As always, there is something deviant about this story. But it's not rape (for once), underage sex, or something gory; just plain old incest.
The title, by the way, comes from a Pearl Jam song of the same name about a widow molesting her son.
The little rabbit-thing asked why Kazuma was just sitting there, rubbing the steel bars of his cell. He didn't hear a word. Vaguely, in the back of his head, yes, but not in front.
Professor Booster said something about a plot to escape the next time they were fed. This Kazuma heard, somewhat. He hadn't eaten in days. He was starving, but he could not eat in here. Not in this jail.
He wasn't worried about his mother; okay, he was, but Mom could take care of herself. It was his little sister who kept him from eating. Sue was somewhere on this island, barely recognizable as ever having been his sister. He'd heard from her once, but she was not safe. None of them were.
This time he listened when Booster laid out his idea. He had to save Sue, or at least know that someone who could protect her would. Of all the unlucky souls who came to this island, she least deserved her fate...
For the fifth night in a row, he woke up with no feeling in his hand, from clutching cold metal bars. But these were only part of his bed frame. It bothered him how, after six months, he would still dream of when he - they were all pressed under the Doctor's thumb. He hated how that despicable man, whom none of them would dignify by calling him by name, still had such an effect on him.
He was not the only one. Every now and then when he woke up in the night, he would hear his sister break things in her bedroom, fighting demons that were only in her dreams. Poor Sue may have had a stronger will than he, but she still took this business the hardest, no matter the facade she wore.
And then there was his mother, who often came and slept in his bed with him. It was strange, something he used to do with her when he was little and had similar bad dreams. Something he more expected of Sue, although, of course, she'd never. But what's more, he always suspected this had nothing to do with whatever the Doctor did to her. No, there was another reason...
There she was. She only came in when he was awake to give permission; the only time she hadn't - which was also the first time she slept in his bed - it so alarmed him to wake up with someone there who hadn't been, that she promised not to unless he let her.
"Come in," he said groggily.
The door opened and she stepped in, holding her robe closed with one hand. She stayed in the doorway having second thoughts, shifting her weight from one side to the other. Eventually she decided to stay and closed the door behind her, locking it.
Still hesitant, she stepped towards the bed. Kazuma shifted toward the opposite edge to leave a spot for her. This time, her indecision didn't take so long, and she slipped the robe off and climbed in.
He felt his mother snuggle up to him. Usually he would do the same, but... She only had her underwear on. Normally she wore a nightgown, and the fact that she didn't bothered him. It was for the same reason that her sleeping in his bed bothered him at all: that it was a precursor to...
He remembered that, in his teenage years, long after his father died, she'd stand in his doorway when she thought he was asleep, staring at him wistfully. It had bothered him then, although he couldn't put a reason to it. Now, when he was of age, and thus fair game, he knew.
He told himself he didn't. This was a serious crime to suspect his mother of. And besides, what if he was the one who wanted to commit it, and he was projecting that onto her?
No, he'd never dream of it. The thought had not crossed his mind before tonight.
She hugged him suddenly, startling him out of any inkling of sleep he had. The warmth of her body pressed against his brought up a slight want for her advances. But when she reached downward, he fought it. A slight scuffle ensued, during which he tried to climb over her and make for the door, which only made things worse. She clasped onto him, pulling against his pulling.
"Kazuma, don't go," she begged. "Let me explain myself."
He stopped, lying across her, arms dangling over the side of the bed.
"I... I know this is despicable to even consider, but... When your father died, it left a gaping emptiness in me. One that... Do you know why I haven't found another husband after all these years? Not because I could find no one else. Not because I didn't want anyone else. It's because I see your father in you. It's felt as if he never left, and I haven't been able to get over that. And that's why I'm here."
"Even when I was a little boy..."
"Even then. I tried, I tried. But I just can't take it anymore."
Kazuma considered it. He felt ill with himself for it. What would Sue think of both of them, if they did this?
