I paused. I'd expected her to comment on my tardiness, or maybe jump right into the next game, not... that. The excuse I'd constructed to keep things lively crumbled, as did my fake smile, despite my best efforts. "Yeah," I finally said. "No. I don't know. Don't worry about it, I'll be fine." I sighed. "Sorry I took so long."

"That's okay," she said, and waved the booklet at me as I poured myself a cup of whatever I'd grabbed. "I've been reading this thing. It's got lots of little story bits in between all the rules. It's pretty cool. What's that?"

It took me a moment to register her question. "I don't know. Something alcoholic. I just grabbed it at random." I threw her the extra cup. "Want to try it with me?"

"I dunno. I've never drank before. Excluding sips of my dad's beer, anyways."

"I've never tried any of it. But I think now's the perfect time to dip my toes in the proverbial river." I nodded at the Monopoly players. "They're all drinking. Seems to be working for them. Besides, I doubt I'll get the chance again, after tonight. This is the first party I've been to since sixth grade, and probably the last." I turned back to Taylor and sloshed the bottle around. "You don't have to."

Taylor bit her lip. I thought she'd refuse, but then she snatched the bottle from my hands and filled her cup.

Was that peer pressure? I couldn't tell. I didn't care enough to try and work it out.

We took a long drink in sync. I emptied half my cup. The alcohol — whatever it was — did weird, tingly things to my throat and stomach. And it tasted indescribably awful, but that suited me perfectly.

I coughed. "Shit."

Taylor coughed too, brows shooting up as her eyes widened comically. "Yeah."

The Monopoly players exploded into laughter, making me jump and nearly spill the rest of my cup on Taylor's chosen game box. I glared around at them, and Taylor glanced over her shoulder. I leaned closer to her and said, "How long have they been in here?"

"Ten or fifteen minutes, I think," she said. "And before you ask, yeah, they've been pretty consistent as far as loudness goes."

Two of the players started arguing over a trade deal. I made a face. I was about ready to walk over and tell them to turn it down a notch when I remembered something. "I have a room here."

Taylor looked at me. "What?"

"A spare room. I was told one had been, uh, reserved for me, so it's probably empty." I threw another glance at the Monopoly players, now giving a drum roll for someone who had landed on a chance tile. "Want to go check it out?"

She nodded and we gathered up our crap, along with a pair of the smaller games, and made our way upstairs. A piece of paper was taped to one door in a hallway, reading "Amy." I assumed that was referring to me.

I pushed the door open and poked my head into the darkness. Empty. I fumbled at the wall for the light switch, but Taylor moved past me and found it with ease. The room wasn't large, but it had an ensuite bathroom, and it was well-furnished with a little TV opposite a large double bed and an ornate wooden dresser. The bed looked very soft. I wanted to flop on it and just go to sleep, ignore everything else. But I'd never manage that. I had enough trouble sleeping under normal circumstances.

Taylor sat cross-legged on the rug and popped one of her games open, then looked at me expectantly. I downed the rest of my cup and joined her.

* * *

Out of some misshapen desire to spice the game up a little, we added an additional rule: take a drink whenever you lost money.

Perhaps not the smartest idea, seeing as we lost money a lot. And neither of us had a great alcohol tolerance; Taylor being skinny and me being short. But we persisted. Turns out we can both be more than a little competitive.

It got to the point where I started missing minutes. As if I'd passed out for a while, but my body had kept playing and talking and moving on its own. I would come to in the middle of a turn, half-way around the board with a dozen new cards to use and no idea how I got there. Then I'd blank out again, and come to Taylor laughing and hiccuping over something that had happened, but I wouldn't know what.

Once, I found myself dancing. Soulful music blared from a speaker set on the bedside cabinet, and Taylor stumbled ungracefully along with me. We were both belting out the lyrics in our horrible, horrible singing voices and fumbling or missing half the words. We were loud enough that they could probably hear us downstairs. But I didn't care, and neither did she.

The song ended on a long, high note that neither of us could hit. We tried anyway, and it left us breathless and giggling at the way our voices cracked, grasping at each other's arms for support. Then the next song came on. It was slower, gentler. Taylor swayed in time with the music, and I swayed too, not just because our hands were still joined.

