Getting My Brother Back

Boy. Where do I start? Certainly not here, with my younger brother’s naked body draped over me; his incestuous cum seeping out of my pussy.

I guess we need to back up, what, four or five days… no, lets go back a little further and pick up some backstory first. Yeah, let’s start there. Everything will make more sense by the end.

My name is Sarah and I have a younger sibling, my brother, Kyle. Now, Kyle and I weren’t what you would call close-close, but we got along pretty well, for brother and sister. Growing up we never had any big blowout fights with each other and, as I got older, Kyle seemed to appreciate me more and maybe even idolized me a little before I left for college.

Kyle was always the happiest of our family. Mom and I got along better than most mothers and daughters. Our family drama never rose beyond little, annoying things. Kyle and I had the kind of mom who never got mad or angry with us when we did something wrong or got into trouble. She would just look hurt and disappointed, which was way worse than yelling at us. So we tended not to get into any trouble, or we were damn sure we wouldn’t be caught. We knew that if the police brought either of us home it would have broken her heart to pieces. So we made sure that never happened and she doted on us and loved us and let us go when it was time. All in all, a pretty decent environment to grow up in.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah. Kyle. Like I said, he was always the ‘happy’ kid, nothing ever seemed to darken his mood for long. Honestly, it was always refreshing and nice to have him around. He wasn’t the most popular but you always wanted him at your party because he was so likeable. And by his senior year, he had grown to a hunky 6’1” and 185 lbs of sculpted muscle. Even I, his sister, had to admit to his premium fuckability.

When I headed off to my first year of college, out of state, Kyle put on a brave face but he couldn’t hide his tears as I waved goodbye. That was the last time I saw the Kyle that was, the Kyle I remember.

I say “was” because something had changed after I left for college. Kyle had changed. Only, I hadn’t really noticed he had been replaced until I moved back to my home city where Mom and Kyle lived. The six years I had been away flew by in the blink of an eye. I did my best with phone calls to Mom and Kyle during that time; first weekly then monthly and finally every other month. The calls tended to be the same… “No, no. Nothing new. Same here.” we would all tell each other.

Looking back on it, I should have noticed the change in Kyle through our phone calls. He sounded a little less happy each time we spoke. Oh, sure, he was enthusiastic to hear my voice but, I don’t know, there just seemed to be an underlying sadness in his tone, which only deepened as the years rolled by. I was just too self-absorbed to notice.

I had called Kyle to let him know I was back in town with a new job and I would be around for a while. I asked if I could crash at his place for a week, just until my new apartment was ready.

There was something in his voice, or rather, missing from his voice. It was Kyle’s voice, but it was devoid of any happiness, any joy, any life.

“Yeah, sure. No problem.” he said. “I gotta go. I’m at work. Key’s under the mat.” his voice monotone, flat.

“Okay. I love yo…” I started to say.

*click, beep-beep-beep* my phone let me know he had hung up on me.

Yeah. Something was definitely wrong. Not just ‘off’ but seriously wrong.

It was around 11am when I arrived and the key was under the mat, just as Kyle had promised. Kyle’s apartment was a 1 bedroom in a building with 6 apartments, three upstairs and three downstairs, Kyle’s place being on the ground floor. Three other similar buildings made up the complex.

The first thing I noticed about the place was how sparse it was… like, post-apocalyptic sparse. The living room contained a not-so-new sofa, a small coffee table with a magazine, a couple of pieces of junk mail and a single coaster on it, a 30” television on some thrift store drawerless desk, and that was it. There were no pictures on the walls, no plants, no rugs, no decorations of any kind. It looked like either someone was just moving in or were almost finished moving out. Mom had told me that Kyle had been living here for almost two years.

‘Jesus, Kyle. What is going on with you?’ I thought as I surveyed the scene. This place was as lifeless as Kyle seemed to be on my brief phone call with him.

The kitchen was separated from the living room by a short counter with one rickety bar chair. There were a couple of dirty dishes in the sink. Nearly all the cabinets were empty except for two that held a handful of mismatched plates and a half dozen different cups and glasses. One drawer had a mix of forks, spoons and differing knives. I don’t think he had more than four of each. There wasn’t anything on the counters, aside from some dish soap and a sponge near the sink. Not a single appliance, no microwave oven, no mixer, no crock pot, not even a coffee maker. I couldn’t even guess if he had any pots or pans. The refridgerator had three energy drinks and a pizza box with a couple of dried up, petrified slices still in it. The only other things in the fridge were a few packets of takeout ketchup, hot sauce and a jar of pickle juice with some pickle pieces from the 1900’s at the bottom.

