Just because something is damaged doesn’t mean it’s broken. (Enjoy the story)
***
“OH FUCK!” my girlfriend shouted as she rode me through another orgasm. A sheen of sweat glistened off her shaking breasts as she collapsed on top of me, panting from the exertion. I didn’t stop my thrusts, driving her orgasm further and mine closer. She could tell I was close and started grinding her hips in time with mine. I was almost there…
THUMP
The sound outside my door was loud and unmistakable. We stopped moving as we took a moment to register the sound.
THUMP
“You have got to be shitting me!” she almost screamed.
THUMP
“It’s okay,” I tried to reassure her but we both knew what was making the sound. Moreso, we both knew it wouldn’t stop.
THUMP
“No, it’s not okay!” She climbed off me and started to gather her clothes from around the bed. “I’m sick of this!” another THUMP, as if to prove her point. “Of her!”
“It’s not her fault,” I said again for the thousandth time in my life
“Oh of course not,” My girlfriend said sarcastically, glaring at me as I pulled up my shorts, “It’s NEVER her fault, is it?”
THUMP
“Stop it you bitch!” she screamed at the door
“Hey!” I shouted at her. “That’s my sister! You do NOT talk to her like that, you hear me!?”
“Whatever!” She said as she finished pulling her shirt down and opened the door.
My sister, Jessica, almost fell backwards into the room. She had been sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to her chin, rocking back and forth. The back of her head hitting the door had been making the thumping sound that had interrupted us. My girlfriend made a disgusted sound as she stepped over Jess.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” She shouted at Jessica.
I bolted out of bed, immediately regretting that decision. I knew better, but in the heat of the moment I completely forgot that my bad leg sometimes needed a few moments before it could bear weight. As soon as I stood I crumpled to the floor, looking almost as foolish as I felt. Jessica scrambled past her and all but tackled me.
“I am done with all this!” my now-ex-girlfriend screamed at me. “Done with your lame ass and your lame-ass sister!”
“Get the fuck out!” I shouted to her back as she hurried down the stairs. The slamming of the front door soon followed.
I wrapped my arms around Jessica and pulled her closer. Her body relaxed as soon as I held her. Slowly, the tension eased out of her and she took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry,” She whispered. “I.. I.. I couldn’t help-”
“Shhhh. It’s okay, Jay Bird,” Using her pet name helped to relax her. “It’s okay.”
I should probably give a little explanation here. I’m Jason and this is my twin sister Jessica. Our parents weren’t that original when naming twins if you ask me. We’re both 20 and still live at home while we go to college.
Obviously, we’re not identical twins but we do share a few similarities. I’m taller, standing right at six feet. She’s pretty tall too, coming in just shy of five-ten. We’re both fairly slender, but I’ll admit to a few extra pounds since my running days are far behind me. Jess is slenderer than I am, and if I tried to point out any body fat I’m sure she’d slap me. We both have chestnut brown hair and brown eyes. I keep mine cut short while Jess likes to wear hers shoulder length.
Our family was pretty well off to begin with. My great-great grandfather made wise investments back in the day. I’m not even sure if many of them were legal, but that’s how it was back then. He rode out the Great Depression in comfort and came out the other end wealthy and well connected. Those connections had continued to pay off throughout the generations. My father was the CEO of the company that bore his name and I was next in line to take over. Mom wasn’t content to be the stereotypical housewife and worked by his side. Together they expanded the business to an international level.
Our story really starts 8 years ago when we were 12. Dad was just the COO at the time; grandpa’s health was failing but he still had several good years left in him. It wasn’t a stormy night. It wasn’t a cold or windy day. It was calm and pleasant and in the middle of the afternoon. We were playing outside in the backyard. Mom was inside working on lunch. Dad was in the garage fiddling with the ’65 Mustang he was constantly trying to restore.
That’s when he came. He took Jessica. He held a knife to her throat and told me to follow him or else he’d kill her. We were both thrown into a van, tied, gagged, hooded, and driven off.
You might’ve seen us on the news. Every now and then we get requests for a “Where are they now?” kind of story but we always turn those down regardless of what they want to pay us.
The manhunt went on for 36 hours and 23 minutes… not that I remember that little detail or anything. In the end, I suppose we were lucky. He was strung out on a hellacious cocktail of hallucinogens and painkillers mixed with copious amounts of grain alcohol. We were given similar injections, though I guess smaller doses than he had taken. I honestly don’t remember much of the time we were held.
