Both Sides Of Her Chapter 1

[Fantasy] [Long Story] [Incest]

Chapter 1: The Two Faces

Ian Thorne was eighteen and a senior at Bellevue High School. The sprawling public campus sat on Seattle's Eastside and hummed with everyday noise of teenage chaos.

His mother had insisted on public school years earlier. She had faced Warren across the dinner table one evening with her voice calm while she stared at her plate. "They need to know the world if they plan to stay out of it," she had told him. Warren had pushed back with Bible verses about living in the world without becoming part of it. Yet he eventually yielded because June asked for so little and held firm when she did.

Public high school brought its own mix of excitement and unease for a boy raised on family devotions and strict curfews. Ian moved through the crowded halls and pep rallies with quiet interest.

Photography class gave him the only space where he felt entirely at ease. His teacher noticed real promise and urged him to study light, shadow, and the precise moment the shutter clicked.

Two weeks earlier Mr. Ellison had handed out the latest assignment. Find an object that remembers something the world has forgotten and bring back proof.

Ian spent that Saturday downtown Bellevue with his Nikon D850 and a bag of lenses. He photographed a rusted bike chain locked to a parking meter, a pair of cracked reading glasses abandoned on a café table, and a faded protest poster curling away from a utility pole. None of the images felt complete.

He wandered into Hargrove’s Antiques and Curiosities inside the mall. The air carried scents of lemon oil, old paper, and a faint metallic tang. Dust drifted through slanted beams of afternoon sun. Ian walked slowly along the packed shelves until he spotted the frame on a low shelf. It sat between stacks of yellowed hymnals and a stuffed crow in a miniature top hat. The object opened like a book on a hinge. Its gold border still gleamed. He picked it up. The weight surprised him.

He turned it over. One side showed a photograph he recognized at once. Ria stood in their backyard two summers ago just before her freshman year at university. She wore a simple white blouse and jeans. Her hair fell loose over one shoulder. She smiled straight into the camera with open warmth. Ian had taken the picture himself for her university profile. It captured the version of her everyone else was allowed to see. He glanced around the shop and half expected a hidden camera and some prank.

Nothing appeared. He flipped the frame again.

The second image hit him like a blow. It showed Ria in the bikini. The moment came from a humid afternoon when their parents had left the house. She had twirled in front of the bathroom mirror. Black straps crossed her body. The thin fabric left little to the imagination. Her face held a mix of nervous laughter and bold curiosity. Ian had never shared the picture. He had deleted the blurry copy right away. The clear version stayed hidden in a password-protected folder on his computer. He opened that folder only when the house stood silent and his door stayed locked. He had lost track of the nights he had given in to it with guilt mixing into relief until both feelings blurred together.

Both pictures now rested inside the same antique frame. The discovery felt too precise to be chance.

A quiet cough sounded behind him. "Interesting choice," said Mr. Hargrove. The shop owner stood at the end of the aisle. His wire-rimmed glasses rested low on his nose. He wore a tweed vest over a faded shirt and looked as though he had waited there a while.

"That piece is older than most items here," the man continued. "It is a Janus frame named for the Roman god with two faces. One side shows beginnings and endings. One side shows what the world sees and what stays hidden. Old stories claim that when you place two images of the same person inside, one public and one private the frame begins to open doors. Not doors you step through with your feet but doors you walk through when you close your eyes."

Ian’s throat felt dry. "How much?" he asked.

Mr. Hargrove studied him for several seconds then named a price so low it sounded like a caution instead of a bargain. Ian paid in cash. He slipped the frame into his backpack. Its weight pressed against his spine all the way home.

The Thorne house smelled of pot roast and June’s lavender air freshener. Warren sat at the head of the dinner table with his shoulders squared and his Bible open beside his plate. June moved between the kitchen and the table with practiced efficiency. Ria sat across from Ian in an oversized university sweatshirt that still carried the faint scent of her shampoo.

"Any good shots today son?" Warren asked. His voice carried the familiar extra weight it always held when he addressed Ian.

Ian kept his gaze on his plate. "Nothing special," he answered.

Ria’s foot brushed his under the table by accident. She offered him the same warm expression she always gave. Ian returned it and tried to push the second photograph out of his thoughts. It waited upstairs in his backpack.

After the meal Ria found him in the living room. Their father had retreated to the den with his Bible notes. Their mother washed dishes in the kitchen. Ria curled up on the couch beside him with her knees drawn under her chin the way she had done since childhood.

"Show me," she said. Ian paused then brought out his camera. He scrolled past the frame without letting the screen linger on it. He showed only the chain the glasses and the poster. Ria leaned in close. Her shoulder touched his. Her breath brushed his ear while she studied each image.