He realized Sue didn't have
At length he held himself up, looking his mother's body over. Never had he noticed before how beautiful and comely she was, especially considering she'd had two children. Considering that she was middle-aged, and didn't look a day over twenty-five. It had never crossed his mind to see her as sexy.
She blinked, looking half-ready to try to talk him out of it. But she didn't, letting him trace a finger over her body from neck to waist. As hers doubtless did as well, he could feel his heart pounding in his throat as he tugged her underpants down, his hand brushing against the patch of green hair there. He found it vaguely disorienting, the notion that this was ultimately where he came from, much less that, when he let a finger slip into her, he was returning in a way.
"Y-... your clothes," she said, tugging gently at his nightshirt.
He'd forgotten about that, hadn't he? Reluctant to take his hands off her, he sat up and fiddled clumsily with his shirt buttons, unable in the dim light to get a grip on them and push them out of their holes. She did it for him after a minute of waiting, freeing the buttons with ease. As she slipped the shirt off and threw it aside, he had a flash of some old memory, when she helped him out of a coat in his youth.
He was still five years old when she hugged him, up until she reached into his pants, her hand rubbing his privates, as his rubbed hers. It wasn't anything like his own hand; it was softer, the delicacy not diminished by the calluses from the way she held a wrench. Faint from the blood rushing away from their heads, they fell back across the bed.
Minutes passed as they lay there, breathing on each other's skin. It was the last chance they had to just roll over, go to sleep and forget about this. Everything they'd done, they could justify it in their heads and pretend their motives were different. There was a line here that, if crossed...
A voice screamed in his head as he stepped right over it, entering her without an inch of friction. For goodness' sake, she's your mother! Yes, yes she was. And it felt so eerily right to be inside her again after eighteen years, as if he was meant to come back. The way she clutched him to her, her warm breath on the back of his neck, the way she'd always hugged him: It all led up to this.Oh, lord, no. I'm just a replacement for Dad.
He rolled off of her, hand clenched in shame. What was he thinking? She was just a desperate widow, he was a horny son, both looking for any excuse to screw the other. And even though it rent him as she inched off the bed, they had to realize it just wasn't worth the trouble that could come from it.
No sooner had he begun the now-futile try for sleep, however, that she fell on top of him, forcing her tongue into his mouth, gripping him in an unbreakable hold. And he couldn't fight it, couldn't scream, because Sue's bed was pressed right against the same wall as his, and there would be nothing, nothing either one could say to explain this to her. And Mother knew it, he realized, knew he had no say in this matter, not even when she stood in his doorway, staring. It was never a matter of if, but when.
And so as she mounted him, as he returned to that from whence he came a third time, he didn't fight it, because it was already too late.
If she was rusty, she certainly didn't show it. She wasn't like most girls, who just lay there and let the man do all the work, and were disappointed when he didn't do it right. No, she would tell him in a breathy voice, a little lower, a little higher, to the left, up until he learned where to touch. She herself already knew far too well, knew right where that sensitive spot on the small of his back lay; he had no doubt he was just like his father.
But she never spoke Father's name during. The longer they held fast to each other in damp embrace, the more he just knew that was her excuse, not her reason. No more so did he know it than when she tightened around him, loosened in that full-body shudder, and screamed - not so much screamed, as breathed it:
"Kazuma! I love you!"
The last time Kazuma woke up with this feeling, something big and irreversible had happened to his family. When he came down the stairs, a young man of just five, and saw his mother staring into oblivion out the window, he knew why. And when she realized he was there and hugged him, desperately trying not to cry but failing, she told him what he already sensed, that he'd known had happened while deep in a dream that wasn't even bad. Father would not be coming home.
And so nearly thirteen years later, when he had that feeling of loss deep in the back of his head again, he knew exactly why it returned. He no longer had a mother.
Although the feeling couldn't be denied, he doubted it at first, with reason; the bed was empty except for him, and what had happened just seemed too... farfetched, for lack of a good word. But he delayed going down those stairs by meticulously dressing first, using one stray piece of lint as an excuse to toss each article aside and start over. And when he finally got around to leaving his room and going for the stairwell, he knew it was true long before he reached the bottom, long before he saw Momorin washing her hands in the kitchen sink. She glanced behind her when he said her name, only to look away just as quickly, staring at the soapy water.
