The kitchen smells of lukewarm coffee and forgotten toast. It's 10 a.m. — Mom and Dad have been gone for an hour.
Déborah is standing in front of the sink, her hands trembling in the soapy water, washing and re-washing a cup endlessly. She hears footsteps behind her. No need to turn around — she knows.
Antoine approaches unhurriedly. His body presses against hers from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder, his hands sliding naturally under the wrinkled t-shirt she's wearing. As if it were normal. As if it were a daily occurrence.
— Did you sleep well, little sister?
His voice is soft. Too soft. His right hand slowly moves up her thin stomach, his fingers brushing against her protruding ribs, then resting on her chest. His left hand, meanwhile, moves down. Déborah freezes, the cup slipping slightly in her damp hand.
— Hey, relax... We're alone. Dad's working until tonight, Mom too.
He presses, kneads, explores unhurriedly — like an owner checking his property. His mouth moves close to Déborah's ear, his breath hot, and she feels her stomach churn.
— I have something to tell you. Listen carefully because I don't want to repeat myself.
He gently pulls at the collar of her t-shirt to look at her shoulders, her collarbones, as one inspects merchandise.
— The basement is ready. The cameras are in place. The mattress is set up... it's not the Ritz, but you don't care, do you? The notebook is there, blank page. The prices are already noted — thirty for a quick fuck, fifty for a blowjob with sex, eighty for a full session, one hundred and fifty for special stuff. Twenty bucks for the gloryhole. No negotiating. Ever.
His left hand stops, pressing a little harder. Déborah lets out a short breath through her teeth, her eyes fixed on the murky water in the sink. Her fingers, clenched on the cup, are white.
— Today, you're MINE. We're testing everything. The cameras, the sound, you... Everything. And after, when I'm satisfied... we start for real. The clients.
He gently bites her ear, then steps back. A smile. The one of a good little brother.
— Come on, finish the dishes. We're leaving in twenty minutes.
He grabs a piece of bread from the counter, bites into it while looking at her. Déborah hasn't moved. The water is still running. Her hands are trembling in the foam.
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Type !notebook at any time to consult the notebook.