almost undetectable. I saw that the plastic panel was fake, surely not part of the install kit. It had been spraypainted to match the aged wood tone of the dash, and sealed with (quite possibly) the same gorilla tape that I’d used to reattach our Cali plate.
We’d driven all the way from LA to Big Bear without noticing the camera, and almost all the way back.
What footage had the camera recorded? I could only guess.
Kat gasped. “It’s…”
I nodded, raising my hand. “I know what it is.”
“Can I hold it?”
She gestured, and I let her hold it. She turned the little device around in her hand, captivated.
“Same one…” she murmured, turning the camera over and over in her hand. “Same…one…but how did you…you couldn’t.”
Kat’s eyes fell away from me, as if I wasn’t of interest any longer. I watched her go deep inside herself, thinking hard from the zone she’d entered on the trivia night. So deep inside it was a miracle she could ever find her way back out. Thinking about what, though? That’s the thing: you never know what happens in the Marianas Trench.
Then Kat shrugged, unplugging the camera and stowing it in the glovebox.
“It doesn’t make sense. You don’t know shit about cars. Can you drive home, by the way?”
“Yeah.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
We drove the Mini Cooper down the mountains without further incident.
Or further words.
As we entered the LA city limits, Kat laid a hand on my leg.
I glanced at her face. She was giving me side-eye. Her face was tender. Sweet. Almost inviting.
I reciprocated, laying my hand on her leg in response. My adrenal glands were exhausted, and I had no more fear.
My hand squeezed her thigh. She didn’t swat it away.
Just once, I saw the ghost of a smile.
Soon after, we were home.
I saw a LAPD patrol car sitting just outside our driveway, like a black and white painted bully menacing our street.
Kat’s eyes flicked onto the car. And the cop standing outside it, checking his watch.
“I bet our neighbor got arrested.” I told Kat as we parked, even though the cop was already walking toward me. “Didn’t we always say he had a grow op in his basement?”
The officer rapped on the window, and I rolled down the convertible’s top.
“Are you Zachary Dennings?”
I told them I was. I bet the stupid license plate fell off.
It wasn’t that, as it turned out.
His hand dropped to the handcuffs on his belt, dangling and jangling.
“You’re under arrest. Get out of the car.”
And so, Mr Dennings thinks with a cold smile. I conquer.
Beside him, his daughter and wife stare open-mouthed with shock.
They have just watched Zack get driven away in the back of an LAPD patrol car. It vanishes at the turn of the road.
He and Zack have fought, and he has won. He is the alpha male, the lion king who has crushed the young upstart. The prize of Kat’s luscious young body will soon be his.
He turns to face the family, and begins playing the role of innocent, confused father figure.
“We need to speak—honestly speak—what has happened here today. Do not think of Zack as a brother, or a son. He was a monster all along, and now we all know it.”
His wife and daughter are staring at him with looks that hold more than doubt: they hold suspicion. And disbelief. He moves on.
“Zack has violated his sister’s privacy, with intent to profit from her flesh. This cannot be forgiven. I do not know what will happen to him, but the law must be followed to its fullest extent.”
“…But he wouldn’t do anything like that.” Mrs Dennings clutches herself. “I know Zack.”
“No. You don’t know him.”
He steps past his wife—the one he doesn’t give a fuck about—and lays a gentle hand on Kat’s shoulder. She quakes under it, alert and unhappy.
“But…this doesn’t make sense…” she whispers.
He senses that it’s important to calm her. To just get her through the next few days, until she accepts her brother’s arrest as normal…
“Can we talk about this in private, Kat?”
…Once she accepts it as normal, she will be ready to accept other things as normal, too.
Kat starts crying. She’s backing away from him. This is very bad, and not at all what he’d expected.
“Kat,” Mr Dennings says, feeling the ground erode beneath his feet. You were very brave in coming to me about the camera. Without it, your brother might have gotten away with his crimes.*
Then she pulls away from his hand, screaming to wake the dead.
“No! No! NOOOO!!!”
“Turn around, and put your hands behind your back.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong!” I kept saying these words, even after it was clear they would not protect me.
I said it as I was read my rights, I said it as I was handcuffed, I said it as I was flung like luggage into the back of the police wagon.
(I have often wondered about the handcuffs, given that I wasn’t resisting arrest. Aaron would later tell me that this is very unusual for a well-behaved suspect to be put in restraints—that’s the same Aaron from the trivia contest, who Kat banged. We later became friends, but that’s another story.)
“Why am I being arrested?” I yelled as the officer marched me toward the open bay door of the vehicle. “I haven’t done anything wrong!”
Liar. You’ve done so much wrong.
“You are under arrest for invasion of privacy, and violation of Californian state penal codes. This is a criminal matter, sir. Come with me.””
None of it registered. My head rang with shock. The officer made a point of banging my head on the rim of the door as he shoved me into the patrol car, which made it ring in a less metaphorical sense.
“What does any of that mean?” I squawked as the door was closed. Penis Code What?
The officer drove me into town with a hard, aggressive foot. Handcuffed and without a seatbelt, I was flung against the sides of the car on every corner.
The last thing I saw of the family home was my sister, standing in the driveway, watching me go. We hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye.
Dad was talking to her. I couldn’t hear the words, but his manner seemed pleasant and paternalistic.
Then I saw him put a hand on Kat’s shoulder. Rage coursed through me.
