Siblings with Benefits Lex Talionis

This worked so well that I created several rooms for the attic, each one containing specific things so that when I needed them I could find them. In one were my school studies, whenever I couldn't remember something right away, if I concentrated hard enough I could go into the room and the answer would be there. I had one for my occult studies as well and even one for the memories of the women I had slept with, which was always a fun one to go into.

I had also created one for pain and emotions in general. Anything I didn't want to deal with went up there. My break up with Krissy being one of the first things I had placed in there. Lately my sister Megan had been taking up a lot of space in there as well. Pushing that thought off I walked down the length of the corridor and frowned at the open door where the voice lived, of course it was open, because apparently I had decided to let it out for some reason.

To the left of this room was Megan's room. My sister was the best part of my life, as well as my dirtiest secret. I mean let's face it, the average guy doesn't have four years of sexual memories of his big sister. I smiled as I looked at that door. All the good stuff was in there. The real Megan was in there. The one who had saved my life; getting me to come live with her and her parents, the one who had gotten me to speak, the one who had slept with and comforted me. The woman who was not only my sister, but my best friend as well as forbidden lover.

I turned from that room and looked back at that room of pain. The other Megan lived there, the one who was always drunk or stoned, the one who had stolen from her parents so many times she wasn't allowed in their house alone anymore, the one who disappeared for weeks at a time and showed up a wreck, the one who, last time I had seen her, had needle marks in her arm.

Another growl sounded and I turned to face the door that contained the dog. I walked up to it and putting my hand on the wood could feel the vibration of the dog's growl. The dog was the embodiment of years of hate and pain, and every year more was added to it. If it were to get out I may never be able to get it back in. I turned and closing my eyes took a deep breath.

I opened my eyes and found myself staring once more at my reflection and as I stood couldn't help nodding in approval at what I saw before me. I maybe be broken on the inside but nature had more than compensated on the outside. Megan always referred to me as her beautiful little brother, and although beautiful wouldn't ordinarily be the word used to describe a man, I had to say, it fit me to a T.

Starting with a pair of stunning multi colored eyes that not only contained shades of, green and gold with a hint of brown, but constantly shifted colors depending on the light or my mood. These eyes, combined with my high cheekbones, flawless features, smooth slightly olive complexion and lady killer smile never failed to weaken the resolve, and open the legs of any woman I turned them on.

By no means did my beauty end at my face, as five years of two to three hour a day work outs have left me in perfect physical condition. At 5'10 and one hundred eighty pounds I was not muscle bound by any means, but my shoulders were broad, and my 44" chest tapered down to a 32" waist. My stomach is a carved six pack and even under my massive tattoo's the definition in my arms is unmistakable. My lower body was just as well developed, as years of martial arts training have left me with a pair of extremely powerful, well muscled legs.

The finishing touch to my amazing physique rested between those legs, in the shape of my enormous cock, which had never failed to induce a look of lust in the eyes of even the most experienced woman. Shaking my head I thought that whoever had coined the phrase "All men are created equal" was someone who was suffering from a serious case of wishful thinking. After running my fingers through my thick black hair I flexed my arms in the mirror.

"Am I not beautiful?" I asked smiling, my even white teeth flashing through the dark scruff of the five o'clock shadow I always maintained to cut down on the "pretty boy" comments I always received from the bikers at the bar as well as Doug.

"Oh mirror mirror on the wall!"

As I grabbed my gym bag from the floor I had to admit that that was a good one.

I went over to the corner of the gym I always worked out in where there were a couple of mats on the floor, a chin up bar screwed to the wall and a large hundred pound punching bag hanging by a chain. Tossing the bag on the floor I took a few minutes to stretch, wincing at how sore I was from last night. A night with Robin was a workout in itself.

Going over to the bag I took out two bricks, and after placing them on the floor and wrapping my hands tightly with ace bandages, I got down and began to do pushups on my knuckles on the bricks. After the first ten I felt the stiffness in my muscles begin to loosen and by twenty five I was feeling pretty good. I would do fifty of these and as part of my mind continued to count I drifted off and thought about the voice.

