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Malachi Vize—my new favorite mute psychopath—is waiting for you.
Do I need a reason? Give me your hand, or I’ll tell Mom you touched my dick while I was asleep.
Is it weird that I like it when he’s angry and beating people up for me?
No. You were mine when we were kids, and you’re mine now. You’ll always be mine.
But you are my sister. My dirty little sister who’s going to touch herself in front of me. Show your big brother what you sound like when you come.
Don’t silence me like that, he signs furiously. Don’t ever fucking silence me, Olivia.
Stop saying that. We aren’t blood related. You aren’t my real sister, so what’s the goddamn problem?
I’ll make it fit. Even if it hurts.
I wonder what he’d think if he knew his precious daughter was the one sucking his son’s cock like the filthy little fucking whore she is.
Go kiss your future husband, little sister. And when you do, you better think about me and all the ways I’ll fuck you in his blood.
“And I want to hear your voice while I’m bouncing all over your cock, big brother.”
Say you love me. Say you feel the fucking same way I do about you!
Because I can’t talk? Because I can’t tell you how fucking breathtaking you are every second of every day? Because I can’t breathe without being near you? Someone like me… I’m different—I can’t be normal for you. I can’t defend you without using my fists or my bat, and I can’t touch you at the same time as telling you that you’re everything to me. I can’t whisper sweet nothings into your mouth and I can’t fucking marry you because not only am I your brother, but I’m defective.
Believe me or don’t, but you’re the only person in my life, and you always have been. And when you take your last breath, or I take mine, that won’t fucking change. You. Are. Mine. My goddamn property, do you understand?
Sorry’s just a word to try to get out of something, to dodge trouble if you’ve been caught out. Sorry’s a five-letter disgrace that shouldn’t even need to be used.
Actions do speak louder than words,
We spend a lot of time together, me and my sister; she just doesn’t know about it.
My girl never needs to worry about anyone hurting her, because her wonderful, ex-con, apparently psychotic brother is free and keeping her out of harm’s way. It’s a pity I can’t protect her from myself.
Babies are just reincarnations of the devil in my opinion,
I stay against the wall, my hands behind me, and try to think of everything possible to make her stay. Willingly. I want Olivia to choose me. Please choose me. Nobody ever chooses me.
My darling sister is nearly as sadistic as me. She likes to be hunted and caught and fucked.
I’ve never made love before. I had no idea what it felt like.
Is this what it’s like to be happy? I like it.
Olivia owns my mind, body, and soul. She did when we were kids, when we were teens, when we were giving in and letting go. Even when I had her chained up in the basement, she had a hold over me.
I got her back. She chose me. Olivia actually chose me, and I intend to keep her.