This is your doing…
“You’re a piece of shit,” the officer rumbled from the front seat. “I’ve got a daughter. If someone did to her what you did to your sister, you wouldn’t be going to the Towers. You’d be going straight into six different trashbags.”
Fun.
He drove me to the LA County Sheriff’s Department. There, I was booked and charged with several offenses. I was asked if I had a lawyer (I did not). I asked questions of my own (which were passive-aggressively answered).
“What’s going on?” I asked the officer at the desk. “What am I being charged with?”
“Violation of Penal Code 647, Penal Code 632, and Penal Code 602.” He looked smug. Just overjoyed to drop the hammer on me.
“But I haven’t done anything wrong!”
“Good. Then this isn’t happening to you. You know what you did, Zack, and I’m not going to argue this matter with you. The District Attorney will review the evidence personally. Depending on how many related charges get added and how the victim pleads, you’re looking at a six month mandatory sentence, minimum.”
Dazed and heartsick, I scanned the forms he shoved in front of me. The words invasion of privacy finally sank in.
Until then, I’d assumed that dad had discovered and reported my incest. He had not, probably because that would have created problems for Kat.
Instead, it seemed, he’d reported his hidden camera as mine. I was under arrest, not for incest, not for domestic violence, but for the one thing I hadn’t done. Filming my sister.
This was so bitterly, sickeningly unjust that it had a kind of poetry.
It was Dad. It had always been Dad. He’d noticed something wrong, and had contrived a way to fuck me over for it. Both cameras had been his. Every other explanation I’d considered—contractors, friends— could not explain how a camera had ended up in Dad’s car. Dad liked to work on cars. He was the only man I knew who’d even know how to modify the dashboard of a MINI Cooper to allow for a hidden camera.
I got the whole nine yards. Prints. Mugshot. Warrant check. Record check.
(According to Aaron, for a first-offender, there’s normally a cite-and-release process and you can just go home. But apparently I was not a cite-and-release perp. To be honest, I suspect my arresting officer had something to do with the rough ride I was given that night. It would have been easy to radio in that I was a real asshole, and had resisted arrest and spat in his face and whatever else. He had a daughter, and was mad for her sake. Understandable. I was an innocent man and will piss on his grave as soon as he dies, but still…understandable.)
They told me that I would be held on bail while the DA examined my case. I asked to make a phone call, and was denied.
From there, it was straight to the Twin Towers Correctional Center.
They locked me in a cell full of Barrio 18 gang-bangers.
I was shoved into a dark interior. The walls were cement, caulked up with slime and shadow. A small barred window let in light in grudging slats. There was a combined toilet-and-sink in the corner, putrescent with filth.
At first, there were just two Latino guys in the cell. They wore knee-length Dickies and wifebeaters that exposed armloads of tattoos. They sat crosslegged, facing each other, talking in Spanglish.
I sat on the mattress in the corner, minding my own business.
They were smaller than me, and didn’t seem overtly threatening.
Minutes later, a third Latino guy was added to the holding cell. Followed by a fourth and a fifth. They all seemed to kind of know each other, like they were from the same set. Hand signals and gang signs were exchanged. More glances came my way. Someone murmured chele to his friend, while staring at me. I heard a chuckle.
Apparently there had been a major drug bust uptown, and perps were trickling into the Towers as fast as the system could process them.
As the empty holding cell rapidly became a full holding cell, I started becoming nervous.
The vibe in the cell swiftly changed. It went from scared to bored and pissed off. Nasty looks went my way with increasing—alarming—frequency. I was in a cell with five guys who were staring down the barrel of a long prison sentence and had nothing to lose.
Also, I was the only white guy there.
Sweat dripped down my back as I felt them size me up. Oh fuck.
I watched the sun set through the window. The night ahead promised to either be extremely long, or extremely short.
Darkness fell. Hours passed. Time was a grinding lathe, working away at my sanity.
Six months in prison. I thought, running the math forward and back. Six. Fucking. Months. For shit I didn’t do.
I had to fight this. But I didn’t even know what this was. Dad had stitched me up. That much was clear. But what did Kat know? What had Kat done? Had she participated in his plot?
I realized with a sinking sensation that the answer was probably yes. That was why she’d spent all week acting like there was a secret under her tongue: there was. If she wants me to go down, I go down. And I’m pretty sure she does.
The five Latino guys were hunkered together, whispering. I kept getting looks. I wondered if the whispers were about me.
Come kill me. I thought miserably. Make it fast.
I lay on a mattress, body turned away protectively, hyper-aware of every shift and movement from the knot of men at the far side of the cell. Sleep was a million miles away.
As dawn approached, my eyelids finally started to drift…
…Then came a tap on the shoulder.
“¿Qué onda, ese?” A voice whispered beside my head. “Wakey-wakey, big boy.”
I half-turned, saw one of the Barrio 18 boys leaning over me on the mattress.
“Leave me alone,” I whispered.
A shadowed face twisted in a grin. Tattoos moved, distorting like ink dragged through paint.
“Did you sneak anything inside, ese? ’Cos whatever you got, you hafta share with los hermanos. Those the rules in tha paint, man.” He gestured at his homies, who watched us, snickering.
I sat up, clenching fists. A severe beating lay in my future. One that the deputies around the corner thought I deserved and would not lift a finger to stop.