I had first heard it when I was nine years old. I had just taken a vicious beating from Max that had ended with him hitting me in the face several times. When he had turned to start screaming at his wife Julie, who was yelling at him for hurting me like that; I mean how were they going to explain it to the school? I turned and running downstairs to the basement, hid behind the washing machine. I sat there bleeding from my nose and mouth, and holding my right eye that was already swelling. I started crying, knowing that on top of the pain this meant no school for awhile, which meant more time with Max.

I started sobbing louder. I wanted my sister Megan, I hadn't seen her in a long time, but the woman, who was there when I was taken from her, had said that someday we'd be back together. I put my head down and cried harder. Whenever I would cry when I was little Megan would give me a hug and tell me she loved me. Now no one loved me, I was all alone, I didn't even have any friends. All the kids made fun of me for not talking, they were the stupid ones; didn't they know they would get hit for that?

"You're not alone Mark." A dry raspy voice said in my head. "You have me to talk to."

"Who are you?" I asked.

"SHHH" the voice said. "Talk in here, that way Max doesn't hear you."

Who are you? I thought.

"I'm you, but a better, stronger, smarter you. I'm your friend Mark."

I began to slow down at fifty, when in a mocking tone the voice spoke;

"Fifty? Do seventy five you pussy."

Fuck you, I replied, but continued up to seventy five. On the last push up I kept my hands on the bricks and bringing my legs up did a handstand. Grunting with the effort, I lowered my head until it touched the floor then pushed myself straight up until my elbows locked and stayed there. My arms were trembling with the effort as I waited for the voice to count to sixty, then letting my legs drop down rolled onto my back and started my stomach crunches. As the Voice started counting to a hundred I continued to let my mind wander into the past.

From that day on the voice talked to me constantly. If I read a book we would discuss it. The voice was funny and always got me to laugh, making comments like;

"Do you think Nancy Drew ever fooled around with the Hardy Boys?"

In school if I didn't know the answer, it did. Sometimes the voice did protect me; warning me when Max was around, making sure I stayed quiet and out of his way. Other times it was of no use and we would just get beat anyways. Max would hit me hard, until I cried, then when I was crying, yell;

"Are you still making noise?"

He would then hit me again, and again. One time I started screaming and Max shoved a sock in my mouth, and threw me into a dark closet and left me there all night. I was so scared I had an accident and oh did I get beat for that one.

Finishing the last crunch I drew my knees up to my chest and kicking out with my legs threw myself to my feet, where I spun and delivered a vicious kick to the bag. The bag came back, and picturing Max's fat face in my mind, I launched a right left combo hitting the bag so hard I felt the vibration up to my shoulders. Stepping away from the bag I jumped up and catching the pull up bar hoisted myself up and counted the first of the twenty five I would do.

I had somehow spent five years with Max, twice during that time I had been pulled away for an investigation and both times somehow brought back. As I would find out later, when Doug and Denise demanded to know how I had kept getting sent back, the social worker had said that there were other kids in and out of Max's and I was the only one he must have beaten, because most of the other one's said he never hit them. I knew that was a lie I'd seen him hit others, but, looking back on it, nowhere near as bad as he beat me, apparently I was his favorite.

The second time I had come back I was eleven and on one of the few occasions Max actually talked to me, he told me I kept coming back because no one else wanted me; that I was fucked up even for a state rat. I told him that wasn't true, that I had a sister and someday I'd be back with her. Max had shaken his head sadly at me and said;

"Christ Mark, didn't they tell you? Your sister died two years ago, she got sick and died."

Throwing myself down from the pull up bar I rolled backwards and springing up went into stance and started throwing a series of combinations my hands blurring through the air. My breathing was coming faster and faster and my heart was pounding. I could feel its beat in my still throbbing temples. Throwing myself to the floor I rolled, and coming to my feet went into a series of spin kicks that took me from one end of the mat to the other.

