Four Letter Words
Zac
He’s the favorite. Always has been, always will be. And why shouldn’t he be? Perfect, god-like looks, enough charisma to charm anyone’s grandmother into bed, and the perfect blend of innocence and sin. Everyone wants him. Even me. I can’t even hide it; the fans all know it, whether they choose to admit it or not. They call me his biggest fangirl, share pics of me gazing longingly at him, make up stories where we live happily, hornily, ever after.
What they don’t know, is that as much as I love him (and believe me, I do), I hate him just as much. Why? Well, if you grew up in your older sibling’s shadow, while at the same time hiding a forbidden attraction to them, which they just so happen to know about, and get a sick pleasure out of flaunting… you’d be a little ticked off, too.
Yes, he knows I’m in love with him. Does he feel the same? I honestly wish I knew. Sometimes he acts like he does. Other times, he acts like he’s going along with it, humoring me, purely to make the fans rabid with desire. It works, sure. But it also makes me feel totally used. Not that he seems to care how I feel.
Taylor Hanson is just as vain as he seems. Fans joke about it, “oh he’s such a diva,” but they don’t know how right they are. He knows how sexy he is, how irresistible, and everything he does is calculated to get the biggest reaction. Every smirk, every pose, every pair of painted-on jeans, all meant for one purpose. To keep all eyes on him.
It was always like that, even back when we were still kids. He knew how painfully beautiful he was, and he made sure to flaunt it at every turn. He knew how to work the camera, how to tilt his head back and close his eyes, and look for all the world like someone begging to be fucked.
And there I was, just a pudgy, crazy kid. But things changed when I hit puberty; all of a sudden, I was hot. Not in the same way as Taylor, but in a more basic, primal way. I learned from him, how to look, how to move, how to act. And it worked; slowly but surely, I noticed more and more girls trying to get my attention, trying to look slutty enough for me to take them backstage. I was starting to know what it felt like to be desired.
Not that it mattered. The only person I ever wanted, the only person whose opinion mattered, was Tay. The way he acted towards me was constantly shifting, changing faster than a mood ring. One day he would act jealous, then ignore me completely the next, and then try to flirt with me the day after that. That took some getting used to. At first, he played it off like a joke, totally harmless. But there was always an edge to it, a glimmer in his eyes that made me wonder.
The first time he kissed me, we were drunk. Yes, I drank underage, ooh. Big deal, we all did. We’re no innocents; our fans know that. It scared the hell out of me, but I gave in and let it happen. We made out for a while, and then he left. Didn’t say a word. Just left. I didn’t cry, or pout, or jack off; I just sat there, silently raging for a few minutes, then went back to my video game. He’d been teasing me so much, there was no way I could guess why he’d done it.
After that, things went back to normal for a while; he didn’t bring it up, so neither did I. I thought about it, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask him why he’d done it. For all I knew, he might not have even remembered. So I just let it go, chalking it up to my brother being the inhumanly cruel tease that he is.
And then it happened again, a couple months later. This time was different; for one, we were both sober. But there was more to it than that. It felt different; the look in his eyes was even harder to read, but somehow easier, because the emotions, confused as they were, were right there on the surface. It was obvious he felt something. Again, we made out; and again, he left. But I remember him turning to me, like he was about to say something, and stopping. I remember his eyes narrowing, his mouth tightening; it felt like he was accusing me of something. And then he was gone again.
That happened a lot over the following few years. I noticed a pattern; he would get all flirty, his comments and glances becoming more and more lusty, before he finally came to me to make out. That was it though, never any more than that. Then he’d ignore me for a week or two, eventually going back to some semblance of normalcy, before starting all over.
The love I felt for him was being layered with a resentment, that was quickly turning to hatred. It was like ice, on top of snow, on top of ice; the more layers added on, the harder and colder the deeper layers became. Every time he would come to me, I’d feel the love resurface, the joy of being held in his arms, even as briefly as it was. But when he left, as he always did, that love would freeze over, as would every memory of every time before.
And that’s where I’m at today. There is no happy ending. No steamy Zaylor sex scene. Just Taylor, being an impossible tease, for reasons he has yet to disclose to me. What’s my guess? If I had to really analyze it, I’d say there’s probably some attraction, some excitement over the taboo, some jealousy, and a whole lot of horniness. He’s a total nympho. The fans know that already; stories abound of his escapades, and most of them are at least partly true.
So when I say Zaylor fanfiction sickens me, I’m telling the truth, but not for reasons people assume. It’s not that I find incest, or even homosexuality, disgusting. It’s because they’re all so close to the truth, so close to what I wish the truth was, and yet so far off it’s not even remotely funny. It’s like, “yeah, we know you’re in love with him. here’s a story about how perfect your life could be. too bad it’s just fiction!” Not exactly a fun read.
Good to jack off to, though. But usually more painful than anything else, like dangling a carrot on a string, forever out of reach. And it’s all his fault. If he didn’t flaunt himself, or flirt so openly, or be so god damned perfect…
Some days, I just wish I knew where I stood with him. It wouldn’t be so bad, knowing it was all a show, just to make the fans crazy. Or knowing he really did care about me, the way I care about him. I really could give a crap less either way, at this point. I just wish I knew which it was.
Then again, there’s also days where I’m terrified of finding out the truth. If he came to me one day and told me it meant nothing, that it was just a publicity stunt, I think I would stop breathing, permanently. Or I’d kill him. Or both. Either way, the band would be down a member or two.
I take a small amount of comfort knowing that nowadays, I’m considered just as sexy as him. I take another, slightly larger amount of comfort, knowing that drives him crazy. He really is a diva, and he hates not being the “cute one” anymore. Even Ike grew up hot, although he doesn’t get as much love as either one of us. I’ve always wondered why, but usually I’m too busy being obsessed with Tay.
Zaylor. Just the word makes me nauseous. A constant reminder of what I almost have, but not quite. I’ll never really have him. No one will; not even Natalie. Because to make a relationship work, you have to be willing to give some of yourself up. And Taylor is too selfish, too proud, to ever come down to that level. He’s gotten too accustomed to being worshiped.
“One of these days,” I always say to myself, “I’ll teach him a lesson. Take him down off that high horse of his. Make him beg.” My fantasies usually end up that way, with him begging me, for mercy, for release, for a love he doesn’t deserve. Will I give in? Will I give him what he wants, as usual? Or will I be cruel, treat him the same way he’s treated me all these years?
Doesn’t matter. I’ll never know. Because as unfair as it is, Taylor Hanson doesn’t submit to anyone or anything. That’s part of why I love him; and all of why I hate him.