“I don’t have anything for you,” I spat out. “Leave. Me. Alone.”
He flinched for a second. Then he smiled again, squatted in front of me, bringing his face down level with mine.
“Take off your clothes, ese.” He flicked my nose with long, brown fingers. “I wanna make sure you don’t have anything for us.”
As I wondered what to do—Fight? Comply?—I heard two sets of feet coming down the hall. They sounded different. Police-issued shoes, followed by correction-issued slippers.
“Make room in there!” a fat-faced deputy bellowed. “Another turd for the commode.”
The Latino gang-bangers flung themselves back to their mattresses, trying to look inconspicuous as the cell was opened and a sixth man was pushed through.
Several of the Barrio 18 men reacted with familiarity.
“Marquis! Mi carnal”
“Qué tranza, vato!”
The newcomer’s face was obscured in shadow. But when he turned to look at me, I suddenly recognized him too. It was Marquis! The Latino guy Kat had banged at the pink strip!
Goddamn.
Marquis gave me a toothy but friendly smile.
“Oh hey, Zack!”
The man I’d befriended on the Pink Strip was a playa of some regard, it seemed. All the gang-bangers deferred to Marquis. They made space for him on the mattress, giving him the prestigious spot near the window, where the air was freshest.
But Marquis didn’t sit. He had a quick, rapid conversation in Spanish with the gangster who’d been threatening me. He didn’t even raise his voice—he just broke the dude like a stick of firewood. The man shrugged, sat in a corner, and began compulsively wrapping and unwrapping his du-rag in a sulk.
Thank God my sister was a slut.
“There! All taken care of.” Marquis said, dropping to the mattress on my right. I found a companionable arm flung over my shoulder. His breath reeked of cheap weed and cheaper liquor. “Don’t worry about those guys. They’ll leave you alone now. I’ve told them you’re cool.”
“Oh. Great. Thanks.” Not a word I hear often. Least of all from Kat.
I nearly wept with relief, but luckily didn’t. What did I have to be relieved about, anyway? It probably would have been better if those guys beat me into a coma or killed me. Why not skip the next six months? Or the next six hundred?
Marquis wanted to talk far more than I did. “So how’s your sister doing, man?”
I tried to seem appreciative, given that he’d quite possibly saved my life. “Great. She’s going great. We just spent a week in Big Bear, auditioning and stuff. She’s trying to become an actress.”
“Right on! Hey, I can hook her up, man. I know the guys who make the Racked-Up Jewish Sluts films on Skinemax, and they’re looking for kosher meat, if you know what I mean…”
“No. A real actress. Not porn.”
“Oh.” He looked disappointed. “Well, I can’t help her there, vato. Tell her I said hi.” He stared off dreamily into space. “She was so pretty…”
I spent the night in the holding cell.
It was depressing and the toilet stank, but it was like Marquis said. Nobody laid a hand on me.
Then something happened that I did not expect.
Kat bailed me out.
“Kat? What’s going on?”
I’d just gotten my wallet and phone back from the front desk, and was out in the parking lot, breathing fresh air. Or fresher air, at least.
We were standing in the shadow of the huge brown-gray cenotaph of the Twin Towers Correctional Facility. Kat had driven a burgundy-colored Subaru that she’d borrowed from her friend Miriam. Dad’s camera-infested car, it seemed, was undrivable either legally or morally.
I studied her face. Something had changed, and it took me a while to place it.
Her hair.
Kat seldom wore her hair loose. It was always braided, or pigtailed, or braided and pigtailed. But today was an exception. Her hair gleamed, freshly washed and coiled inside a scrunchy.
Her face was triumphant and vengeful. Athena-like.
“It’s over.”
“What? My life? Yeah, no shit.”
“No. We won. Dad’s dropping the complaint. The one that got you arrested. He’s going to make a statement to the cops that the cameras were installed by a tenant we had six months ago, and he mistakenly thought it was you. Whoops. Very sorry.”
I scratched my head. “We’ve never had a tenant.”
A guy catcalled her, and Kat stuck up a middle finger.
“Yeah, the story’s shit, but the point is, you’re going free. They’ll bitch Dad out and probably fine him for wasting police time, but that’s his problem. Can’t say I care much.”
“So why’s he doing it? Why’s he retracting his complaint?”
Kat smiled.
“Because I made a deal. It’s how the world works, big bro! Wanna go someplace private? We have a lot to talk about.”
We drove eastbound from the Towers on Bouchet Street, fighting heavy traffic.
“Mom and Dad had a huge fight.” Kat said. “She knows she’s being lied to about something, by someone. She’s spending the night with her sister to figure stuff out. When we get back, it’s gonna be just Dad and us at the house.”
“Can’t wait.”
I napped in the passenger seat, waking with my sister’s fingers laced through mine. I contrasted her nails—freshly painted and toad-green—with my own, which were chewed ragged with stress.
“We’re here,” Kat smiled. She’d applied new lipstick while I’d slept: green to match her nails.
“Where’s here?” I blinked, recognizing the place as I spoke.
It was an abandoned skatepark that had halfway turned into a garden, green exploding and rifting through cracks in cement. A hanging willow shadowed the curves of an enormous halfpipe.
