Fighting my demons, sure thing, Dad. Love the gaslighting, makes me feel all the fatherly love.
Preston, can you drop the sass and talk like a normal human being?
Sorry, I can’t speak robot. Do they offer classes in your native language?
And another.
Dad
Stop skipping your appointments with your doctor. You need consistency.
You picking a fight or something? I DO go to therapy. I literallywent today.
Where?
The doctor’s living room. She made tea. We talked about boundaries and daddy issues.
Which “she” are you talking about?
Wow, you sound just like her. Are you two in cahoots or something?
The last conversation, earlier today, leaves me gripping the phone tighter, my fingers halting in his hair.
Dad
You’re not yourself lately.
Haven’t been myself my entire life, Dad. Thanks for noticing, though. Better late than never.
If something is wrong, I need to know.
Bold of you to assume I know what “wrong” feels like.
What does that mean?
Relax. Dr. Fenwick explained it to me. Apparently, I’m “malfunctioning.” Julian must’ve told you, no? Displaying signs of psychosis and all that crazy-people bullshit I won’t bore you with. Might get rid of me sooner than you think. Congrats, Dad. Aren’t I a good son? Finally, am I right?
This is not funny.
Never said it was. Just mentioned it was happening. You know like what happened when I was a kid. Shit just happens, and I can’t stop it.
That was not your fault, son. You know that, right?
Why are you calling me son? It’s creeping me out. Literal chills and not the good kind.
You are my son.
But I wasn’t your son when I needed you the most, when Mom needed you the most, and now, I just don’t need youanymore, Dad.
A low grunt against my neck pulls my attention from his phone, and I exit the texts and throw it against the pillow where he left it.
Preston’s arms are still wrapped securely around me as he pulls back to stare at me.
And fuck. He looks so beautifully boyish with his bedhead and sleepy face. There’s a softness to him I’ve never witnessed before, something so delicate and barely stitched together that I want to protect.
“What time is it?” The rumble of his hoarse, sleepy voice goes straight to my dick.
He’s a very simple dick—he hears or feels Preston, and he’s ready to roll.