We were eventually found and the police gave chase. It was a nationally televised event; some people say the ratings trumped the OJ chase. I’m honored… really. He was killed in the accident. I’m still not sure if his heart exploded from the drugs or if the impact killed him. Doesn’t matter I guess. The van flipped onto its side and we were tossed about like rag dolls. I vaguely remember waking up to the smell of gasoline. The back door was twisted open and I could see flame tips from the passenger window. Jessica was still tied up and laying her side. I pulled at the ropes, feeling intense pain in my hands and shoulders as I unsocketed joints and fractured bones. But I was able to get free.
I’ve had dreams where I remember pulling her out, carrying her away from the van. I think that’s mainly from news footage though; I have no actual memory of anything after that. There is one thing I do remember, what I will never forget for the rest of my days. Her eyes. Wide, dilated eyes staring up at me as I carried her away.
The jars of chemicals he had in the van caught fire and exploded in a fireball worthy of a Michael Bay film. The blast knocked me forward and into the ground. Shrapnel tore my leg apart, but Jessica was safe. That’s all I really cared about.
I woke up in the hospital two weeks later. They told me how brave I was and how lucky we were to be alive. Whatever shit he injected us with was, well, it was potent. I was unconscious through my detox. Jessica wasn’t as lucky.
The lawsuit against the guy’s family was swept under the rug and settled out of court. I guess him being the son of a prominent businessman with political aspirations meant they got certain perks. As it turned out, the guy was just 18 and pissed at his dad for God knows what. The story we were told was that he had seen our family on a local news story and became jealous. After the drugs and alcohol, he became obsessed and delusional but his family had completely ignored and brushed off the painfully obvious warning signs. The payout was substantial.
It wasn’t until a few months afterward that we saw the long-term effects. I was going through physical therapy for my leg while my sister and mom went shopping for some “retail therapy”. 15 minutes later Jessica came bursting into the PT room, wide-eyed and nearly hyperventilating. She searched the room frantically, screaming my name. She tackled me when she found me, knocking us both to the ground, holding onto me and crying.
Physically there’s nothing wrong with her. All the MRI and CAT scans have come back with no damage to her brain or anything else, but something inside her mind was changed that day. The doctors have described it as a version of Obsessive Attachment and Anxiety Disorder. The reality of it is that she gets more than just “anxious”. She gets terrified. Hysterical in some cases. Some of the “experts” think that when she gets like this a part of her believes she’s back in the van and if I’m not around then she won’t escape.
We moved soon after The Event, as we called it. A new house helped ease the nightmares we both had but did little for her condition. We’ve tried therapy but there’s only so much that can be done. They gave her medication to help but that was simply horrible. The meds might have kept her from having frequent anxiety attacks but put her in a trance of sorts. She wasn’t herself at all and when she did have an attack it was worse than ever. It was like the drugs had just been a pressure cooker and when it finally was too much it all came out at once.
We eventually found that the only thing that worked was me. My presence. If I was around, the attacks were milder and less frequent.
School became a challenge with Jessica like she was. We went to a private school so the classes were smaller and there wasn’t a huge crowd of people everywhere, but she still would get anxious during any class that we weren’t in together. During the breaks between classes, she would rush to my locker. As soon as I would show up she would relax and be fine. When she did have a major attack, however, it became very “disruptive” to the class. The solution was simple: put us in the same classes.
High school on its own is hell. High school with Jessica was a constant exercise in self-control and restraint. I am very, very protective of my sister and as such, I was sent to the principal’s office on more than one occasion for getting into fights when someone said something off-handed about her. I was punished appropriately but never once did I feel sorry for what I did.
At home we would get into a routine where I would stay in her room until she fell asleep then tiptoe off into my room. She took medicine to help her sleep but sometimes it wouldn’t work and she would wake up in the middle of the night looking for me. Those are the nights I would wake up to her in my bed beside me.
The first few times I thought mom and dad would freak out, but they were understanding about it. It made puberty very… interesting, to say the least. We were good though. Nothing untoward happened but as we developed we had to take extra steps for privacy and modesty. Luckily, her anxiety grew less and less severe as we grew older. Eventually, we could be apart for as much as 4 hours before her anxiety really kicked in. This allowed me to go on dates and have a semblance of a normal life. It never really lasted though. My girlfriends could never understand why Jessica just couldn’t “get over it” or why I put up with her. They would get jealous of the two of us, saying I was closer to Jessica than I ever could be to any of them.