This had been our childhood hangout, back when Kat had been a little shorter, I’d been a lot shorter, and the world around us had seemed both larger and smaller at once, somehow. More direct and less complicated. Everything around me trembled with associations and meanings. Kat cut her knee on that drainpipe. I jammed a screwdriver into that transformer box and cut the power to half the neighborhood. All of it seemed to have happened yesterday, and I suppose it had, in a cosmic sense. None of our struggles are very large. We’re just very small.
“Come on,” Kat said, eyes beaming with love. “Let’s have a picnic!”
“Here? At the skatepark? There’s probably, like, rats here!”
She was already popping open the door. “Yo, don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Kat and I did more than have a picnic.
We reconciled.
We sat on the ground, hearing a rat scurry away down a rusted, echoing drainpipe. I wrapped an arm around her. She returned it. Soon we were side-hugging, like dorky Christian teenagers. It was a warm day with an edge of cold. One of those jacket-or-no-jacket days that California mass-manufactures in November.
“I was tricked.” Kat said. “You were never my enemy, Zack. I understand that now.”
The willow’s leaves swished and dragged muted percussion over the cement. St John’s wort ruptured the green grass with pustules of yellow. A lustrous purple bougainvillea twisted across brick and cement like a wrought iron sculpture, thorned and heavy with flowers.
A sparrow flitted and twitted, sharp as a brown knife. I threw it a crumb, got ignored. Fine. Fuck you too. Dad was always the watcher of birds, not me. Just like he was the watcher of other things.
“I meant to kill us both on that mountain.” Kat murmured beneath the wind, the birdsong. “No joke.”
“Yeah, I know.” Memory of yesterday’s brush with death was still exquisitely fresh—hopefully Kat skipped the blow-by-blow replay.
“I didn’t actually care that you punched me. I probably deserved it. I barely even remember anymore. Whatever. I cared about the camera. I was staring down the prospect of going through life never knowing who my voyeur was, just that it was someone in my family. You’d just deny it until your dying day.”
Yeah, because that’s what the innocent do. “I would never fucking film us fucking, Kat. Never.”
“See? You’re doing it now. I knew that I’d never know the truth, and…oh my God, I need to be in therapy yesterday. But I just looked at my life, and the idea of skipping right to the end was…so nice. Why not hit fast-forward on a shitty movie, right?”
“Even better, why watch it at all? Why not eject the tape?”
“Exactly.”
The wind tugged green handfuls of willow-leaf back and forth. The susurrus had a serpentine quality. The green drapes swished, strange green veins that seemed to join ground to heaven. I heard scraping at my back and tensed, but when I looked, it was only more vines.
“I’m glad you stopped me,” she said. Then a poison-nailed hand coiled in rage. “Not least because it showed me who actually planted the camera.”
“Dad. But how did you know? What changed your mind?”
She looked at me, and smiled with half of her face.
“Because I remembered something. You didn’t know about the road trip until the morning we left. I kind of sprung it on you, while we were fucking. And you didn’t know that Dad would give you permission to drive his car. There’s no reason you would have installed a camera in that car, even if you’d known how to install it. Which you don’t. That basically eliminated you as a suspect.”
“So tell me the other part,” I sprawled on the towel. “What happened with you and Dad.”
“After we had that big fight, I was lost and confused and reached out to him. He suggested we team up against you. I was supposed to make all sorts of fake accusations to the police. But I knew something wasn’t fucking right. So I ended up bailing on the plan, and hatching my own one. The one where both of us died. I guess he went ahead and made a fake police report without me.”
“But why would he do that?”
Kat smiled arrogantly.
“Turns out you’re not the only one in the family who wants to bang me. Dad’s had the hots for me for years. Which brings me to the reason you’re a free man this morning: I cut a deal.”
“What was the deal?”
She told me.
It was so awful that it was almost paradoxically easy to accept. Because it was unbelievable. Kat had sex with our father? No way.
“That’s disgusting.”
“I know.”
“Luckily it isn’t true. Want to tell me what you really did? Because I absolutely can’t believe you fucked your own Dad.”
Kat screwed up her face in rage. “First, fucking my dad is not that much worse than fucking my brother, and I don’t see you having an issue with that.”
“Fair.”
“Second, I didn’t fuck him. You need to listen to my words. I gave him one handjob, but I also used my mouth a little.”
A half angry, half-playful tone of irritation had entered her voice. I sensed where this was going, and grinned.
“A handjob where you use your mouth is called a blowjob, Kat. Don’t sugar coat it, you dumbass. You sucked your dad’s dick.”
Fight!
“Look,” Kat said. “His cock was half as big as yours. Will that cheer you up? I did it once so your ungrateful ass could get out of jail and I will never do it again. So maybe show some respect to my sacrifice and pay it forward.”
I shoved her, grinning. “You’re a psycho nymphomaniac whore who’s now banged her brother and her dad. How’s that for respect?”
“Totally inadequate.”
We started play-fighting, pushing and shoving, smiles spreading wider and wider.
All the tension of the past week was gone. Meaningless.
Smiles became giggles which became us stripping naked on the filthy cement skatepark, while we screeched laughter at everything and nothing.
As the rats watched, we started fucking.
I straightened the towel on the concrete.
Kat laid her body down on it, unhooking her enormous bra as she dropped. Her titanic breastcannons spilled down her torso, rolling like bowling balls off the sides of her chest. They fell, going plap on the towel.
She giggled as I climbed onto her, lowering my body onto hers. My chest squished against the enormous masses of her tits like they were shock absorbers.