One of us took the opportunity to move our hands up into a more conventional formation; hers on my hips, mine on her shoulders. I couldn't tell who had done it, and I didn't mind. It was nice. But the music made me want to cry. I put my head on her chest and closed my eyes. She hummed along as we danced together.

* * *

The next time I came to, the two of us were sat at the foot of the bed and surrounded by pillows and cushions built in the shape of a fort, with a sheet suspended over our heads by some cleverly constructed pillars. I was pretty sure there hadn't been enough pillows in the room for this.

But as extensive as our creation was, there still wasn't much space. So we squeezed close to each other, leaning in to keep our heads from hitting our makeshift ceiling. The bottle of alcohol sat between us, only half empty.

Taylor was talking, her speech halting and slurred. I tried to focus. "...don't know why. She was just diff'rent, y'know? `nd then she started being really mean to me. Said bad stuff `bout my m-mom and my dad and called me names and stuff. `nd her new friend push'd me over lots and tripped me and ruin'd my school work all the time and..." Her face contorted, and she leaned into me as she started crying. "She was my best friend."

I hugged her tight. "I've never had a best friend," I said, my voice cracking halfway through the second word. I felt like crying again too, but I kept it at bay. "Y'know, my sister, she's the `nly one who cares `bout me. My mom hates me. But m-my sister's a-always there. I..."

I swallowed past a lump in my throat and said something I never thought I'd say. "I love her. I-I mean, not like a sister, but like I want her to be my girlfriend, so we can kiss and sleep together and I can see her naked more and stuff and I don't — I can't — I h-hate it! It's disgusting and gross and everyone'd hate me if they found out and she'd hate me too and my mom'd hate me even more and they'd lock me up and send me to hell or something I don't know and I'm so scared that I'll — that I'll — "

Taylor pushed me over and shook her head furiously into my chest. She looked up at me, her cheeks still wet. "N-no!" she said, rolling off me and crawling up alongside me. It was a tight fit. "You're not gross! You're nice and cool and good and nice and not gross or anything, so don't say that, okay? I like you."

I stared at her. "You — I-I want to have s-sex with my sister," I said, my words thick enough that I could barely understand them myself. "Y-you don't think that's gross?"

She shook her head again, crawling up further until our heads were in line and we could look each other in the eye properly. My vision was blurry. She hugged me, and it felt like I couldn't breathe. "S'okay," she sobbed into my shoulder. "I d'nt care. S'okay. There's n'thing wrong with you. S'okay."

I couldn't hold it any more. I cried. We both cried, long past what would be sensible. It formed a self-fulfilling loop of tears and sympathy. There exists some magical link between crying girls; a law that says you can't sit there and watch someone cry without feeling it yourself. So when one of us finally cried herself out, we'd see the other still going, and then it would start all over again.

But we had a limited supply of tears. Eventually we were reduced to sniffling into each other's hair. With the release came an almost-clarity, and I realised how close we were, physically.

We lay with our bodies pressed together, our arms wrapped around each other the way a drowning man would clutch at a log. The sheet ceiling of our pillow fort had collapsed onto us, constricting our movement. Our legs were tangled; her jeans felt coarse against my skin. I could feel and hear every minute movement she made, from her breathing and sniffling to how her fingers brushed against my back.

This was making me self-conscious. But I didn't dare move away. The drowning man analogy was apt. It was stupid, but the thought of moving terrified me. She was my anchor, keeping me from getting washed away in self-pity and self-loathing. And beyond that... not even Vicky had ever held me so tightly. It was impossibly comforting. I relished in the closeness.

Somehow I shifted an inch closer, relieving a discomfort in my back I hadn't realised was there. Taylor froze. Even her breathing stopped. I froze too, holding position for a moment while my courage built. Then I tilted my head up.

Our eyes met.

Hers were red and bloodshot, the passage of tears evident in the wet streaks that ran down her cheeks. We stared into each other's eyes for what felt like an eternity. But neither of us said a word, or made a sound.

Then I kissed her.

I couldn't explain why. A petty part of my mind said Vicky was off enjoying herself and I should get back at her however I could, and another part of me said the best way to get over her was to find someone else, but... both were wrong. I kissed Taylor because I wanted to. Because it just felt right in a way beyond words, as cliche as that may be. Though that may be the alcohol talking.

