Note: I DID NOT WRITE THIS FIC! Lj user martyr4mylove4u did. FULL CREDIT goes to her. Im only posting this so those without a livejournal can read :)
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The beginning is like this:
There is a garden and there is a serpent and there is a tree.
There is a garden and there is fruit and man falls. Woman causes man to fall.
Man falls and the next few chapters rhyme with sin.
Man falls and there is disease and death and turmoil.
Man falls and there is passion and love and want.
In the beginning there is a garden and there is the fall of man and it all just leads to here.
A brother and a sister. Throw in some anger, some rivalry, some love, and you have them. More or less.
Alex eats skittles, pops them into her mouth one by one, licks snatches of sugar from her lips, watches Justin with something that passes for amusement. Her little pink tongue comes out, licks her lips and his throat tightens, just a bit.
A brother and a sister and there are two steps back for every one forward. Two steps back and she gets impatient, gets bored with the monotony.
As always, when she takes action, the trouble starts.
“Lines are there for a reason.” Some one said this once. Probably Justin, maybe Dad, the distinction is a strange one, more defined when unnecessary and non-existent when needed.
Someone said this once, and she replied with a flippant, “yeah. To be crossed.”
The audience was less than amused. She laughed to herself and didn’t bother caring. Max took her side and that came as no shock.
Lines exist for a reason. She waits until backs are turned, until no one is watching, then slips across them.
His lips taste like hot chocolate.
Late November, yet untouched by snow, but she feels it coming in her blood. His lips taste like hot chocolate.
Dark night, dark house, and she leans into him, face an inch apart and when their lips meet, it’s he who takes the final step.
He tastes of hot chocolate and so does she.
She pulls back and smiles. Hums and smiles.
Truthfully, there was no plan. No half-baked scheme bound to fail, no careful laid out strategy still bound to fail.
“An accident of nature,” she’d say if asked. Tongue in cheek smile, mischief written across her face.
She saw an apple, took a bite, and in the aftermath damnation still tastes sweeter than regret.
Fire is the devil’s only friend. Some singer in the seventies said this. Sang it to the tune of a near lullaby.
Justin has a thing for fire.
Set him in front of a flame, a bonfire, a candle and his eyes grow large and his attention doesn’t waver. Let him shoot flames from a wand tip and the time flies by in a haze of smoke and sparks.
Set the world aflame around him, let it all burn down, and he won’t notice, given a piece of the inferno to stare at.
Justin has a thing for fire, and it’s the devil’s only friend, and he’s read Faust.
Justin has read Faust and he knows how it ends. Knows that he’s supposed to cast down the tempter at the end. Knows that Mephistopheles is supposed to be cast down.
Knows that light wins over darkness. Always light wins over darkness.
He looks into Alex’s eyes. In the moment before a kiss he looks into his sister’s dark eyes, sees the flames in them.
He burns.
Black to white. Right to wrong. Yes to no.
Opposite sides. Same coin and the lines blur and blur and blur.
She never crosses out right. Just stands on the edge, waits for him. He comes.
Like a moth to the flame, he comes.
In the night, in the quiet and the darkness sorrows loom and guilt eats, and he’s glad to be with her in this. Glad not to be alone.
Hands tangle with hands, lips against lips and it never goes far beyond that. Never stretches over some arbitrary line that doesn’t seem so un-crossable at this point.
She kisses him and he kisses her and then he waits.
Waits for her to start pushing again.
Thursday at the sandwich shop.
They sit at the counter, side by side. Max puts god knows what on sandwiches.
Fake fingernails tapping on the counter, hair falling out of its binds, and at her best Alex is a mess.
He takes her hand. To stop the noise he takes her hand, draws circles on her wrist to placate, but she doesn’t accept apologies.
He takes her hand. This is when the plan gets made.
(This is when it all falls apart.)
There was a garden. In the beginning there was a garden, and man fell.
Man fell.
It’s New York.
Now there is no garden. Now it’s New York.
Man still falls.
As long as Eve is around, man still falls.
So.
So Alex plots and schemes, she doesn’t plan. Even then it’s with a devil-may-care attitude, even then it’s with caution thrown to the wind.
Lips meet lips. In the dark of night, lips meet lips. Silent house, empty world, dark of night.
They kiss and the same old lines come up. The same old lines appear.
