Calista
Distress and longing came to haunt many women's days.
From young girls to those old enough to be grandmothers.
Some turned to religion.
Some turned to their careers.
Some turned to other women.
And some turned to the bottle.
For the longest time, Calista had been able to stave off the worst of it.
Her work, her music, her singular focus, had been a good shield. She buried herself in it.
She'd been fine.
She'd been okay.
She didn't need a man.
She didn't want a man.
She'd scoff at the women who would sigh over the latest male model or actor, or those too cutesy influencers and their manufactured, saccharine 'masculine' personalities.
"......"
Calista stared at Damien. He was broken. Not in the literal sense, but it was clear that this guy has clearly suffered some kind of identity crisis that caused his entire personality and views to do an about-turn.
There were three phases anyone with a functional brain would've noticed by now in their only male relative.
In the beginning, he was the normal, taciturn, obedient, withdrawn little brother everyone doted on.
Then the 'nightmare' episode followed by an amnesiac moment where he couldn't even recognize Iris.
And then he reverted back to his 'new self', which consisted of a confused, bitter, witty, aggressive, teasing, and overall difficult-to-handle existence.
Look at him. So feminine. So confident. Smiling so freely at every woman, holding eye contact, going to the gym, singing, teasing. Not a single neuron of wariness in that pretty head of his.
It was as if someone put all the charms of a woman's character together, slapped a dick in the middle, and called it 'a man' just to see what the effects would be.
'Devastating…'
He was a damn, pretty picture that he seemed to be entirely unaware of. He didn't care if a woman checked him out, smiled at him. No disgust, no anger, no resentment. He just takes and gives the same and walks away.
A mystery. A true, silver-eyed mystery with a smile so illegal it could turn heaven into hell.
Or a woman's pussy into a pool.
Her hand began to shake, reminding Calista that despite her resolutions, she was still a woman at the core, a creature who appreciated eye candy and craved flesh all the same, even if that flesh was from none other than her brother.
"Cali, you're not listening to me, are you?"
She turned to stare at her brother, now making himself quite comfortable on her bed. One knee curled up, head cocked ever so slightly, lips pursed into a seductive, thoughtful pout.
She didn't know how they got to that situation.
Did he invite himself into her bedroom or did she invite him in? Maybe a bit of both—they were working on a song, after all. Or were they?
"Ugh..."
Calista reached for her smokes again, only to find empty air where her pack should be. "You fucking brat." She glared at Damien waving her precious, precious cancer sticks.
"They'll kill you, sis."
'Well, at least I won't be yearning for cock while the cancer's at it, won't I?'
Say that to his face, now. See his reaction.
She didn't, obviously.
Oh poor, wretched men who had no idea what went through a woman's head.
"Give them back."
He tilted his head, thought about it for a good five seconds and shook his head. "Later. I don't like the smell of them."
Calista frowned. "It's my room."
He blinked, actually not having a counter-argument for that. Then shrugged. "Still don't like it."
"......"
She eyed him dangerously, her eyes slowly trailing down his body before snapping away with a huff. She took out a pencil instead, clicking the nib to be extra annoying.
"Anyway, as I was saying... I think this line here doesn't go well with the rest of the lyrics, so I'm replacing it with this one right—"
"Why does it matter?" She asked, in a quiet, frustrated hiss. "People will love it no matter what it is, and you know it, so just do your thing and shut the hell up."
"What the fuck—" His mouth hung open. "It has to be good or people won't like it."
"They will!"
Her nails nearly dug through the desk in frustration.
"How?"
"Because you're a man, Damien! What part of that don't you understand? Even a mediocre line, a mediocre image, is enough for these desperate, hormonal bitches! Whatever you're doing, whatever you're putting out, will sell because we're talking about a man. You're the golden ticket to the proverbial cookie jar, the end of the rainbow, whatever that shit may be... so just... put it out and move on!"
Her rant turned into a snarl near the end and, by the time she was done, Calista realized her breathing pattern was far from steady.
"Right..." Damien mumbled. "Put it out and move on..."
"......"
Calista didn't know what came over her, and now that she was aware of it, the realization wasn't anything short of mortifying. It was one thing to quietly simmer in her bitterness.
Another to outwardly spit it.
"Sorry." She sighed. "I don't know what got over me."
Seriously—that had never happened. Even if she had a problem, she'd never take it out on him. That could really get someone arrested if she wasn't careful. A man's power was something to be feared, what with the law always siding with them.
"Does the song suck? Tell me if it does..."
Calista was surprised, and that surprise wasn't… surprising anymore.
There was not a single trace of embarrassment, fear, or defensiveness or even anger on his face. Just... interest. Interest in knowing, like he actually wanted her honest opinion, and her outburst didn't shake him one bit.
Calista was already preparing herself for a scolding.
But then Damien handed over her cigarette packet instead. "There."
"That's all?"
She really wanted to throw something at him for some reason.
"You get all cranky when you don't have these, Cali." He tilted his head. "Though I'd rather not have you inhale an entire pack in one sitting."
That made her desire for nicotine to diminish.
She was tired and cranky. That was all. Dealing with a man was always exhausting. A verbal minefield with no clear signposts, and this version of Damien was no exception, if not worse. She always thought that a timid, withdrawn man was already difficult enough, but this was like... trying to corral a wild horse with a leash made of paper.