"I thought you were Sue," she said in a small voice. "I don't know what I'm going to say to Sue."
"You don't have to tell her," he said, approaching the sink. "Good lord, you're going to rub the skin right off your hands."
She didn't struggle as he pushed her away from the sink and into a chair in the dining room, but didn't go along with him either. "I don't know what else to do. Sue's smart. She'll know right away something's off."
Kazuma chewed on one of his knuckles, watching the woman keep on wringing her red, raw hands until he was certain they would bleed. What if Sue had the same sixth sense he did? Would she know exactly what had happened, or just the fact that something did?
Eventually he clutched her wrists and forced her hands apart. She stared down, finally wincing from the damage she'd done, though which it was, he couldn't be sure.
"You're not my son anymore," she said, tears running silently down her face and falling onto the backs of their hands. "And it's my fault."
He couldn't think of anything to say.
"And it's not like this was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I didn't just decide last night to go through with this. Two years I grieved over your father, and then you began to look just like him. I knew it was wrong, but I started to plan everything out way back then: how long I'd hold off, how I'd seduce you, what contraceptive I'd use. The truth is, I thought I'd get over it by the time I'd do it. And I did. I got over wanting you because I missed your father."
Even in what she left unsaid, she could only tell him what he already knew.
The tears came in a torrent now. "I'm a terrible mother. Who does that to their son? I'm no better than parents who whore out their daughters so they can buy themselves fancy, expensive trinkets."
"Now, that's not true." He sat in the chair next to her, took his hands off her wrists and put them on her shoulders. "Look at me, Momorin."
She raised her head reluctantly, green hair falling sparsely over her eyes.
"You were- are
- a great mother. You raised two children nearly all by your lonesome. Few people have the strength, the heart, the ability to do what you've done for us. Look at Sue: She's a clever, strong young woman who can take care of herself, just like her mother. And as for me, well... I turned out exactly the way you wanted me to. Even if I didn't listen to you when you told me to wear knee pads when rollerblading."
She smiled sadly. "You're just like your father that way. I'd always warn him, and he never listened to me. He didn't on that day... That's why I said 'I told you so' when you skinned your knee."
"And I always took you seriously after that. I knew from then on you just wanted to protect me. And you did great; here I am, in my prime, free of ills."
"You're right..." She rested her sore hands on his shoulders. "I raised a good son..."
They stared at each other, the full impact of all that happened finally sinking into their minds. Nothing they could do, no amount of nostalgic small talk at the table could restore the tie they'd severed forever.
And before they knew it, they were leaning in in acceptance...
They all but leapt from their chairs. Sue stood in the doorway, munching on an apple with an amused grin.
"S-Sue!" Momorin forced out. "How long have you been there?"
She tossed the apple in the air and caught it. "Oh, long enough."
The incestuous pair glanced to each other like deer in headlights. "We can explain, Sue..." Kazuma floundered.
"What's there to explain?" She threw it in a high arc to her brother, who caught it with trembling hands. "You two were lonely, you thought, 'Hey, let's have sex.' Maybe Mom said, 'It's not like I'm molesting you, you're eighteen years old.' Don't sweat it, I totally understand."
Pale, they could only stare at the strangely gleeful girl. "You're taking this... awfully well, Sue," Momorin finally said in a level voice. "We thought you'd be more upset."
"Eh?" She tilted her head. "What's there to scold you for? I stopped you before you got to first base. It's not like you actually did it."
The statement was like a taser to the chest.
"Wait, what am I doing." Sue approached the table. "Gimme that apple. I'm not done with it."
Still astounded, the man handed the fruit back to his sister. She left the room, alternatively playing with and biting it. "Oh, and guys? Other people exist. It's just, they're outside. Might try leaving the house sometime."
They watched her go, speechless; it was all they could do.
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