Lines are there for a reason. (Dad’s voice, Justin’s voice, God’s voice, and who the hell can tell any longer).
Silent house, silent night, she meets the same old lines.
She crosses them.
Skin bartered for skin.
This is wrong. There is no arguing that. This is wrong.
Hips aligning, skin touching, bones and flesh and blood, and this is wrong.
The night swallows his sighs, her moans.
The night swallows them whole.
No one finds out.
Surprise of all surprises, but her plan works, and they stay secret, and no one finds out.
It ends anyway.
It ends with a letter, acceptance printed on the first page and his face cracks into a smile and she feigns joy for him.
Feigns happiness.
It ends with a letter.
Bag packed, shirts folded with unwarranted care, wand tucked into a pocket.
There is a letter and he leaves. Packs and leaves and she smiles as best she can.
“You’ll visit?”
“I’ll come back.”
A promise if she ever heard one, and Justin is the reliable one. Justin keeps his word, Justin doesn’t lie.
Justin doesn’t do a lot of things.
Long hair falling past her shoulders and she smiles as best she can.
He’ll come back.
School treats him better and worse than expected.
Like a woman, school treats him better and worse than expected.
Sleepless nights spent studying mixed with new friends, uncomplicated girls, a world of knowledge.
Still he misses her. This is no surprise.
She’s a shadow at the best of times, a ghost at the worst, and he thinks of her, dreams of her.
Swine flu isn’t the only illness on campus.
Times passes anyway. Even under the worst circumstances, times passes.
Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter and he sees her. And he comes to her.
Like a moth to the flame he comes to her.
Even when being burned, he can’t catch her.
A step back and the air clears her head.
Not enough. Never enough. Not with him.
She cools her heart. To keep the cracks from forming she cools her heart, but the price is too high, and it doesn’t work.
Not with him.
Never with him.
The thing about knowledge is once you have it there is no going back.
Take a bite of the fruit, sink your teeth into its sweetness, understand why the serpent loves it so, and Eden fades away.
And the garden isn’t so bright, so perfect, so lovely. And the garden turns out to be just a pretty cage.
The thing is that knowledge is the key. Damnation is the key.
She gets on a bus, heads into the horizon, and doesn’t slow down. Not until she’s crashing into the warmth of his embrace, into the curve of his lips.
****************************************************************************************************************************
The beginning is like this:
There is a garden and there is a serpent and there is a tree.
There is a garden and there is fruit and man falls. Woman causes man to fall.
Man falls and the next few chapters rhyme with sin.
Man falls and there is disease and death and turmoil.
Man falls and there is passion and love and want.
In the beginning there is a garden and there is the fall of man and it all just leads to here.
A brother and a sister. Throw in some anger, some rivalry, some love, and you have them. More or less.
Alex eats skittles, pops them into her mouth one by one, licks snatches of sugar from her lips, watches Justin with something that passes for amusement. Her little pink tongue comes out, licks her lips and his throat tightens, just a bit.
A brother and a sister and there are two steps back for every one forward. Two steps back and she gets impatient, gets bored with the monotony.
As always, when she takes action, the trouble starts.
“Lines are there for a reason.” Some one said this once. Probably Justin, maybe Dad, the distinction is a strange one, more defined when unnecessary and non-existent when needed.
Someone said this once, and she replied with a flippant, “yeah. To be crossed.”
The audience was less than amused. She laughed to herself and didn’t bother caring. Max took her side and that came as no shock.
Lines exist for a reason. She waits until backs are turned, until no one is watching, then slips across them.
His lips taste like hot chocolate.
Late November, yet untouched by snow, but she feels it coming in her blood. His lips taste like hot chocolate.
Dark night, dark house, and she leans into him, face an inch apart and when their lips meet, it’s he who takes the final step.
He tastes of hot chocolate and so does she.
She pulls back and smiles. Hums and smiles.
Truthfully, there was no plan. No half-baked scheme bound to fail, no careful laid out strategy still bound to fail.
“An accident of nature,” she’d say if asked. Tongue in cheek smile, mischief written across her face.
She saw an apple, took a bite, and in the aftermath damnation still tastes sweeter than regret.
Fire is the devil’s only friend. Some singer in the seventies said this. Sang it to the tune of a near lullaby.
Justin has a thing for fire.
Set him in front of a flame, a bonfire, a candle and his eyes grow large and his attention doesn’t waver. Let him shoot flames from a wand tip and the time flies by in a haze of smoke and sparks.