And certainly not because the horse would always run away, but because the horse was all too willing to approach. Calista just didn't know what to do with it when it did.
He nodded, sliding a chair over. "You're right. The song." She tried to ignore his proximity. "Anyway, what do you think of this part?" He said, bringing the lyrics back into the frame.
Calista took the sheet of paper from him, ignoring the warm brush of his fingers against hers, and forced her eyes to focus on the words in front of her.
"It's a little better... though you didn't remove the parts I told you to."
'Yeah, because right now my brother didn't mind screaming out to a female audience about going down on one of them. Fucking hell.'
"Because I like it like that. The point of this song is to be bold." He replied. "Why do you keep trying to censor me?"
"Because you should!" She snapped, before cringing at her tone. "Damien, I know you don't give a fuck about what I think, or what society thinks. But you should at least think of yourself! This is the equivalent of you walking naked down the street!"
"You have a strange idea of what's comparable to what."
"......"
Calista felt the beginning of a headache thumping behind her eyes. She lit a cigarette—her one concession to sanity—and took a long, slow drag. "Ah, fuck it..."
She decided not to think about it. Maybe the song would be received with disgust and Damien would give up on this silly ambition, and they could all go back to their regularly scheduled programming of them resenting each other in silence.
So, Calista did what she did best.
She buried herself in her work.
And this time, for the first time in a long time, the work involved her brother.
His song.
His lyrics.
His voice.
His beauty.
'Fuck me...'
Calista was too busy ignoring her own feelings to notice the way he was watching her work, or how her focus on the project was a lot more invested than it needed to be, or how she found herself smiling at some of his witty and less 'dirty' additions to the lyrics.
They went through the night, editing, composing, arranging, and reworking the song deep into the night. He had a pair of headphones along with her, listening, nodding, providing his own input and insight that Calista found strangely refreshing.
They were a good pair.
An unusual but perfect, unexpected and genuinely interesting duo.
Slowly, the DAW was being filled with beats and various instruments. The idea was taking shape. Damien was humming along, eyes closed, singing under his breath.
'As soon as this project is over, everything can go back to normal...' Calista tried to ignore the slight twinge at the pit of her stomach that was caused by that thought. 'No man. No thoughts about that stupid dick. Good ol' peace and quiet, with mom and the rest of my sisters. Just how it should be...'
Just how it should be.
They worked late, into the night, and eventually had a couple of late snacks to satisfy their late-night hunger. Then a couple of glasses of drinks, until Calista was already half-dozing.
They had been at it for hours. Willow had checked up on them twice, along with Freya. The sigh of those two huddled together making music must've been a shock—it certainly was to Calista herself.
"Hey..." Damien playfully nudged her shoulder. "If you're sleepy, just sleep. You've done a lot, sis."
"I'm awake!"
Her body definitely disagreed. Her eyelids were so heavy, and all those snacks and drinks were making her stomach churn. On the bright side, the arrangement was coming along nicely.
"Mmhhm... sure." Damien offered a hand for her to latch onto. "Come on, let's continue this tomorrow. I'm sleepy, too. And I feel bad watching you bust your ass for me."
One look at his soft, sleepy eyes and Calista was already tripping over herself to not appear like the absolute fool she was turning into in front of her very own brother.
"Eeh? It's barely three in the morning, Damien..." Her words tapered off with a yawn, then sighed. She removed her headphones and began turning everything off. "Aaahh... damn, okay. Sure..."
She stared at his hand in hesitation; the thought of touching him was just enough to make her brain sputter awake for a brief moment.
Eventually, her sluggish body caught up and her hand found its place within Damien's.
Soft but firm.
How long has it been since she last touched him? She wasn't starved for affection, but touching a man and a woman were different things.
He pulled her up and guided her into her bed.
'Could it be that he's going to sleep here too?'
Calista didn't know what was happening, her pulse banging its fist underneath her skin. The remnants of the lyrics he wrote were stuck in her head like a stubborn fish bone.
Despite being against his lyrical choice, the thought of him singing that did funny things to her core.
Slowly, he released her hand and let her flop on the mattress all on her own.
'Guess he won't. That's good.'
She thought that the image of her stumbling towards the bed, throwing herself at the covers and immediately going to sleep would be the last she'd see before passing out.
But, unbeknownst to her, Damien kept staring at her with those unnatural, silvery eyes, expression unfathomable and deep in thought.
'I have such a weird brother...' She thought, turning around barely enough to see him standing there still. "G'nghh... go back to your room, Damien..."
"Yeah."
She thought she heard him laugh.
He helped pull the quilt up and cover her legs and part of her exposed chest.
It was the kind of considerate action that could melt the frozen depths of the Antarctic and make even a woman's uterus flutter with pure delight. She had to avert her eyes when he had to lean down to do so.
"Goodnight, Calista. Oh, and… thank you for your help."
Perhaps that was why he was being like that. A well-rehearsed kindness to get something out of her. But even if that were the case, Calista found herself gritting her teeth because she'd still be willing to go along with his whims.
She dared to challenge any sane woman not to agree to that.
"......"
One last smile.
And he was gone.
She blinked several times, watching the door close.
That night, her dreams were anything but appropriate.
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