Whatever the reason, I let my desire pour out of me and, through our connection, into her as we kissed over and over and over and over. Our bodies pressed together even tighter, if that were possible. We moaned into each other as I sated a need I'd never acknowledged.

If I could have changed both our bodies to not require oxygen, I would have done it, to allow us to kiss for longer. Regrettably, I could not, so we were forced apart often by a mutual need for breath. But I made sure those breaks were not long-lasting. Each time I pulled back her eyes grew increasingly glazed and droopy, and drool began to splatter her cheeks and mine.

She mumbled my name into our kiss more than once. At some point her hands moved to my neck, where her thumbs traced my jaw gently. I was surprised to find my own hands at her waist, unzipping her jeans with spectacular imprecision. I pulled them off. She shimmied and wiggled to facilitate their removal. I kicked them away, sending our ceiling-sheet with them and leaving Taylor's naked legs fully in the light, where they entwined with my own bare legs. Her skin was soft and warm.

Her hoodie and top were more annoying to deal with. I had to bring them up over her head, forcing her hands from my skin and my mouth from hers. A part of me wished I could just tear through them and not suffer the interruption, but I didn't have Victoria's power, and — No. Don't think about her. Not now. I rushed through the undressing, not savouring it at all. I wasn't in that kind of mood.

After she was down to her underwear, I let my hands wander. For a moment. Then I moved on to my dress. The zipper was awkward to reach, situated in the middle of my back. But I managed it, and slid the dress from my shoulders. I threw it to the side without breaking our kiss.

Then went my underwear. And hers. She shuddered when I pulled her panties off. My fingers may have lingered longer than they strictly needed to. I tried to kiss my way down her neck, but it was awkward, pushed up against the bed and surrounded by pillows as we were.

I grabbed her hand and stood. She stumbled to her feet, catching herself on me to keep from falling. I felt her nipples brushing my skin before she pulled away. My eyes followed.

"Whoa!" she said. I looked up. Her eyes were wide as she stared down at my body. "You're naked!"

Embarrassment peaked. My cheeks coloured as I raised my hands to cover my breasts.

Then Taylor looked down at herself. "Whoa! I'm naked!"

I giggled, leaning up against her again. I wrapped my arms around her neck and kissed her, going onto my tippy-toes. She kissed back after only a moment's pause. With stumbling steps, I attempted to guide us onto the bed, but my eyes were closed and my sense of direction was shit. We bumped into a dresser, then into the bedside cabinet, jostling the lamp and alarm clock, before ending up against the wall, flesh pressed against flesh.

Her hands came down to my hips slowly, hesitantly. My skin prickled at the touch. I grabbed her butt — to which she said, "Eep!" — and pulled her toward the bed. We bumped the cabinet again. The alarm clock fell and hit my ankle, and I hissed in pain even as we reached the bed and collapsed sideways. My foot wound up kicking the lamp off too. But I didn't hear anything break, and I couldn't afford the distraction as Taylor turned aggressive.

She rolled on top of me, kneeling over my stomach, and bent down to pepper me with short, pleasing kisses that made me forget the pain in my foot. Our mouths would meet, then she would pull away just far enough and say my name in a breathy voice that only made me wetter, and then she'd be back again, sharing saliva. I got swept up in her rhythm, and soon I was panting her name every other time she pulled away.

I brought my legs up and enjoyed with her body with my hands. One slid up her ribs and played with her nipples while the other made gentle, tentative probing movements at her pussy, soft and wet and fever-hot. She shuddered and gasped against me, bringing a grin to my lips. This was good for my self-confidence. When I started fingering her properly she collapsed on top of me, legs splayed and quaking, unable to maintain her barrage of kisses.

I took up the slack. We rolled over again, this time with me on top. I kissed down her neck to suckle at a nipple and kept playing with her pussy. She wrapped her arms and legs around me, gasping and whimpering and crying my name. Yeah, this was fucking great for my confidence. Taylor's hands pulled me away from her chest and into a deep kiss as her hips spasmed against my fingers. When we broke apart she splayed out flat, panting hard, the bed-sheet twisted into knots beneath her hands.