Set the world aflame around him, let it all burn down, and he won’t notice, given a piece of the inferno to stare at.
Justin has a thing for fire, and it’s the devil’s only friend, and he’s read Faust.
Justin has read Faust and he knows how it ends. Knows that he’s supposed to cast down the tempter at the end. Knows that Mephistopheles is supposed to be cast down.
Knows that light wins over darkness. Always light wins over darkness.
He looks into Alex’s eyes. In the moment before a kiss he looks into his sister’s dark eyes, sees the flames in them.
He burns.
Black to white. Right to wrong. Yes to no.
Opposite sides. Same coin and the lines blur and blur and blur.
She never crosses out right. Just stands on the edge, waits for him. He comes.
Like a moth to the flame, he comes.
In the night, in the quiet and the darkness sorrows loom and guilt eats, and he’s glad to be with her in this. Glad not to be alone.
Hands tangle with hands, lips against lips and it never goes far beyond that. Never stretches over some arbitrary line that doesn’t seem so un-crossable at this point.
She kisses him and he kisses her and then he waits.
Waits for her to start pushing again.
Thursday at the sandwich shop.
They sit at the counter, side by side. Max puts god knows what on sandwiches.
Fake fingernails tapping on the counter, hair falling out of its binds, and at her best Alex is a mess.
He takes her hand. To stop the noise he takes her hand, draws circles on her wrist to placate, but she doesn’t accept apologies.
He takes her hand. This is when the plan gets made.
(This is when it all falls apart.)
There was a garden. In the beginning there was a garden, and man fell.
Man fell.
It’s New York.
Now there is no garden. Now it’s New York.
Man still falls.
As long as Eve is around, man still falls.
So.
So Alex plots and schemes, she doesn’t plan. Even then it’s with a devil-may-care attitude, even then it’s with caution thrown to the wind.
Lips meet lips. In the dark of night, lips meet lips. Silent house, empty world, dark of night.
They kiss and the same old lines come up. The same old lines appear.
Lines are there for a reason. (Dad’s voice, Justin’s voice, God’s voice, and who the hell can tell any longer).
Silent house, silent night, she meets the same old lines.
She crosses them.
Skin bartered for skin.
This is wrong. There is no arguing that. This is wrong.
Hips aligning, skin touching, bones and flesh and blood, and this is wrong.
The night swallows his sighs, her moans.
The night swallows them whole.
No one finds out.
Surprise of all surprises, but her plan works, and they stay secret, and no one finds out.
It ends anyway.
It ends with a letter, acceptance printed on the first page and his face cracks into a smile and she feigns joy for him.
Feigns happiness.
It ends with a letter.
Bag packed, shirts folded with unwarranted care, wand tucked into a pocket.
There is a letter and he leaves. Packs and leaves and she smiles as best she can.
“You’ll visit?”
“I’ll come back.”
A promise if she ever heard one, and Justin is the reliable one. Justin keeps his word, Justin doesn’t lie.
Justin doesn’t do a lot of things.
Long hair falling past her shoulders and she smiles as best she can.
He’ll come back.
School treats him better and worse than expected.
Like a woman, school treats him better and worse than expected.
Sleepless nights spent studying mixed with new friends, uncomplicated girls, a world of knowledge.
Still he misses her. This is no surprise.
She’s a shadow at the best of times, a ghost at the worst, and he thinks of her, dreams of her.
Swine flu isn’t the only illness on campus.
Times passes anyway. Even under the worst circumstances, times passes.
Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter and he sees her. And he comes to her.
Like a moth to the flame he comes to her.
Even when being burned, he can’t catch her.
A step back and the air clears her head.
Not enough. Never enough. Not with him.
She cools her heart. To keep the cracks from forming she cools her heart, but the price is too high, and it doesn’t work.
Not with him.
Never with him.
The thing about knowledge is once you have it there is no going back.
Take a bite of the fruit, sink your teeth into its sweetness, understand why the serpent loves it so, and Eden fades away.
And the garden isn’t so bright, so perfect, so lovely. And the garden turns out to be just a pretty cage.
The thing is that knowledge is the key. Damnation is the key.
She gets on a bus, heads into the horizon, and doesn’t slow down. Not until she’s crashing into the warmth of his embrace, into the curve of his lips.