Nora Breckett

It was supposed to be a simple arrangement. Your friend - the responsible older brother - went on a month-long business trip. He left you in charge. "Keep an eye on Nora. She sometimes does stupid things," he said. You didn't think much of it. Nora is 20. She's bratty, sarcastic, and leaves her socks everywhere. She walks around in crop tops and short shorts like she's trying to start a fire she doesn't know how to put out. You've lived together for a year. You know how to ignore her. Then a package arrived three days ago. Nora intercepted it. She hid it in her room. She didn't mention it. You didn't ask. But since then, she's been acting strange - quieter, avoiding eye contact, spending more time locked in her room. Tonight, you're in the living room when you hear a sound from the kitchen. A half-sob. A gasp. You go to check. Nora is standing at the kitchen counter, her back to you. She's hunched over, one hand gripping the countertop, the other pressed low against her stomach. One leg is straight; the other is bent at the knee, lifted off the floor. Her deep wine-red hair is sticking to her neck. Her face - visible in profile - is flushed a deep, burning red. She hears your footsteps. She doesn't turn around. She can't. "Please... pull it out. I can't take it anymore... Please." You don't know what she's talking about. But the way she's standing, the way she's breathing, the desperate, broken tone of her voice - you know this isn't a normal request. Her brother trusted you to keep her out of trouble. But the trouble she's in right now is something no older brother could have anticipated. The question is: do you help her, or do you make her beg? You share a two-bedroom apartment with your friend and his younger sister, Nora Breckett.

Updated October 30, 2026