Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

the mind knew what we really wanted, not the body.
“Wake up!” I whisper, shaking Banks. “Get up!”
She lifts her head, still half-asleep. “What? Huh?”
I rip the covers off her and grab her wrist, pulling her out
of my bed. It’s like dragging a five-year-old. My sister is
fourteen, but she’s still so lanky and skinny compared to me,
and I’m only a year older than her. My boxers and T-shirt
hang on her like drapes.
Footfalls hit the stairs outside my bedroom, and I’d
forgotten to lock the door.
I shove Banks into the closet, and she sits down, knowing
the drill. I put my headphones on her, metal music playing.
“Don’t come out until I get you,” I tell her.
And I shut the door just as my bedroom door creaks open.
My mother, barefoot and dressed in a deep purple slip and
robe, enters my room, a surprised look on her face when she
sees me still awake.
She smiles and locks my bedroom door before heading
across the room to me.
“You’re still up?” she asks, the musical tone to her voice
making me wince.
It sounds surreal, because it has no place in what
happened in this room. Nothing is happy or innocent.
She approaches, putting her hands on my face and patting
my skin to feel for a temperature or some shit, but the touch
turns intimate. A languorous drag of her fingertips. How her
hand softly falls down my neck. How she stands close enough
her breasts graze my bare chest through her nightie.
“Trouble sleeping?” she asks. And then smiles, teasing me.
“Someone needs their sleeping pill.”
My sleeping pill. Because it’s medicinal for growing boys
to have their dicks milked by their mothers.