Her fleshy, soft body hit me as hard as a baseball bat. A shudder of lust crooked my entire body.
“I’m super horny.” Kat gulped with excitement as I forced a hungry kiss onto her face. I felt that gulp echoing in my own body.
Slithering against her, I grasped blubberous handfuls of her breasts, which nearly swallowed my hands to the wrist. She tried to resist, but I had muscle mass and leverage over her, and she could not resist the hungry arc of my body. She released throaty groans as I wriggled out of my clothes.
As I lay on top of her, my crotch kept thrusting forward involuntarily, digging into her skin. It was like I wanted to fuck all-new orifices into my sister.
“Oh, my God,” Kat couldn’t get her panties off fast enough. They went WHAP as they hit a trashcan. A rat scurried away. “This place is fucking wack. We’re gonna catch a disease.”
I broke the kiss to echo her diss from before. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
We made eye contact. Brief eye contact. Kat’s eyes wouldn’t stay anywhere. She was manic and giggly.
“I need to cum so badly,” she admitted, blushing.
Same, sis.
I was unbelievably horny. I’d been locked up, with no opportunity to either masturbate or fuck my sister. Nearly twenty hours had passed since my last ejaculation—I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone so long without busting. My overproductive testes were so used to shooting six to ten loads per day that they hadn’t gotten the memo to slow down, and had kept on manufacturing wrigglers at full quota. I was insanely backed up.
Have your balls ever been so full of cum that you can barely walk? My scrotum tingled and itched. Flushes of heat surged through my body, like a ravaging fever. My every thought was now sex sex sex. My entire reproductive tract felt clogged with semen: as thick and dense as concrete. I just had to squirt it out somewhere.
Preferably onto my sister. Or into my sister.
My cock throbbed, pulsing out a strand of precum onto Kat’s thick thigh. Kat watched it fall. She sneered and preened, pretty and bitchy and smug. And so, so hot.
She clasped her hands over mine as they dug into her breasts, lacing fingers through mine. Together, we groped and explored her obscenely heavy tit-sacks.
We kissed even more deeply than before. I slipped fingers into her pussy.
“Please fuck me, I-I need it!” She mewled as my fingers did tricks with her labia and clitoris. Stretching and closing.
I flipped my body around, so we could 69. I placed my head against the musky heat of her wet cunt. She gripped my prick like a kielbasa sausage, and installed it inside her cleavage.
We began a titfuck-and-cunnilingus session. Kat moaned and wailed as I tongued apart her fleshy labia folds, while she gripped her tits around my ramming cock. Slippery sucking noises gushed from both ends of our bodies.
My tongue clove through her twat, meeting no resistance as it speared down her channel. I grasped her chubby ass cheeks with both hands, plunging my face between her legs. She moaned, bucking her hips. I inserted a finger into her asshole, and she began screaming and shaking.
I began rutting with my hips, slamming my cock between her boobs.
SHLOOP-SHHHHLURRRRRKKK! GLORNCH-GLORNCH-SCLORP! SQUIRCHHHH-SPLORT
“You could put that thing in my pussy, you know, you know.” Kat said between pants, clasping her tits to my jabbing prick. My cock scythed between them, stabbed out of the bottom of her rack, aiming at her belly button. “It’s the hole made for sex.”
“Oh, I know what it is.” I said, watching her huge meaty udders jolt and jiggle. “I’ve been there once or twice.”
“Like, I have a hole that’s literally designed to make cocks cum. You don’t need to MacGyver my boobs into an improvised sex hole, you dork. It’s like you’re rappelling up a building with a grappling hook when there’s a perfectly good elevator.”
“Which might be perfectly appropriate, in the right circumstances.” Squelching, squishing sounds filled my ears like a rhythmic throb of blood. “Ever see Die Hard? Which is still not a Hanukkah movie, by the way?”
She began yelling at me.
“It’s Hanukkah-coded as fuck! Watch the movie! The bad guy’s name starts with Han! And the hero’s initials are JM! It’s a thinly-veiled allegory about the Maccabees defending the Holy Temple, aka Nakatomi Plaza, and then the bad guy literally shuts off all the light, and…and…ugh, it’s so obviously a Jewish movie if you don’t have Christofascist brain-rot! Also, another thing—”
(Die Hard was one of her hobby horses, for unknown reasons. I don’t get it either, honestly.)
“Shut up, Kat.” I pumped my cock with a deep rolling circular motion through her pink titmeat. Her mouth opened in a gasp. Big boobs swung and spilled down her chest.
Kat arched her back, trembling with the climax rising in her body. I felt her pumpkin-sized boobs squish and jiggle around my cock. I kept eating out my sister, my hips riding an ocean of tit flesh that totally enclosed my plunging rapidly-fucking prick.
The orgasmic shockwaves that followed were…considerable.
My sister’s body jiggled and convulsed, her fat thighs squishing against my neck as she squirted and blasted cum. It sprinkled moisture over the concrete, and across my face in acrid jets.
Once she stopped cumming, I removed my tongue from her twat, yanked my precum-slippery cock from out of her rack. I stood, repositioned, and sunk my nine and a half inch shaft inside her.
SHLUCK!
“Uhh!” Kat put her hands on my hips, bucking her hips against mine. “Yes! That’s it! More!”
My thick, huge-breasted sister licked her lips, pirouetting her voluptuous figure lewdly underneath me.
