Cabin Fever_(2)

I was twelve the first time I realized my brother shouldn’t see me naked.
  I was fourteen when I realized we weren’t supposed to sleep together anymore.
  Mom never really saw a big deal with letting us sleep in the same
bed, even when we got older. She knew we were innocent kids, and
didn’t think of each other like that. So, naturally when we wen’t up
to the cabin for the summer there wasn’t a question about Connor, my
brother, and I sharing a room. We’d always done it, and neither of us
liked sleeping on the rickety old couch Mom kept in the den. She
claimed the antiquated furniture made the place look tasteful, I just
thought it was a waste of money.
  I breathed in the fresh scent of oak and pine, for a moment I felt
like I was home. My favorite time of year was when we got to visit the
cabin, when I was younger I kicked and screamed when we’d leave. As, I
got older the departure never got easier.
  Connor had already gone inside, throwing his luggage on the bed. I
gently sat my suitcase down. The room was exactly how I remembered;
the king size bed shoved up against the wall – a blanket folded neatly
on top of it, two night stands tucked against the wood bed frame. And,
the huge window on the left side of the wall. I tore the curtains down
a long time ago, I loved the natural lighting the window provided. I
loved it even better when it was just the moon, and the stars, and me.
Oh, and Connor.
  “Race you to the lake,” Connor said popping his head into the doorway.
  “You’re on,” I grinned flinging off my flipflops and taking off past
him. I completely forgot to grap my bathing suit.
  Mom called after us, “be back by sunset!” We whooped and yelled in
response. The trees became a blur, and I was focused on Connor’s
racing figure. He was a few paces ahead of me, per usual. I’d never,
ever beaten him to the lake. Once, I’d even faked an injury to get the
advantage, that’d never worked on Connor. He could tell when I was
lying, it was like he could see right through me.
  Connor and I had always been really close, and our bond was further
cemented when our dad died. Connor was 12, and I was 10. He’d been in
a plane crash, all I could remmeber was how Mom sobbed for what seemed
like days after he died. Connor would come into my room and talk to me
until I’d fall asleep, he’d tell me about how dad wasn’t really dead,
just adventuring. He’d make up such vivid and beautiful stories.
  I was so absorbed into my own thoughts I didn’t see Connor stop, and
so I ran straight into his back.
  “Jesus Christ, Connor,” I fell onto my butt hard, cursing.
  “Shh, you’ll scare the ducks,” he hissed fixated onto the lake. I
rolled my eyes, there were three beautiful ducks sitting in a circle
on the water. I hated the stupid things, but Connor found them so
absolutely fascinating for whatever reason.
  I scoffed, “I could have been seriously injured, and all you care
about are the stupid ducks? Unbelievable.”
  Connor turned on his heel his eyes ablaze, “you think I care more
about the ducks?”
  “N-No, I didn’t mean it, I was just joking,” I stumbled over my
words, not meeting his gaze.
  “Good, now get up, we’ve got a lake to swim in,” he offered his
hand, which I so graciously accepted.