Of course I had believed Max. Now I was all alone and always would be. I gave up and didn't even try to talk. I still did my schoolwork, because it gave me something to think about, but at home all I did was read in my room, and try to stay away from Max. This went on for almost two more years. Julie had the school convinced there was a physical reason I couldn't talk and they taught me sign language. I would use that in school because I wouldn't have to make noise, so I thought that was great. Apparently I enjoyed it too much because once, when I was doing it at home, Max broke two fingers on each of my hands by stomping on them.

I finished the last kick, which had landed me within a few feet of the bag. Turning to it I started circling it, bouncing lightly on the balls of my feet as if it were an opponent and I was waiting for an opening. I shook the sweat from my eyes and could feel myself ready to explode. It was the same every day.

"You know who you want it to be!"

I threw a couple of quick kicks at the bag and, unable to help it, completed the cycle and went back to the last day with Max.

I had come home from school and went into the parlor. Max was sitting there hunched over the coffee table. I had to walk past him and tried to do so as quickly as I could. As I did I saw Max was leaning over a silver platter and there was white powder on it. Max had a straw in his nose and was sniffing the powder. I had never seen anything like that before and kept staring as I walked by, which was when I tripped over one of Max's boots that he had left on the floor.

I lost my balance and fell into the table. At the last minute I reached out to try to catch myself on the edge of the table and ended up hitting the edge of the platter. The platter flipped over sending the powder everywhere. Max stood up and started screaming at me. I tried to get up to run but he grabbed me and hit me, screaming about that was all he could get for the week. I tried to pull away but couldn't, still screaming, Max picked up the silver platter and swung it at my head.

Stepping into the bag I threw a savage right hook, then a left. The bag rocked back and when it came back I drove another left, right into it. Stepping back I threw a jump kick that sent the bag flying, when it came back I went into a series of lefts and rights, nothing fancy just hitting the bag as hard as I could. As I hammered away all I could see was Max and that platter heading for my head, Max stomping on my hands, telling me my sister was dead.

"Harder!!" The Voice called out.

As I struck the bag harder and harder, I could feel my shoulders burning and my heart was beating so hard I thought it was going to come through my chest. I kept swinging anyways, hitting the bag again and again.

"Show him Mark!"

On the verge of exhaustion I swung a few more times, hissing out words with each blow;

"Are... you... still... making.... noise!?!?!"

I snarled like an animal and slammed my left fist into the bag so hard it flew several feet away from me. When it came back I caught it by wrapping my right arm around it then started delivering a series of short brutal left hooks into it. I was swinging with everything I had and found I couldn't stop, I just kept swinging, envisioning myself crying and helpless, my shoulders hurt and I was gasping in-between punches.

"Mark Stop!"

I hit the bag one more time then leaned my face against it, panting for breath.

"Easy Mark." The voice was speaking much softer, in the soothing tone it had used when I was younger.

I stepped back from the bag and almost lost my balance. I had nothing left, to the point where I could barely lift my arms to pick the bricks up and toss them into the bag. Sitting down I pulled a bottle of water out and after drinking half poured the rest over my head. I put my head in my hands and, staying there for a few minutes, finished the story that played through my head on an all too often basis.

Max had hit me so hard with the platter that even Julie had panicked and called the rescue. The blow had fractured my skull and I was in a coma for three days. When I woke up I had a plate in my head and was told that I would never see Max again. I would later find out that Max had been arrested and convicted. In a travesty of justice he was released after only two and a half years. Like he had with Megan's foster father Frank; the animal that had raped her for two years, Doug had a private investigator follow up on Max and was told he had relocated to Florida because he couldn't find work up here.

In the meantime I bounced from group home to group home. No one wanted a sixteen year old kid who wouldn't talk and had rage issues on top of that. Then, one day, I was brought into a social workers office to meet Doug and Denise, who for some reason seemed to be interested in taking me in. Doug didn't say a lot, but Denise was very nice to me, and told me that the reason they had come to see me was that my sister, Megan, lived with them and how would I feel about seeing her again after all these years?

Looking at Denise I uttered a sentence for the first time in over a month;

"My sister died a long time ago."

