From the day he'd been dragged from the Hudson, waterlogged and gasping, his entire body twitching and jerking as it drove the river out of his lungs and his guts and his very cells, he'd avoided it as much as humanly possible. He never drank a thing, relying on his invulnerable body to protect him from dehydration and devouring as many hunks of ice and juicy pieces of overripe fruit as he could get his hands on to keep some of the edge off the pain of his body drying out. He locked himself away on rainy days, covering his windows with heavy blankets and playing records loudly enough to drown out the sound of the raindrops pattering down. And most of all he avoided bathing until he stank so badly that nobody wanted to get anywhere near him.
Eve waited, always, until the day it became entirely too much to stand before she went to him. If the dirt built up on his skin wasn't practically deep enough to plant seeds in, if the grease in his hair wasn't so thick that you could squeeze out enough to fry potatoes in, if you couldn't smell him coming from three rooms away, then she would ignore every complaint that reached her ears. Her brother's peace of mind was the most important thing to her, and she wouldn't disturb it for anyone else's comfort.
But when the day inevitably came that he grew so filthy it couldn't possibly be healthy, she would quietly take his hand and lead him into her private bathroom.
Nobody else could convince him to enter the bath. Nobody else would dare to try. But when she stripped off her dress then unbuttoned his shirt and pulled down his slacks, Dallas unwilling to do even that much when each article of clothing removed was one step closer to the water getting him in its clutches again, he would allow her to guide him into the deep tub and settle him leaning back against his chest. He would trust her, and her alone, to keep his head safely above the water, to keep even a drop of it from entering his lungs.
But his body would still be tense and shaking as the water level rose, his hands clenched tightly around the rim of the tub, his eyes clenched tightly shut. Eve would hush him and sooth him and comfortingly smooth her hands over his hair and down his body. And when none of that worked to relax him, she would change her tactics and slide a hand between his legs to distract him.
She'd wanted to lead him to God. She'd wanted him to have faith. She had wanted him to be saved. But instead it was her love for him which profaned them both, it was her inability to watch him suffer when she had the means to grant him solace which lead to such unforgivable sin.
Abraham married his half-sister, she would tell herself as she stroked him to hardness. Moses' parents were aunt and nephew. Each of Lot's daughters laid with him, and God didn't decide that he'd made a mistake in sparing them from the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah and reach out to correct it.
She didn't let those thoughts lead her mind when the time came to shampoo his hair and it was no longer possible to keep his head entirely above the water. She held onto them as she slid carefully around him and straddled his hips. But they inevitably fled her mind when she lowered herself onto him as she gently dipped his head back, love of God pushed back by love of her brother.
In the moment she couldn't believe it was a sin when Dallas would clutch her to him so tightly, like she was the only thing anchoring him to the world. It couldn't be wrong to have him drag her down when his scalp entered the water and kiss her like he thought keeping their mouths sealed tightly together could save both of them from drowning.
And when she let him rise from the water again, his hair clean and dripping, and he twisted them both until he was on top, one arm beneath her back to protect her from going under the water as she'd protected him, the other hand thumbing at her clit, giving her the affection and pleasure that he never cared enough to show anyone else, she thought that God could only approve of their union if he would allow her to feel so wonderful as a result of it.