"That one," she said while pointing to the poster. "The way the paper curls at the edge makes it look like it is fighting to survive the rain."

Ian felt a small knot loosen inside his chest. "Yeah. That is what I wanted to show."

She stayed there with her head resting lightly against his shoulder and continued scrolling. No rush filled the moment. Only the two of them on the couch while the house settled around them. "You should photograph more people," she suggested after a time. "Not only objects. Faces hold memories too." He gave a quiet laugh.

"Faces look back. That makes them harder."

She turned toward him. He noticed the faint freckles across her nose that she disliked and he quietly cherished. "And that is all right Ian. They will not bite."

They talked for another hour about her sociology professor who spoke too quickly about the bland cafeteria meals at her university and about the way Warren now quoted scripture whenever Ian mentioned any school project with a nonreligious theme. Ria listened fully. Her eyes stayed on his face as though she wanted to remember every word.

When she stood to head upstairs she paused in the doorway and glanced back. "Thanks for letting me see your pictures. You have real talent. You know that."

Ian felt genuine warmth spread through him the kind untouched by secrecy. "Thanks Ri."

She gave him that open trusting look once more and disappeared up the stairs.

He remained on the couch long after she left. The camera still felt warm in his hands. The world always seemed smaller and safer whenever she sat nearby.

Later alone in his room he set the Janus frame on his nightstand. One side showed Ria’s college-ready smile. The other held the hidden image of her in the bikini.

The hour grew late. He told himself he would simply test the object. He positioned the frame so the public portrait faced upward. He studied her easy confidence and the trust in her eyes for a long while. Then he turned off the lamp lay back and closed his eyes. Sleep arrived quickly and sank deep.

The dream unfolded in soft golden light. Ria appeared wearing jeans and a simple sweater the same clothes from the portrait. She smiled when she saw him and stepped forward without hesitation. She wrapped her arms around him in a hug that felt like returning home. They walked together through a dream version of their backyard. Grass brushed their bare feet. The air smelled of summer even though fall had arrived in the real world.

They sat on the porch swing. The chains creaked softly. Ria tucked her legs beneath her and rested her head against his shoulder.

"Tell me something you have never told anyone else," she said the question she often asked in quiet moments even when awake.

Ian hesitated. In real life he would have changed the subject or hidden behind humor. Here the words flowed more easily. "I wrote a poem last week," he began. "It is about the way light falls on water. Not the beautiful kind. The kind that looks like broken glass when the sun hits it wrong. I never showed it to Mr. Ellison. I have not shown it to anyone." Ria lifted her head. "Read it to me."

He swallowed and spoke in a near whisper. "The lake remembers every stone thrown in every ripple that tried to erase it. Light fractures on the surface like guilt sharp bright and gone before you can apologize." He stopped cheeks warm. "It is rough."

Ria stayed quiet for a moment then took his hand.

Her fingers laced through his. "It is not rough. It is honest. The light does not apologize because it does not need to. It simply exists. Like you."

They remained on the swing hands joined while it swayed gently. She asked for another poem then another. He shared short lines about shadows stretching across the living room floor at dusk.

She listened with her eyes closed and her head on his shoulder. Her breathing stayed steady.

When he finished she opened her eyes. "You should share these with me more often. They are beautiful."

The words settled deep inside him. "I do not know if I could do that in real life."

"Why not?" she asked gently.

"Because people would see too much."

She turned to face him fully still holding his hand. "I see you Ian. All of you. And I am not going anywhere."

They talked for what felt like hours. They spoke about the times Ria used to whisper during their father’s loud prayers because she could not hear her own thoughts. They recalled nights when she had slipped into his room during thunderstorms and he had built blanket forts so she could sleep on the floor beside his bed. She shared her worry that university would change her into someone he no longer recognized. He admitted his deeper fear that he would stay exactly the same while she moved forward. "I do not want to leave you behind," she said quietly. "Not ever."

He looked at her. "I do not want you to go. But I want you to be happy even if that means you move on."

She rested her forehead against his. "We will figure it out. We always do."

They laughed over childhood memories of building living-room forts and pretending they were spaceships. They cried softly when she confessed that she sometimes missed the simple days before the world demanded they become adults.

The dream never hurried. It simply allowed them to exist together in a space where no one could overhear or judge.

When Ian woke only four hours had passed. He felt rested and clear. The usual ache in his chest remained the one that always appeared after time spent with his sister. Yet the dream had offered something pure. The thought of reaching for relief and turning that innocence into something else felt wrong. It would ruin the moment on purpose.

He rolled onto his side pulled the blanket higher and closed his eyes again. The closeness stayed with him warm and steady. For the first time in a long while he fell back asleep without giving in to old habits.

The frame remained on the nightstand with the innocent portrait still facing upward. For that one night it was enough.