The bathroom was clean-ish with one of each of the basics; toothbrush, razor, etc. Under the sink was a half package of toilet paper and a few cleaning supplies. There was a single bath towel on the toliet seat. If he had more towels, I had no idea where he was hiding them. In the glass doored shower there was a bottle of body wash, shampoo, and one of those cheap, neon pink, nylon mesh body scrubbers. There wasn’t a single thing to indicate a female presence, past or present, or that one was anticipated in the future.

The bedroom had to be the worst. A full-sized bed, a beat up nightstand with what looked like a child’s lamp on it, and a pile of dirty clothes in one corner, near the closet. The closet, pfft. Not even one quarter full and nothing but jeans and two long sleeve shirts hung there. The shelf above had what looked like a set of poorly folded bed sheets and, ah, there they are, three clean towels. On the floor were a small pile of t-shirts, underwear, socks, a pair of army style boots and some worn out sneakers.

Everything about Kyle’s ‘life’, all the evidence, would have been enough to convict him, in any court, of having given up on life. All I could think was, ‘What happened to you, Kyle?. Who or what has sucked the color out of your world?’

Kyle got home a little past 6pm. “Kyle! Brother, how’ve you been?” I happily greeted him as I went in for a hug.

“What’s up, sis?” Kyle sounded tired and looked exhausted; defeated. And then there was the hug. When Kyle was a kid, he would give me the biggest hugs, using his whole body and all his strength to hug me. Now, it seemed like he was actively trying to keep from touching me, using just one arm lightly wrapped around my shoulders and broke the hug almost immediately. When had he become so allergic to me?

Crossing the room, he tossed his keys on the kitchen counter. “Sorry about the place. Um… I’ve got to be at work in 20 minutes. You need anything?”

“No. I’m fine. Kyle, is everything alright? You seem…” I didn’t want to jump right into an interrogation. It was too soon for a confrontation, so I tried the subtle approach. “…tired.”

Just before he disappeared into his bedroom. “I’m fine. Just… long hours.”

I was shaken. I’ve never felt so unwelcome in a home and I never thought I would feel that way in my own brother’s apartment. I didn’t know when Kyle could make the time but we were going to have a serious conversation… soon.

Five minutes later, Kyle was off to his second job. With a curt ’See ya later. Don’t wait up.’ Kyle practically ran out of the apartment even as I moved to hug him goodbye… my brother just left me hanging?

It was past midnight when Kyle got home. I had dozed off but woke up as he entered the apartment. As I was rising from the sofa I tried to get a conversation going. “Kyle. How was work?”

“Work was work.” he said in a tired voice.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I hopefully asked.

“No. Go back to sleep. I’m going to bed. I gotta get up early. Goodnight.” Kyle said as he tossed his keys on the counter and headed to his bedroom just as I was standing.

I stood in the middle of the living room like a statue. I debated… should I knock on his door and try to steal a few minutes… maybe get him to open up a bit, but decided against it. It was obvious he had had a long day. It took me a while to fall back asleep as my mind ran possible reasons for Kyle’s uncharacteristic behavior.

PTSD? A phase? Chemical imbalance? I kept adding to the list of possible reasons for my brother’s personality change. The worst one being the idea that his brain had restructured itself in the years I was gone. I vaguely remember reading something about people becoming completely different people overnight, for no apparent reason. I probably read that in a tabloid somewhere, but it did make me think… ‘What if I “can’t” get my Kyle back?’ That last one kept me awake for a long time.

The sound of the front door closing woke me. I peered at the clock… it was a little past 4:30am. My sluggish mind was trying to do the math from what I could remember of his work schedule. I was just too tired so I let my head fall into the pillow and fell back asleep.

Kyle came home around 6:30pm and tossed his keys on the counter.

“Hey.” was all he said.

“Kyle. What’s wrong?” I got right to the point.

“Nothing. I’m just really… tired.”

After my sleepeless night I was cranky and tired of his cold shoulder. I’m not the most patient person at the best of times and the lack of sleep didn’t help. I impatiently called his bluff. “No. You’ve changed. I’m not buying this “I’m tired” crap. What happened to that sweet kid I grew up with?”

“I grew up.”

“No.