What I Saw in My Sister's Room Changed Everything

Her hip quickened the movement that moments before had been slow and circular. I was completely lost in her, in the wet heat that joined us, in the way her weight pressed me down against the mattress. She slowed the pace just enough to bring her face close to mine and kiss me with her mouth open.

The taste of red wine came to me from her tongue, and our gasps mingled in that long kiss that didn’t seem to want to end.

—You still turn me on like the first time —she whispered in my ear, her breathing ragged—. You’re going to kill me.

The rocking turned frantic until a shudder ran through her whole body. I felt her clench around me, squeeze me, and I sank into her as far as I could before letting go. I pressed my face against her clavicle and bit her shoulder while the last spasms slipped out of me.

Little by little our breathing calmed. We stayed wrapped in each other, still joined, while I slowly went soft inside her. Irene didn’t move. She let the heat of our bodies keep us company while the sweat began to cool on our skin.

—I love you —I let slip, hugging her tighter.

—I know… —she answered.

A tear slipped from one of her eyes and wet my cheek. A sob broke the silence. I didn’t know how to comfort her. I didn’t say anything: I just kissed her.

At that instant, the baby’s crying brought us back to reality. We both sighed at the same time, resigned to the fact that getting him to sleep again wasn’t going to be easy.

—My turn —I told her.

She got down and covered herself with the sheet, turning away so I wouldn’t see her face. I sat on the edge of the bed for a second, picked up my boxers from the floor, and put them on before going to the next room.

There was the little person I loved most in the world. I loved him even more than I loved her, because he was the result of everything we had shared: years of love, fear, joy, and disappointment. When I picked him up, the crying stopped at once and the sparkle in his eyes made me smile. My chest swelled and my eyes watered too. I rocked him for almost half an hour, until he fell asleep again.

It was four in the morning when I went back into the room. Irene was no longer crying and showed a peace she never let show when she was awake. When she was conscious, her eyes only knew how to express two things: excitement when we made love, and sadness when we lived the rest of our life.

I didn’t disturb her. I went over to the window leading to the balcony and, when I opened it, the murmur of Viña del Mar drifted in at that dead hour. The salty Pacific air hit my face and the view comforted me. I leaned on the railing, lit a cigarette, and let memory drag me back to the last decade.

At first everything had been easy. We were two kids who had played with taboo, thinking it would be something temporary. But when things started getting complicated, we found ourselves cornered by the lies we had built to protect what, without realizing it, we had already created. We lost the people we loved, one by one, until anguish and loneliness forced us to disappear.

We simply went to the end of the world. Chile became our refuge, the place where you erase yourself from the map and start over. Over time we deliberately lost our accent to fit in better. Once that was done, we built a life: decent jobs, new friends, and a relative calm in which to raise our son. Always, of course, haunted by the ghost of what we had left behind.

Despite our sins, fate gave us a healthy child. When the doctor confirmed the pregnancy, the first thing we felt was panic. The most sensible option seemed to be ending it, because of the risk carried by a baby from two siblings: our shared blood was a time bomb. But Irene couldn’t even contemplate it. I stood by her without arguing, and we faced a few murky, difficult months. Lucas’s first year was a parade of specialists who, one after another, ruled out the problems we feared most.

Irene was marked by it all the same. Don’t get me wrong: her love for us was unconditional. But the pregnancy scared her so much that I ended up getting a vasectomy to swear to her that we would never go through that again. She suffered more than anyone from everything that had happened to us, though you’ll understand that part of the story later.

I went back to bed and kissed my sister on the forehead. I lay down beside her in the hope of sleeping, though I doubted I would. In an hour I had to get up for work.

***

Ten years earlier.

You could say it all started because of a mistake. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The afternoon had been exhausting. Having accounting from two to five, with thirty-five degrees and a classroom full of students, wasn’t exactly fun. But things didn’t look so bad: that night we were playing a crucial match in a tournament and, if we won, we’d be two points behind the leader. We had been waiting for it for three weeks, since the team from Commercial Institute No. 7 had let a sure victory slip away. The last-placed team had no points at all; our next rivals had a perfect record.

On paper it was supposed to be a rout. The undefeated side went ahead 1–0 in the third minute and dominated almost the whole match. But, for all their pressure on the other goal, they couldn’t finish it off. Five minutes from the end, a poorly cleared rebound ended up at the feet of the bottom team’s only striker, who, with the speed of his legs, left the goalkeeper flat-footed and lofted it over his head.

From that goal on, the team at the bottom of the table changed completely. They pressed, squeezed, and won a free kick that the same striker converted with a header to the left post. The match ended in a draw. The leader, who won his next two matches by the skin of his teeth and through sheer agony, pulled three points clear of us. That’s why that afternoon was our chance to catch them.

But classes still weren’t over, and Professor Marta showed no sign of tiring. Same as always: it seemed she never ran out of energy. And she seemed determined to ruin our weekend.

—Well, students —she said—. As you already know, the first-term exam week is coming up, and part of your final grade is to develop a debt restructuring strategy for a private company. You have two weeks to prepare it and present it.

A chorus of sighs rolled through the classroom. Marta cleared her throat to regain control before we got lost in complaints.

—You’ll be grouped into fours: two girls and two boys, no exceptions —she cut in before we could protest—. The cases are on the platform. There are ten files, so you have plenty to choose from. On Monday I want you to bring me the approach you’ll take, based on the four strategies we covered.

