Alex rose early the next morning, humming softly to themself. They selected a simple pair of jeans and a tight black sweater, pulling their hair back into a neat ponytail. As they opened the bathroom door, they found Bethany still on the floor.

Bethany was a wreck. Her hair was matted with sweat, her face was pale and blotchy. Her arms were wrapped around her belly, which looked swollen for her slender frame.

Alex sighed quietly. Fuck. There it was. That feeling. Guilt. They didn't like it one bit.

"Oh dear," Alex murmured.

Bethany's eyes fluttered open at the sound of their voice.

"You look like you've had a rough night," they said.

Bethany didn't answer, just stared at them with a look of exhausted misery.

Alex turned on the faucet and wet a washcloth. They knelt down and gently wiped the sweat from Bethany's face.

The girl flinched at the touch but didn't pull away.

"Let's get you down onto the couch," Alex said.

Alex helped their sister to her feet, the older teen's small frame surprising Bethany with its hidden strength. Bethany was a dead weight, her body limp and pliant.

She needed a doctor, Alex knew. But that wouldn't be good for them.

Alex guided her out of the bathroom, her arm around Bethany's waist for support. In the kitchen, their father was at the table, reading the newspaper and sipping coffee. He looked up as they entered from the hallway.

He let out a deep sigh.

"Mornin'," Peter said, not even trying to hide his disapproval. "I can't deal with this today, but she's going to the hospital first thing tomorrow morning."

Alex laid Bethany down on the living room sofa, placing a pillow under her head.

"Okay, Dad," they called back.

For a moment, Alex looked down at their sister. This girl, this vile, treacherous creature, now so helpless. Those old protective instincts, the ones Bethany had spat on, warred with the cold satisfaction of revenge.

Alex sighed.

"I'm heading to the office," Peter announced, putting away the paper.

"It's Saturday," Alex replied.

"I know," Peter said, shrugging. "There's an issue I need to take care of. Like I said, I can't deal with Beth today."

He pulled his keys from his pocket and walked to the door.

Alex went into the kitchen and started making coffee.

They knew the jig would be up the moment a doctor took a look inside her sister, so the problem had to be solved today.

The sound of the front door closing. He was gone.

Alex took their coffee and walked back.

They sat with Bethany for a while. Alex watched her shiver in her feverish sleep.

Alex knew what had to be done, which made their stomach twist. But they were the only one who could fix this. They couldn't risk their father finding their handiwork, and certainly couldn't risk Bethany going to the ER.

They got up and went back to the kitchen to retrieve the first aid kit from the top of the refrigerator.

Alex rummaged through the kit, finding the sleeping pills they were looking for. A small, unlabeled prescription bottle, leftover from their mother's illness.

Alex emptied four pills into their palm and crushed them with the back of a spoon into a fine white powder.

They poured a glass of water and mixed in the powder, stirring until it dissolved.

"Beth," Alex cooed softly. "Wake up."

Nothing.

"Pregnant whore."

Bethany's eyes fluttered open.

"What...?" she mumbled.

"Here," Alex said, holding the glass to her lips. "You're dehydrated. Drink this."

Bethany drank obediently, her throat parched, before falling back asleep almost instantly.

Alex waited, then waited some more, until they were sure the pills had taken effect.

Then they went to their father's room and searched his closet.

It didn't take long to find what they were looking for. A box that belonged to their mother, hidden behind old suits and dusty shoeboxes. It was filled with an assortment of sex toys, and they found what they were looking for.

A cold, metal speculum, and a slim anal douche.

Alex returned to the living room. They spread a towel on the floor and lifted Bethany's legs, propping her hips up with a throw pillow.

With clinical detachment, Alex cleaned the speculum, then inserted it into Bethany's slack vagina, turning the screw to open the blades, creating a wide, unobstructed view of the interior.

The first thing that struck them was the smell. A pungent, feculent odor, thick and suffocating as it rose from Bethany's exposed sex, immediately filling Alex's nostrils and coiling in the back of their throat.

It was a nauseating blend of stale shit, the unmistakable coppery tang of infection, and something else, something acrid and sweet that spoke of necrotizing tissue.

Alex forced themself to breathe through their mouth, the air tasting foul even then.

The newly opened slit produced a slow, relentless ooze of yellowish-brown pus that had been trapped in the vaginal canal, a thick, viscous fluid that trickled down towards the speculum's blades. It left glistening, snail-like trails on the pale, stretched skin of Bethany's inner thighs.

Alex had to fight the urge to gag, the acidic burn of bile rising in their own throat as the reality of what they were seeing crashed down upon them with the force of a physical blow.

With a trembling hand, Alex grabbed their cell phone, fumbling for a moment before managing to turn on the flashlight. The cool, clinical beam cut through the dim light of the living room, and they directed it inside the cavernous, horrifying opening.

It was a horror show, a scene from their most deranged nightmares made flesh.