The next day they brought me back into the office where a tall beautiful girl with long dark hair and husky like blue eyes was waiting for me. Even after ten years I knew who she was, it really was my sister! Max had lied to me to cause me even more pain. As I stood there stunned, Megan came over and hugged me. Without realizing I was going to I hugged her back and put my head on her shoulder just like I did when I was little.

"I missed you Megan." I said softly.

I could feel her tears on my neck but her voice was steady when she said;

"Come on Mark, let your big sister take you home."

My head snapped up at that last image. Megan, of course that was why the voice was out. No one had seen or heard from her in close to a month. I was pretty sure she was in New York with Tommy, the stupid rich piece of shit that had gotten her hooked on coke in the first place. Well no, that wasn't completely true; Tommy had mostly sold coke, and only used it occasionally, until he turned my sister onto it, and she would only fuck him if he could get her some and partied with her.

Yes that explained the voice; I had been thinking that if Megan didn't surface soon, I might have to try to find her. Providence was a small city and I had gained a reputation of someone not to fuck with, but New York was a different story. I might not even be able to find her, but whether I did or not there would be trouble and I would need to be able to do whatever needed to be done to help my sister. Yes that was definitely it, I would have to find my sister, and I would, and God help the person who was stupid enough to get in my way.

"And that's exactly what I'm here for."

I arrived at Mitch's around one and, parking in the back, let myself in the side door and went upstairs to the three room apartment that I had fixed up and rented for $400 a month. I tossed the gym bag on the floor in the corner and after tossing a tv dinner in the oven and grabbing a coke from the fridge went over to the small table next to the couch where my phone was and began the daily ritual of trying not to get my hopes up.

When I looked at the answering machine I felt my heartbeat pick up. There was a message. I took a deep breath and pressed play, hoping that today would be the day, it would be my sister's voice on the machine. It wasn't, it was Mitch asking me if, instead of Baby Head, could I work the bar with Cynthia tonight as he was sick and couldn't make it. I sat down and slumped disgustedly into the couch.

I picked up the phone and called Mitch, telling him it wouldn't be a problem. Honestly working at Mitch's would be better than the club anyways; there was very little trouble at Mitch's these days, as opposed to the club, which in the heart of downtown had more than its share of fights. Normally I would welcome the chance to slap a couple of punks around but the voice was back and I needed to be careful until I was sure I could handle it.

After hanging up the phone I started to head for the bathroom when the phone rang again. Fucking Mitch, he did this all the time if he wasn't going to be at the bar, he'd call me five times today to tell me something different each time. Grabbing the phone I said;

"I know, I know. Put the money in the safe."

There was a pause and then;

"Hey little brother, how are you?"

"Megan!" I exclaimed into the phone. "Sis where are you?"

"I'm up here."

She didn't sound good at all. Her normally bright cheery voice seemed subdued and had that raspy tone to it that spoke of too much partying and too little sleep.

"Is here New York?" I asked her.

"Oh," She said. "Umm yeah, that's where I am." She giggled into the phone. "You know I had to stop and think for a sec."

I sat down on the couch and fought to keep my voice steady.

"Are you with Tommy, Meg?"

She sighed into the phone.

"Well for now, but his dad's being a prick and doesn't want to wire him anymore money so..."

"So you'll be coming back home!" I said excitedly.

"Nah," Megan said. "Just because he has to leave doesn't mean I do. I have plenty of friends who'll let me stay with them."

"Bet they're all guys too."

I shook that image off and kept talking.

"Listen sis," I began. "Why don't you just come home? I miss you."

"I miss you too Mark, but it's a lot of fun up here."

I tried a different approach;

"Megan, Denise is worried about you."

There was silence on the other end and I was afraid she had hung up, then speaking so softly I could barely hear her Megan said;

"You can tell her I'm okay Mark. Tell her I love her."

"You can tell her that sis; she should hear it from you."

"I... I can't Mark," I could hear her voice start to choke up. "I can't stand how she sounds when I talk to her, oh please just tell her for me Mark."