* * *
Kendall groaned when the door slammed. Didn't Bianca have any respect for people trying to rest? The clock read 1:05 A.M. By all rights, she should be the one out partying, and the goody two-shoes should be asleep in mama's house. But she had a fucking business to run.
Another door slammed. The refrigerator. Kendall threw off the covers and stormed into the kitchen. Bianca was standing at the kitchen island when Kendall emerged in a robe she's hastily thrown over herself. Kendall snarled, audibly, knowing the sound would carry across the room, but Bianca ignored her and bent over a bowl of ice cream.
"People sleep in this house, you know."
Bianca calmly stirred hot fudge into vanilla ice cream. "Oh, you're still here."
"Yes, I'm still here. In our mother's house."
"Right. Our mother." Bianca rolled her eyes. "Funny that we have the same mother. We're so different. I'm nice, you're mean. I'm likeable. You're not." She tapped the spoon on the edge of the bowl, and asked, "Do you think it's because of our fathers?" Her face went ashen even as she said the words. "I'm sorry. I didn't--I was just thinking out loud."
"The hell you were. You met him. Am I anything like him?"
Bianca's eyes were wide and black. She kept her lips pressed together.
"Nevermind. You're wrong, anyway," Kendall said. "Ever notice, perfect angel, sweet child, that you're nothing like mom? I'm the bitch. I'm the fashion expert. I didn't even have to grow up here to be like her. Genetics are a powerful thing, aren't they?"
Bianca moved around the kitchen island, coming face to face with Kendall, and said, "Yet, I'm the one she loves. Funny, that."
"Do you love her back? Is Freud right? Little lesbians only love their mothers?"
Bianca slapped her across the face. The blow hurt. Kendall smiled through the stinging in her cheek. She might only be able to provoke one response from people, but at least she was never disappointed.
But Bianca wasn't done. She reached up, her hand hovering over Kendall's reddened cheek. "Freud? Really? How's that obsession with mom going, sis?" Bianca's warm fingers soothed the sting. Kendall closed her eyes. Bianca continued, "Mother's not here, Kendall. Whenever she's not around, you like to torment you. Push me. Frame me for your little sins. Hurt me. Are you going to, now? Here's your chance."
"Don't you think you deserve it?" Kendall twisted her arm to grab Bianca's wrist, pressing it to her face.
Bianca's eyes stayed on Kendall's, as if Kendall would strike as soon as she blinked. "No more than you do."
"You failed her. She didn't want a dyke."
"So," said Bianca, stepping forward. "We have something in common. She didn't want us." She slid her free arm around Kendall's waist.
Kendall let go of Bianca's wrist and held her shoulders. She thought of the things she'd done to break Bianca. Enough to win her hate. But Bianca was still standing there. Kendall knew one last way to break someone. She lowered her head, slowly, waiting for a jerk, or a slap, or a sound. Only Bianca's lips, soft and quiet, rising to meet hers.
She wondered if this is what it would be like to kiss Erica, too. Thin, gentle, female lips. The kind she designed lipstick for, but had never touched. Bianca arched into her, pressing a thigh between her legs. Kendall choked back a moan. She wouldn't admit aloud that Bianca had aroused her with one sweet kiss. But Bianca was already tugging on her hand.
In bed, Bianca's pale skin, which bruised so easily, was covered in incriminating teeth marks, nail scratches, friction burns. Kendall grinned, her expression far more feral than her sister's. She twisted her fingers inside Bianca. Wetness that she was afraid to taste coated her fingers.
Bianca arched, thrusting towards her, and said, "I didn't know you'd be like this. Any secrets you want to tell your little sister?"
"I'm not a lesbian," Kendall slid her thumb across Bianca's clitoris and smirked. "I just know what I'm doing."
Later, when Erica came home, she found Kendall in the kitchen eating ice cream and Bianca asleep in the spare room. Erica stood in the bedroom doorway, looking from sister to sister. This, she thought, is what her family should have been.