Long before Finn and Lara there were Carys and Mike.
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Carys & Mike: A Sisterfest Romance
Carys Kershaw:
All through my most formative years, through the storms of childhood and the turbulence of my teenage years there was only one constant, one anchor in a world I felt increasingly adrift in; my sweet big brother, my Mikey. Of all the people I knew, of all my (admittedly sparse) family I might have turned to, I only ever really trusted Mikey; he’s the one who fixed the things I couldn’t, played with me when I needed a friend, never judged me when I pulled a stupid, and always, always had time for me, my problems, my wishes, my hopes, and my dreams. Mum and Dad were good, but they didn’t think kids had problems, life was easy for them, so they never really drilled down into what was going on with me; they were happy, so they assumed I was too.
From earliest years Mikey was who I needed most; he was my favourite playmate, my staunchest defender, my rock who never judged me, and the one thing I knew, with rock-solid certainty, would be forever in my life to defend, protect, shield, and shelter me. I’d never seriously felt the need to copy-cat my friends and go trolling after boys as soon as they realised they had the bait to stir a boy’s interest; all the boys I knew were scrawny no-hopers compared to Mikey, none of them were sweet enough, nice enough, tall enough, or had hair black enough or eyes the right shade of blue; it puzzled me that my lovely big brother was literally the best, most attractive boy I knew.
These feelings persisted all the way through primary school, where I just took it for granted that Mikey was just better at everything than anyone I knew, and then came secondary school. When my friends were trying their best to attract boys, I stayed clear of that stuff; none of them were Mike, so none of them were worth my time. I think by the time I hit sixteen my mother was starting to be concerned; I’d never been on a date, even the innocent Saturday night ‘take me to the cinema and try and slide his arm around my shoulders’ type of date that all my friends were raving about in school. The truth was, I just didn’t find any of the boys in my school attractive or intriguing enough to even want to go there in the first place.
I had no plans to go to university, I really didn’t want to leave my family and friends behind, and let’s be honest here; my A-level exam scores were nothing to trumpet from the rooftops, unlike Mikey, who just seemed to be breezing through his architecture course at the University of Bath, which had caused no slight friction when he’d been accepted; I needed him near me, although I couldn’t really give a hard and fast reason why he should be, not down at the other end of the country doing who knows what with God knows who. I was seriously conflicted; I wanted him to be the best he could, doing what he obviously loved, but he needed to be doing it where I could see, feel, and hear him anytime I needed him.
That whole raft of loose and barely understood, let alone clearly defined, feelings over Mikey made me very, very unhappy, and I really couldn’t tell anyone, especially the parents.
I couldn’t really get a job, what with having no real qualifications and zero experience, and university was out of the question with my less than spectacular A-Level results, so I took mum’s suggestion to heart and went back to school, to the local technical college to do a 3-year BTEC in office management and Business Administration; dad promised me if I managed to pass each year with a minimum of a Distinction there would be a guaranteed place for me at his firm when I qualified, he’d see to it.
So I did; dad’s company was part of a huge international conglomerate of a dozen or so huge manufacturing divisions that made everything from televisions to toilet paper, fridges, washing machines, car parts, motorcycles, and aerospace components, and working in any of the divisions was pretty much a guaranteed job for life. Also, it meant I got to go home at night and spend the weekends with my friends, unlike poor Mikey; architecture is an exacting, unforgiving discipline, and Mikey was burning the candle at both ends to keep up with his study, projects, and work-placements. He never complained, though; when I spoke with him all I got was his passion for his chosen field, no hint of regret, of wrong choices made, of feelings that he wasn’t going to make the cut; he loved the pressure, the things he had to do to be creative and not be labelled derivative or a plagiarist, the creative processes he was going through to be different, original, and credible.
Mike Kershaw:
From earliest days, my favorite person was my cute, happy little sister, Carys, Rys for short. No matter how busy I was, or how lazy I was feeling, I couldn’t not play with her, sit with her, read to her, or just listen to her while she babbled and chattered about her dolls, her favourite kid’s TV shows, any and everything. Rys was going to be a gorgeous young woman, I could see that even then; her clear, translucent complexion, her jet-black curly hair so black it was almost blue, her stunning bright blue-violet eyes, huge and appealing, and her sweet, rosy little Cupid’s bow mouth added up to just the prettiest, most beautiful little girl I’d ever seen. Add to that the fact she was so bubbly and good-natured and what I had was the perfect little sister, sweet, good-natured, and fun to be around. Oh yes, I adored my baby sister from the day mum brought her home from the hospital; she owned me, and I didn’t care who knew it.
