Allison's Test: Chapter 7

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“Do you have a warrant?” Brianna asked the two police officers who were standing just outside the door, one craning his neck to see in.

“No Ma’am, this is a wellness check but we can come back with a warrant if need be, to make sure Mr. Achles is in one piece.”

“And who exactly is asking?” I couldn’t see her face, but I could just imagine her furrowing her brow at them.

“His parents,” One of the officers explained. “From what they said he was at camp Chippenwood-“

“Well that’s interesting,” My sister said. “An eighteen year old boy at summer camp?”

“Eighteen?” The other officer asked, sounding a little confused. “They said sixteen-“

“Angela!” Brianna called out. “Angela come here and bring your ID!”

“Angela?” The officer and his partner looked at her, confused.

Angela approached and handed Brianna her state ID, which Brianna presented to the officers.

“Seems Angela’s parents lied to you,” Brianna said firmly, crossing her arms. “She was Tyler, goes by Angela now, you can see why her parents might lie about her age. Probably to control her.”

“Huh,” The officer with the red hair said. “Well, it looks like Mr..s…Achles is perfectly fine, you’re fine right?”

“Yeah,” Angela nodded.

“Is there anything you can do to keep them away from here?” Brianna asked them.

“If you feel threatened you can always file a restraining order,” One of them told us. “You could stop by in the morning, but a judge needs to approve it.”

“How did they know she was here?”

“Can’t tell you that, Ma’am, we’ll let you get on with your evening.”

“Thank you,” Brianna said, just before she closed the door and turned around, facing both of us.

“They’re going to try again,” Angela said. I could hear the fear in her voice, it was unsettling. She backed up a bit and leaned against the kitchen table.

“Yeah,” Brianna nodded. “They probably will. They don’t have any control over you though, no matter what they do, please remember you can say no. Don’t go with them, don’t go back to that camp.”

“Brianna,” I said, looking between them. “What do we do?”

“Um easy,” Brianna shook her head. “Angela’s eighteen, we find her a shelter, she stays away from her parents, and gets her life together, and sees a therapist, for the love of god…”

“I…don’t know how to thank you for all of this,” Angela said, her face turning read. “I just…this is weird for me, I’m not used to people being kind to me…”

“Get used to it girlie,” Brianna stepped forward and gave her a quick hug. “Now finish your dinner and—”

She stopped short as her phone buzzed, taking a look at it, she shot me a dirty look.

“What?” I demanded. “What does it say? Is it about me?”

“Come with me,” She said, shaking her head and gesturing toward the stairs. “Keep eating, Angela.”

I walked along behind her, wondering what the hell she’d seen on her phone as we wandered up the stairs. After we cleared the landing we immediately began to walk toward her room. Once inside, she shut the door.

“Sit on the bed,” She pointed. “I keep getting text messages from Remy, all week, all I hear about is how you suck at intimacy.”

“She TELLS you those things?” My face was probably as red as a tomato, or maybe red as a…red face.

“We’re friends,” She shrugged. “Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

“I’m your sister, that’s weird!”

“It’s about to get a lot weirder,” She said, sitting down on the bed beside me. “Kiss me.”

“What?!” I shrieked, practically flying off the bed. “I’m your br…sister, I’m your sister! You’re my sister! I can’t…what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Not as much as what’s wrong with you, apparently. Sit back down,” She patted the bed beside her, I reluctantly sat back on the bed beside her.

“Now kiss me, I want to see what you’re doing wrong. If it’s the only way to stop this flood of texts then…”

“Okay, okay,” I relented. “Just once.”

“Just once,” She agreed.

I leaned forward, slowly, closing my eyes and pecked her on the lips. I immediately pulled back and wiped my mouth, a spear of red lipstick appearing against my hand.

“Is that how you kiss her?” Brianna demanded. “You just lean in and peck? No wonder she has problems with you.”

“No, I mean, that’s…not how I kiss her, I just…”

“Kiss me the way you kiss her, I want to see,” Brianna rolled her eyes. “Okay, where do you put your hands?”

“Um…I don’t…I guess I hug her?”

“Put your hands on her waist, okay, my waist, try that,” She grabbed my wrists and pulled them over to her waist.

“Brianna I really don’t feel comfortable-“

“Oh…my…god…just show me so I can tell you what you’re doing wrong.”

“Brianna come on, I can’t-“

“Allison,” She suddenly snapped. “If I get one more text from Remy complaining that you can’t kiss, I’m going to go over there and beat her…with you. Now kiss me you idiot.”

“You know what? Fine!” I leaned forward, wrapping my arms around her and pressing my lips to hers, within five seconds, she shoved me off as hard as she possibly could, and then began to cough.

“Allison what the absolute fuck?!” She wiped her mouth and gagged. “It’s like you’re trying to smother a baby with a pillow, and the pillow is the mouth of a rabid saint Bernard! Is this what you’re doing to her? Are you like…what is this? Some kind of organic waterboarding? And what’s with your hands? Are you hugging her or trying to kidnap her?”

“Brianna I’m trying!” I exclaimed. “She’s the first woman I’ve been with!”

“You’re not WITH a woman, you’re torturing a woman.”

“Oh my god, I’m going back downstairs,” I started to stand up, but she grabbed my arm and pulled me back onto the bed.

“Do it right,” She said. “I’m going to show you.”

Just as she leaned in, I gasped, and with a start, awoke in my bed. What the fuck? Was that a dream? What in the Oedipus fuck was going on? I looked about the room, it was dark, a bit of moonlight shining through the window. I threw the sweat covered sheets aside and grabbed my phone. I fumbled around with it, scrolling through the contacts until I came to Remy. I pressed the ‘call’ button and held it up to my ear. After about four rings, I heard Remy’s tiny, exhausted voice at the other end.

“Allison?” She asked. “Is everything okay?”

“Am I a bad kisser?” I asked her, sitting up on the bed, fully awake.

“You called me at three forty-seven in the morning to ask me if I’m a bad kisser?”

“Yeah, but am I?”

There was a long, long silence. I was kind of dying to know what was going through her head.

“Yes, Allison, you’re a horrible kisser, why?”

“Have you been telling my sister about it?”

“Goodnight Allison,” She said, just before she hung up the phone. Well, that didn’t answer anything.

I stood from the bed and dropped the phone on the mattress before exiting my room, pulling my sweat soaked nightgown away from my body as I walked down the stairs and into the living room where I saw Angela literally wearing one of Brianna’s dresses, probably one she’d found in the laundry room. She looked at me and gasped, stepping back and turning beet red.

“I um…my clothes were wet,” She said. “I…please don’t tell her…”

“We can talk about you not being a trans stereotype later,” I sighed. “Am I a bad kisser?”

“You came down here at three in the morning to ask me if you’re a bad kisser?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Goodnight, Allison.”



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