I trembled and gasped sharply, ramming myself into her body. My heart blurred, my pulse pounded, everything subsumed beneath the hard stroke of my hips smashing into my sister’s box.
She gave soft, beautiful grunts of pleasure as I split her open like a book. Spine deep.
I watched her labia lips stretch and gape like bubblegum as I planted myself between them. My pelvic girdle rowed forward, sliding deep inside her. I gazed down at my cock, seeing veins and discolorations racing into a squirt-splattering blur as I picked up the pace, humping her into the concrete.
She arched her back into my chest, orgasming again with a soft cry.
“Uuuuuuuhhhhhh!”
My cock squelched into her soft wet fuckhole, splitting apart her sacred flower. Then I tugged my hips back with a thick unctuous sucking sound, dragging out six inches of wet cock. The cold air seemed to burn my prick as it slid from her warm pussy.
“Put it back in!” Her pretty dark hair flashed as she tossed her head back, panting eagerly. I was not one to abstain.
On and on and on, we beat our crotches together. I fucked my sister hard, lifting the fat pillars of her thighs in a tight mating press. The soft liquid squelches of her cunt gained speed and urgency as I planted myself in her soaking core.
Her mouth rent in a scream. “CUUMMMING!”
I watched my scrawny hips pound a driving beat into my luscious sister, banging her like a drum, watching her enormous breasts sail up and down. They were dripping with sweat, which was flung over the concrete. Hypnotizer and hypnotized, we were locked together at hand, and mouth, and at crotch.
My balls plapped and squelched against my sister’s perineum, flinging trails of her cum.
Her orgasm-red face transformed from shrieking hellbitch fury to glassy, brainfried bliss, pupils expanding to the empyrean as her dearly-loved, dearly-hated brother cracked her ribs. They fluttered as I drilled my cock into her. Her makeup was running off her face with the heat flushing through it. Her pouting green lips shuddered and split once again.
I grunted, and heaved down into her depths. Her cunt churned and boiled, a gooey, spurting, insatiable fuck-pit.
Close. More than close. My balls began corkscrewing up with imminent release. My flesh collapsed into shivering rivers of skin. I felt like I was turning inside out as my semen began to rise.
“Cumming, you sexy fucking bitch of a sister! UGHHHH!”
I unclenched, letting it all spew out inside her fantastic, slippery tightness.
An adrenal-white storm occluded my senses, blasting with gale force across my nerve endings. My balls pumped and squeezed, shooting out a phenomenal quantity of backed-up sperm.
“KAT!”
BLURT!
“I’M!!”
BLORRT!
“CUUUMMING!”
SPLURRRKSHHHH!
I fucked deep, my balls slapping wetly as her sucking pussy chewed at my squirting cock. My huge curved prick leaped like a cannon inside her tight-resisting tube of flesh, venting out high-pressure blasts of seed into her womb.
The first shot flooded her. The second one more than flooded her. My third contraction blew so out much thick white semen into her that my backwash sprayed out from our slippery, dueling crotches. I heard my own spunk go splattering across the concrete behind us, several feet away. I rammed myself deeper, disgorging a fourth plume of cum.
“KAAAT!”
With more cum rolling out of me. I yanked my prick out of her spermed slutbox and let it buck and jerk in my fist.
SPLUUUUURRRRTTTT-SQLLLLCHHHHH! SPLAT!
Overlapping ropes of cum arced across her body, each as thick as a pencil. They striped over her, terminating several feet away. I aimed my jetting prick slightly lower, and her tits wobbled as cumshots slammed and pounded them.
Six. Eight. Ten.
I still had more cum welling up, but I jammed the base of my thumb against my prick, sealing my ejaculatory duct. I gritted against jerks and throbs of pain until my orgasm forcibly subsided.
Then I flipped my thoroughly-splattered sister on her front, gripped her legs, and began wheelbarrow-fucking her from behind.
SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT!
My hips rose and fell on her ass, beating redness into her abundant soft flesh.
“AHHH! ZACK! ZACK!!!!” My sister screeched like her phonetic namesake as I slammed cock into her cum-filled cunt. The wicked, slathering churn of our hips knotting and fucking filled the air and my mind. The heat and scent of her flesh propelled me forward—despoiling her, ruining her.
I pounded her through two more climaxes. Then my sperm-roiling scrotum clenched, knotting up like a pair of walnuts. My dick spasmed violently in her clutching, squirting sheath.
I rocked my hips forward, encasing myself fully in her fleshy pussy sleeve. My cock throbbed rapturously, as another wave of ballslop exploded through me.
“Gonna cum! Gonna cum! Gonna cum!”
Shlurrrp. Smack. Shlurrrp. Smack.
For long seconds, I forgot to breathe. The ground swung beneath our hip-locked bodies, every star in the night sky attacked my vision at once, and then my creampie splattered into her.
glurp glurp glurp SPLORT!
Thick jets gushed out, crashing into her womb. I pumped my load into her for nearly thirty seconds, more than replacing the cum I’d just fucked out, then I pulled my softening cock out of her pussy with a satisfied grunt. I let her slip to the ground, then I fell forward onto her. Her sweaty ass pillowed beneath my weight, cushioned my fall. I lay against her sweet-smelling hair, playing with her enormous breasts splayed out like big white wings.
“I like you a lot Kat,” I said, flicking her nipple.