Carys was happiest when I helped mum tuck her in at night. She wouldn’t let me go until I’d checked under her bed and in her closet that there were no monsters or goblins hiding there, then I’d read one of her simple fairytales to her, and then do a sweep one more time so she could sleep undisturbed. Mum always said I was such a sweet boy for playing up to her, but I wasn’t playing; my little sister trusted me to keep her safe at night and I wasn’t going to let her down. Being four years older than her meant that I was the token grown-up in her world; mum and dad came and went, and did parent things, and we loved them dearly, but if Rys really wanted something done, or needed something, or just needed to be believed or understood, she came to me and I’d do what I could, because I loved my adorable baby sister.
As we grew, our relationship never really changed in any significant way; Carys did her thing, and I watched over her. As she hit her teens the local boys started taking an interest in her, for a very good reason; she was probably the prettiest girl in town. I doubt she knew, or even cared, that the town saw her that way. One thing about her was her total lack of interest in attracting any kind male attention, and she never showed the slightest interest in any of the boys in her school or the youth clubs and activities she joined. This meant she spent most of her time either doing girly things with her girlfriends, or in my orbit, which suited me fine; I didn’t like the idea of other boys liking her, and I never really worked out why; all I knew was I didn’t want any of those scrawny, pimply, posturing loudmouth losers anywhere near her.
One boy made the mistake of attempting to grope her while his jackass friends held her and hee-hawed like a herd of donkeys at how much fun it was, then thought they’d gotten away with it. Foolish, foolish morons, did they really think she wasn’t going to tell me? The boys who’d held her got the kind of beating that makes Christian believers out of us, but the boy, man, really, he was over eighteen, who’d tried to grope her lost all his front teeth one dark night and had both his hands slammed by an unknown assailant in a car door as an object lesson in how precious one’s hands are, and how one should keep them to oneself; I understand these days if he wants to pick his nose, wank, or scratch his balls he has to ask someone to help out, but he certainly learned a powerful lesson; don’t touch my little sister.
Being away from home, even if it was at university to study the one thing I’d always wanted to learn nevertheless still hurt in deep down, unique ways; I missed Carys, I missed her bringing each least little thing to me to show me, ask me about, ask if I’d like it, or if it suited her. I’d start awake at night in my digs absolutely sure Rys was sitting on my bed because she needed me, or I’d hear her voice as I was falling asleep and jerk awake again. Nights that happened, I literally had to get out of bed and search every single nook and cranny in my poky little student apartment just to assure myself she wasn’t there, that I hadn’t really heard her, that I was alone all the way down in Bath, and she was alone all the way up in Leominster, in Herefordshire.
Carys was fourteen when I left for university and the lost, scared, heartbroken look on her face the day I packed my car with my final bits and pieces almost convinced me to just call it off and find a university or technical college closer to home just so I could be near her. Cary’s hugged me, and I could feel the desperation and loss, and that nearly decided me there and then.
“I don’t have to go, Doll-Eyes, I can find someplace else closer to study, it’s okay, if you need me I’d rather be with you than leave you alone, baby, honest!” I murmured.
Carys stepped back to stare into my eyes in shocked surprise.
“Don’t you dare, Michael Kershaw! You’ve worked so hard, you wanted this so much, don’t you dare chuck it all over for me! You have to go, Mikey, this is what you really, honestly want, if you don’t go I’ll never forgive myself. Please don’t say you’ll give it up, Mikey, I don’t want you to not go and then ten years from now blame me because I took it away from you! Go, Mikey, please, don’t give it all up, I’ll be okay, I’ll always be here, and you can come home anytime, this is still our home. Please go, Mikey, for me? Please?”
So I left with a heavy heart and a ton of misgivings, my mind filled with images of my beautiful baby sister smiling me away with crystal tears trapped in her long, sooty lashes; I knew she was right, although I’d never blame her for anything, ever; leaving now to follow my dream was the right thing for me. So why did my heart feel like it was wrapped in lead weights?