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Fuck.
It takes a couple minutes for my pulse to go back to a regular rhythm, and even longer for me to convince myself it was just a nightmare. Sure, it might’ve started out true, but the ending turned into something that never happened. A cold chill runs through me as I close my eyes and her desperate face flashes on the back of my lids, her hoarse begging echoing through my brain. Snapping them open again, I climb out of bed, throw my sheets in the hamper, and jump into a shower.
Tipping my head back under the stream, I let the hot water hammer down on me, hoping it’ll wash the frustration from my mind.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to analyze my dream, but it’s frustrating all the same. I’m not the one who should be feeling guilty here. I didn’t fuck up all of our lives. Of course, I left her in the hospital. I’d left my twin brother’s side to be with her, and then I’d found out she was the one who’d put them both there. It would’ve been weirder tonotwalk away.
It’s also not difficult to realize why this subconscious guilt is manifesting itself now, after last night. My thoughts are all fucked up after that. Ishouldfeel guilty after losing myself in how perfect she felt—how intrinsically right the whole thing felt.
The weight that lifted when I gave myself the okay to not hold a grudge for just one night was euphoric. The relief was instant, and nothing would’ve held me back after that. My dick pulses, almost painfully hard as I remember the way Harper moaned as I moved inside her. I don’t touch it though.
I let myself fall into the dream, imagining that my nights finished like that every day. That she was there when I woke this morning, and instead of glares and barbed words, there were only soft caresses and whispered promises. I let myself fall into the future that every day for the last couple of years I’d assumed would be ours, and it feels fucking exquisite.
I give myself a couple of minutes to revel in it all. Then I pull my walls back up, turn the water to cold, and shiver as my dick softens and my dream runs down the drain.
Harper
Madden ignores me like a pro.
Seriously. He could sign up for some special FBI course. He’s been in the shadows from the moment he stood up and silently dressed himself, leaving me there on the rug.
I can’t face sitting across the dinner table from him on Christmas Day, so I go to Kinsley’s. It’s nice— and completely fine as their extended family is so large. I manage to sit quietly on the sidelines while they all catch up.
I do the same for New Year’s, even though I can tell I’m disappointing Mrs. Taylor by avoiding the big events. I feel guilty, like I’ve taken advantage of her hospitality, but I’d rather feel that than ruin it for her. I’ve already made sure only one son would be there; I don’t want to be the reason the other hates every second.
Overall, I haven’t seen Madden for nineteen days. It’s nowhere near the length of summer, and yet the loss is felt just as fully.
It’s the Friday before school starts up again, and I venture downstairs to find some food from where I’ve been holed up in the guest room. That’s another issue—my lack of funds has severely diminished the options I have to keep myself busy. Kinsley invites me out loads, and I know it’s a mix of hanging out and wanting the excuse to pay for things, but my guilt gets too much to see her regularly.
Finding some cereal in the pantry, I grab a large bowl and deposit it and the cereal on the counter. Then I get the carton of milk from the fridge and settle onto the barstool, content to have myself a little afternoon breakfast snack. A small amount into the bowl, followed by nearly filling the bowl with milk. Eat the cereal while it’s still crisp, then add a handful or so at a time. It’s a foolproof way to ensure every bite is still crunchy.
I’ve just refilled my second mini portion when Madden strolls into the kitchen. It’s so unexpected that the spoon pauses halfway to my open mouth. He startles when he sees me but carries on to the fridge to grab himself a soda.
“Catching flies?” he asks, and my cheeks heat as I complete the spoon’s journey to my mouth. Suddenly, it feels like cardboard, though I manage to swallow it down. I fiddle with what’s left in the bowl, stirring the cereal around the milk aimlessly as he leans against the counter. I seem to lose the ability to focus on anything but him when he’s around.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and gets engrossed in whatever’s on there while I basically work to keep my breathing even. Why is he not leaving? Should I say something? No—that’ll invite some snarky comment from him, probably. Plus, what would I say?Hey. Long time no see. I really enjoyed when you sweetly hate-fucked me over in your snug.
Just thinking back to that day and what happened makes my thighs clench, and that’s proof enough Madden Taylor has officially fucked with my head more than he ever fucked me. I’m so lost in my bizarre half fantasy that his movement makes me jump.
Reaching out, he takes the spoon from my hand and eats the rest of the cereal in my bowl. I frown up at him, not talking.
“They were soggy,” he says. “You wouldn’t eat them.” He nods to the bowl, andduh, of course. I know that. I don’t need him telling me that. It was just a weirdly intimate thing for him to do.
Not really knowing how to go from here, I take the box and scatter some more over my milk. I’m chewing the first bite when he speaks again.
“Why are you here?” he asks. He doesn’t sound angry, for once; just curious. “Mom said you weren’t in a good way. You said you had nowhere else to go. What happened?”
I take my time to think over what I’m going to tell him. Surely whatever I say will be used against me. But really, what else is there to do with the information?
“My dad doesn’t want an embarrassment at the dinner table.” He frowns, and I shrug. It’s not like Madden has any different feelings toward me.
“He kicked you out?”
“Essentially. Which is odd considering he bought me a ticket home in the first place.”
“I sent you that ticket,” he says simply, and I nearly choke on the cereal I just took a mouthful of. “Why didn’t you go to a hotel?” I’m still stuck on the fact he bought my ticket—andwhy—but I answer anyway. Honestly. For my sins.
“I can’t afford one.”