The walls of her vagina were not just irritated, they were raw and inflamed, speckled with copious amounts of foul-smelling pus and marred by angry, weeping red abrasions that looked ready to bleed at the slightest touch. The fragile mucosal tissue, once pink and healthy, was now a mottled patchwork of deep crimson and sickly yellow, sloughing away in places.

Peering deeper, past the ravaged, grotesquely swollen canal, Alex saw the gaping os of the cervix. It was no longer the small, tight opening they had violated, but a raw, weeping hole, the sphincter muscle so weakened by the rampant infection that it couldn't close entirely, standing agape like a silent, screaming mouth.

A glossy, necrotic sheen coated the surface, the sheer scale of the bacterial activity evident. Through that small, violated opening, they could finally see the decomposing fecal matter they had forced through, now a mushy, foul amalgamation, mixed with what looked like clotted blood and more of the sickening yellow pus. It was a vile, festering stew, and it was spilling out in slow, sickening rivulets that mixed with the ooze from the vaginal walls, a testament to their own carefully crafted revenge.

Alex swallowed hard, the acid in the back of their throat burning. Disgusting. Their skin ran cold, as the bile rose quickly.

Alex bolted to the kitchen, barely making it to the sink before retching, a series of painful, heaving spasms that left their throat raw and their eyes watering. They clung to the countertop, their body trembling.

They glanced back at Bethany's inert form on the couch.

"Fucking bitch," they muttered. "Serves you right."

Alex ran the water, splashing their face, the cold shock clearing their head. They took a deep breath.

"But now I have to save you, again," they added quietly.

Clara would have to fend for herself, the little ginger rat. Bethany was their blood. Their problem.

Alex filled the anal douche with warm water, adding a bit of antiseptic soap from the first aid kit.

They returned to the living room and knelt between Bethany's legs.

The first flush of water went in, and a cascade of foul-smelling liquid gushed out, bringing with it chunks of decaying matter. Alex recoiled as a particularly large, dark blob landed on the towel with a wet slap.

They repeated the process, again and again, their stomach churning with each new wave of filth. The water ran from a thick, brown sludge to a cloudy, yellowish liquid.

Finally, it ran clear, with only the unstoppable hint of dissolved blood remaining.

Alex collapsed back on their heels, their head swimming. The air in the room was thick with the stench of infection and excrement. They felt a wave of dizziness and leaned against the couch, waiting for it to pass.

They looked at the mess on the towel, then at their sister's bruised and battered cunt.

Alex took a deep breath and stood up. They walked to the kitchen and retrieved a plastic container, the kind their father used for leftovers.

They went back to the living room and, holding their breath, scraped the foul mixture of shit, pus, and bloody tissue into the container from the towel.

They looked at Bethany's sleeping form.

"I'm not done with you just yet," Alex whispered.

They took the container into the kitchen and placed it on the counter.

Then they started gathering the ingredients of Bethany's favorite comfort soup from the fridge.

***

Hours later, Bethany stirred. The world swam into focus slowly.

She was lying on the couch, covered by a clean blanket. The air smelled like simmering vegetables and herbs.

"Mmhm?" she mumbled, a soft sound of confusion.

"You're awake," a calm voice said.

Bethany turned her head.

Alex was standing in the kitchen, pouring a golden, steaming liquid into a bowl. The plastic container stood empty and washed by the sink.

"How... how long was I out?" Bethany asked, her voice raspy.

She grabbed her phone, checking for messages. Nothing. Her last text to Clara, from almost 18 hours ago, remained unread.

"A few hours," Alex replied. "How are you feeling?"

Bethany took a mental inventory. The intense cramping was gone, replaced by a dull, manageable ache. Her head was clear. The feverish fog that had clouded her thoughts for the past two days had lifted.

"A little better," she said, a flicker of her old defiance in her eyes. She put her phone aside.

Alex brought the bowl over to the couch.

"I made you some soup," they said. "It's your favorite."

Bethany eyed the bowl suspiciously.

"Poisoned?" she asked.

Alex let out a short, sharp laugh.

"I know you hate me," Alex said. "But I'm still your older... brother. And no matter what you do to me, I'll always take care of you."

Bethany's eyes filled with tears as Alex placed the bowl on the coffee table.

"I... I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"I know," Alex said gently. "Now eat your soup."

Bethany sat up, the blanket falling from her shoulders. She winced a little at the movement. The bulge in her belly was noticeably smaller, almost gone.

She picked up the bowl. It smelled delicious. She took a tentative sip. The rich, savory broth warmed her from the inside.

They sat in silence for a while as Bethany ate. Alex smiled, watching their sister consume the evidence bit by bit.

"What about you?" she asked, holding the bowl up higher.

Alex smiled.

"Don't worry about me," they said, patting their own flat stomach. "I already had my bowl."

"Thank you," Bethany said softly, before taking another spoonful of the soup and smiling gently. "It's amazing."

"I poured a lot of myself into that," Alex said cryptically. "I love you, sis."

Bethany paused mid-sip. She had not expected that. She looked at Alex, at the gentle smile on their face.

"I... I love you, too..." she began. "... sis."

THE END