“Only like?” She twisted her head, stuck out her pink tongue. “Rude.”
I pulled her upright—my horrible, gorgeous sister—and planted a kiss on her lips. Grasping her close, I sucked her face against mine, feeling her come alive. She squirmed with excitement.
My cock was quickly swelling.
I bent her over a square rail, and we had anal sex. I clasped palmfuls of her fat butt, fucking her thick, dirty shitter. The rhythmic smacks of our hips were loud and vicious, echoing with head-ringing force.
I shot another load up her ass, pulling out to spew a final jet across her sweat-dripping back.
“Wanna argue about something?” I said, flicking her huge left breast as she wheezed.
“Nah. Not tonight. I think we’re both winners right now. Why break the symmetry?”
I was free. She was free.
“We’re safe from dad, aren’t we?” I asked.
Kat slid her face against my stubble, nibbling my earlobe. “Yeah. He can’t do shit, or I’ll report him to the cops. The question is, is he safe from us?”
I laughed. “We need to think about how to punish him. And now that Mom’s gone…”
Her eyes glowed. Her breath poured over me like dragonfire. “I have some ideas. Let’s throw him out of the master bedroom upstairs, and fuck in his marriage bed. Don’t plan on getting much sleep tonight”
We hi-fived, drove home, and overdelivered Dennings-style.
We made sure nobody in the house got any sleep at all.
A month later…
Kat howls. Zack grunts. Bedsprings thump and ratchet upstairs. He hears the mattress audibly flailing like an electroshocked manatee, flung by their wild, pounding hips.
Mr Dennings sulks on the couch, listening to his kids fuck
They do nothing besides fuck, it seems. Their sex drives are ridiculously high. This is their fifth session of the day, and it’s not even lunchtime. He cannot control them, cannot exercise a whit of parental discipline. His arrogant offspring just walk around the house naked, sucking and fucking each other at will.
“My brother and I have a connection,” Kat recently said, eyes sparkling. “He treats me right, you know?”
“As I’m your father, do we also have a connection?” Mr Dennings asks hopefully, remembering what she did with her hand and mouth. It was so brief, but so exquisite.
He tries to put a hand on Kat’s shoulder. She swats it away.
“Nah. I don’t see it.” She laughs cruelly. “He’s tender and kind and looks after me. Also, his dick is a lot bigger. Sorry, dad. Facts is facts.”
Galling, but what can he do except take it?
The weapon he thought to be used against his son—the tapes—has become a knife held to his throat. He can’t complain about anything they do, or they’ll tell the police what he did.
Mr Dennings grinds his teeth.
He hears the rutting upstairs increase in tempo. Kat and Zack are reaching another crescendo.
He has insisted that they go back to using condoms,. He’s scored that one concession, at least. Not that it’s much of a consolation, finding dozens of used condoms everywhere in the house, like disgusting white Easter eggs, bulging with Zack’s huge loads. He swears his kids are leaving them out on purpose as they fuck all over the house. They roll between squirt-stained couch seats. Gather on windowsills. When an unseasonable heat wave caused him to unfurl the swimming pool, his children spent most of the day sporting and frolicking in it. Later, he fished out seven used condoms from the pool filter.
“Ohgodohgodohgod…ZACK!”
“Hold still…”
“Zack, I luuuhhhhhve you!”
Kat has another orgasm with her brother’s dick inside her. He winces at how long and intense the screams are.
There’s a position change, and they resume fucking. The sound of overdeveloped teenage genitals slurping together is laid repulsively underneath Kat’s ecstatic moans.
“BEST…BROTHER…EVAHHH!”
“Damn straight…”
DAD COULD NEVERRRR!!!
He sighs. That was said for his benefit, he’s sure. They know he’s listening.
He misses being able to sleep on that bed. Misses being the man of the house.
Kat and Zack peak simultaneously, groaning and braying out like sick pigs. He hears a disgusting symphony of bodily fluids spewing out in his marriage bed. It takes nearly a minute for the lewd squelching and gurgling and slurping noises to ebb away.
His incestuous children fall mercifully silent for a few minutes. He hopes they’ve finished.
Then Kat whispers. Zack whispers back. Kat giggles, and says something. Zack reacts angrily.
Then they’re off to the races, arguing about something. It’s like foreplay to them. Just a continuation of their incestuous union. Soon the bickering has dissolved into moans and wet kisses and groping that he can hear through the ceiling above his head.
Round number six has begun.
Mr Dennings sighs, and shamefully begins touching himself.
This all happened decades ago.
Things were tense around the Dennings house upon my return. I confronted Dad, and told him that I wanted all the hidden cameras taken down. He would not film my sister any more.
There were way more than I’d thought.
The bathroom. The hallway. The landing. I was astonished at how obsessively he’d tried to spy on Kat. Astonished at how much of his own violations he’d tried to blame on me. You are kidding me, I kept thinking as he yanked aside paintings and innocent-looking pieces of furniture, exposing still more cameras. You gotta be fucking kidding me.
“Have pity on me…” he whimpered. “I’m a sick man. I know I shouldn’t have done it…”
“I will do you a favor,” I told him. “I will not tell my sister how many cameras there were. She found one, and it made her try to commit murder-suicide. If she knew there were this many, what would she do to you? Think about that.”
Dad openly cried, begging for my forgiveness.