The bell rang and I went over to my sister. There were six of us at home. Carla, the oldest, who was twenty-two then; Esteban, twenty-four; and the twins, Irene and me, nineteen. We didn’t look too much alike, but we had the same eyes and the same hair color. Carla and Esteban lived in an apartment in the capital, two hours from home. Our parents were almost never around: their jobs forced them to travel, and they spent whole weeks away. We had been raised by nannies until a couple of years earlier, when we told them we could manage on our own. They agreed on the condition that they hire someone to come clean three times a week.

Anyway, I went up to Irene.

—Want to do the assignment together?

—Yeah, like always —she told me as we headed out, waving at her friends to wait for her—. But if you invite one of your friends, make it one who doesn’t act lazy.

—Relax. Maybe I’ll ask Bruno —I replied to calm her—. And who are you going to invite?

She looked toward the end of the hallway, where her friends were, and thought for a second.

—Sofía or Valeria.

They were the two closest in her group, and they were a couple of little bombs. Sofía was blonde, with light eyes, firm, well-defined curves; her ass stood out thanks to the volleyball she played, even if her chest didn’t stand out all that much. Valeria, on the other hand, was brunette, with bigger breasts than Sofía, a less eye-catching backside, but long legs and a waist that made it feel like you could wrap both hands around it.

Irene glanced at me out of the corner of her eye and said nothing. She had caught me several times staring at her friends, and yet she had never said a word. At first, when I started looking at them like that, she would grimace in disgust. But over time she stopped reproaching me for it. I don’t know whether she didn’t care or decided to ignore it, but she never showed discomfort again.

—Then I’ll ask one of the guys…

—Didn’t you say Bruno? —she asked.

—Yeah, though I haven’t decided yet —I answered distractedly, glancing again toward the end of the hallway.

—Just not one of the droolers… —she said, looking at me with something like pity.

She was right: several of them were unbearable. More than one had come on to my sister, and she had never shown the slightest interest. I looked at her skeptically.

—I’ll see. I’ve got a match today, I’ll be back for dinner.

—Okay, I’ll wait for you and we’ll order pizza. See you —she said, heading back toward her friends.

***

I caught up with the guys and we went for a drink before the match. We were torn between nervous and eager about what was coming; it was an opportunity we couldn’t waste. We had been waiting months for it. But the game was suspended because of problems with the field lights, which pushed the date back by at least a week. Around seven, everyone headed home.

I took the chance to ask Bruno if he was joining the practical assignment, but he already had a group and regretted that I hadn’t told him sooner. I had to look for someone else. The best candidate turned out to be Nicolás, who accepted gladly. On top of that, he was one of the few who had never come on to my sister; he had always been respectful.

I got home at seven-thirty and found it silent, which seemed odd to me. Normally, at that hour, Irene was on her phone or watching some series. I didn’t think much of it: I figured she’d be in the bathroom or shut up in her room.

But as I was going up the stairs, I started hearing a strange sound coming from the back of the hallway. It sounded like moans. Instinctively, I walked without making a sound, avoiding every creak. I still wonder what made me act that way, and I can’t find an answer. When I got upstairs, I saw that her bedroom door was ajar and a thread of warm light was spilling into the hall. The moans were coming from there.

And they definitely weren’t just moans. They were groans. Unmistakably sexual.

I couldn’t stop myself. Curiosity got the better of me and I slowly moved closer to look.

I found my sister on the bed, completely naked, and the soft light drew a body worth admiring. We had seen each other without clothes as kids, but that was years ago, when we still hadn’t developed. And, without a doubt, Irene had developed very well.

Her body had changed, her curves settling beautifully into place. For the first time I saw her as a woman and not as my sister. And I was drawn to her as such. I wanted to run my hands over that body.

Her back was slightly arched, lifting her breasts and leaving her nipples erect, pointing at the ceiling. Her left hand disappeared between her thighs and moved with a steady rhythm. Her skin shone with sweat, making her even more appetizing. The only thing I thought, with almost absurd clarity, was how badly I wanted to taste that sweat.

Her mouth was open and, I admit it, my mouth watered. But that wasn’t the problem. The problem was lower down: my groin had gone hard enough to hurt. Without thinking, I put my hand over my pants and started massaging myself slowly, letting myself be carried away by that sensation I shouldn’t have been feeling.

—Aah, yes, please… —she moaned, faster and faster as her hand moved more quickly between her thighs.

Her other hand twisted the sheets and arched her back a little more with each second. I was still standing there, with an erection begging to be released, five meters from my sister who, from the way she was moaning, was about to come. You shouldn’t be watching this. You shouldn’t be feeling this. And yet, I didn’t move.

Just as she was reaching the edge, drawing out one last moan, and I was on the verge of finishing in my boxers, dragged along by the depravity of the situation, in the most arousing moment of my life up to that point, my cell phone rang.

The first thing I did was frantically reach for it in my pocket, while it vibrated shrill and broke the tension. When I finally managed to end the call —I never knew who it was from— I looked up and met my sister’s eyes. She was breathing hard and had an expression split between fear and arousal that seemed, against all logic, divine to me. I wanted to eat her with kisses.

All I did was turn around and run to my room.

That night I didn’t sleep. And, though I didn’t know it then, that was the first crack through which everything that came after slipped in.