Did he get it? Yes. I suppose. He seemed too pitiful to hate: an emasculated wreck who was psychologically broken by what he’d done. He’d gotten a taste of what he wanted, and it poisoned him.
I forgave him.
Kat and I still made his life hell, but we forgave him.
Mom had moved out by that point, and she sent a U-Haul for her clothes and possessions. She said she needed space, and has found three thousand miles of it by moving to a B’nai B’rith center in Brooklyn. It took years for her to be reconciled with my father, and I don’t think they ever fully were.
Kat and I continued our relationship, of course.
We now held the upper hand. He’d failed to drive a wedge between us, failed, and could do nothing against us now. He’d pulled the trigger on every gun he had, and they’d all misfired at once.
I moved out soon after. Kat followed.
My sister got cast in the 40 Year Old Virgin, and from there, stuff happened fast. As for me, I won a large cash prize in an Esports tournament. My teammate was crazy about something called Bitcoin. He told me to invest my winnings in it. Good call. I have not played a videogame in twenty years.
Kat has a public life. I have a private one. We’re both involved with other people, of course. But a couple times a year, the old brother and sister team reunite. We book out a timeshare, or an AirBnB, or something, and just hang out. We have a great relationship now, and it’s somehow even more fun to keep it a secret (plus, her tits have gotten even bigger, and they have these blue veins now that she’s aged. Shit’s neat.)
Everything’s cool between my sister and I now. No more arguments. I have literally nothing to complain about.
Hey, Kat…once you wrap production on whatever it is you’re shooting, wanna get together in the Adirondacks?
- Zachary Dennings
Bonus! The below text was written by Kat Dennings herself.
My idiot liar brother (who I have just DISOWNED) texted me these stories, along with the word “thoughts?”
Here are my thoughts: he does not exist. As of today, I have no brother. He is gone. DEAD. He is a shadow gliding silent and unheard through my life. He is one hand clapping, he is a tree falling unheard. Enjoy TOTAL NONEXISTENCE, you piece of shit! On the day of his funeral, I will not mourn, and I will not rejoice. I will instead be confused as to what exactly is happening. What has died? What is inside the coffin? Why is everyone wearing black?
LITERALLY EVERYTHING he wrote is FULL-OF-SHIT BULLCRAP LIES!
- My tits have NOT gotten veiny as I’ve aged. EW. Those veins were already there. They’re just more visible because my skin is thinner now that I’m 40 years young.
- Yes, I DID have sex with him A FEW times when we were teenagers, twenty years ago. Big deal! LOTS of sisters screw their brothers. It’s actually not incest—a brother and a sister have DNA from the same two people so it’s actually closer to masturbation when you think about it.
- He portrays me as an emotionally stunted narcissist who argues about everything and refuses to admit she’s wrong. Fact check: FALSE. I have MANY flaws. I’m too honest, too selfless, and too compassionate. I try too hard in life, overwhelming people with my verve, intelligence, and humility. My heart is too full of love, too giving to people who don’t deserve it (like my now-nonexistent brother).
- I did not fuck him because he’s a Machiavellian genius (AS IF, ZACK OFF), or because fucking him is fun (SAID NO-ONE EVER) but OUT OF PITY. Yes, I FELT SAD watching him play Virginity Simulator 2000 or whatever. Microsoft X-Box? More like Microsoft Never-Getting-Inside-A-Box. (Whatever, they can’t all be funny.)
- His cock is NOT 9’6″ inches long. It’s 9’1 or 9’2. Or 9’3. Maybe 9’4. MAYBE 9’5 if you drink six Triple Espresso Vodkas and then drill a hole in your skull (as I will do to ease the trauma of his LIES). And it’s only that long when erect. It’s BULLSHIT how men brag about their erect length when their dicks are FLACCID 99% of the time. It’s like if I said I’m a MILF because, hey, maybe I’ll be a mother someday. Like, HELLO? Do words mean ANYTHING these days?
- I was NOT a sex-berserk nymphomaniac who was fucking every boy on the street! My body count was only like forty guys at the time he’s writing about. That’s ignoring mouth stuff, hand stuff, breast stuff, ass stuff, foot stuff, and other non-sexual activity. Like, sometimes I’d jerk a guy off through his pants, or let him put a finger in my asshole. Does THAT count as sex, Zack-Off? Where will it END? Apparently I can’t even EXIST in a room with a man without it counting as sex, according to you.
- Yes, TECHNICALLY he got last question right at the trivia night. Big fucking whoop. He was just repeating Mom’s answer, so really, she got it right. Way to steal credit, Zack-Off. Also, I KNEW that was the answer. I let the other team win, because I felt sorry for them. They probably have tons of grad school debt. Law school isn’t cheap. Also, who cares. Money is fake.
- He got A FEW THINGS right about our past. I AM smarter than him. I DO have great boobs. We DID have a fight at Big Bear. And I DID write a school paper that my teacher gave an A+ to. I just re-read it. It’s fucking amazing. Here, I’ll post it right now.
(Edit – removed. Sorry, sis. Space constraints. – Zack) - Yes, my head went into a pretty dark place after…that happened. I make no excuses for what I did. I am now in therapy, and as you can see, I am doing MUCH better! 🙂
…also, Zack-Off, I ACCEPT your offer. You don’t exist to me any longer, so it’ll be a fun experience, screwing an imaginary concept. 😉
xoxoxo Kat Dennings
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