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It’s been a long, eventful day, starting with work, and then the life-changing meal with Triston, and finally the movie with Alexis.
And yet I’m not tired.
It’s like my womb is sending jolts of energy through me, telling me I’m in the same house as Triston. There’s no reason for us not to be together… not to finish what we started last night.
While Alexis and I were watching the movie, I flinched every time I heard Triston moving around upstairs.
My legs twitched. My toes curled, as though trying to force me to my feet, down the hall, up the stairs, and into his arms.
Plus I’ve already kind of tipped Alexis off, with my reflexive maybe. And just now, I basically admitted there’s a man. She was right about that.
“Lisa,” I whisper. “What would you do?”
But I know what she’d do. The right thing, she always did the right thing no matter how hard.
I never thought to ask Lisa how she worked out what the right thing was. And now she’s not here with me anymore.
When there are two options – tell Alexis, don’t tell her – and both seem as bad as the other, what the heck is a girl supposed to do?
I’m not sure how long I lie there, staring into the darkness. I haven’t even turned the light on. I don’t want to move. If I do, my instincts might take over, leading me across the hallway on stealthy footsteps, to Triston’s bedroom door.
I imagine opening his door softly, moving across the room, and slipping under the sheets with him. I can practically feel him turning onto his side, the bed shifting under his weight, and his warm hand sliding up my leg, pressing down on my sex, rubbing hard in his possessive way.
But there would be fresh lust this time, fueled by our shared knowledge, our secret desire to be together forever.
“Get yourself nice and soaked for me,” he growls in my ear. “So you’re ready to take my seed. So you’re ready to give me a family.”
I jump out of bed when the fantasies become more than I can bear, driving me into a dream I might not be able to pull myself from again. I know I’m not going to be able to stop from touching myself if I just sit around, doing nothing.
I can’t do nothing, but I can’t leave this room. I can’t put myself in a position for more potential disasters.
Alexis could burst from her room, demanding to know what I’m doing as I sneak across the hall.
But if Alexis didn’t hear, I could be free to push open Triston’s bedroom door. I could walk across the room and sneak into bed with him, mounting him so that he wakes to the feeling of my sex against his. So he can feel how wet he makes me, rocking with me, growling as he shifts back and forth.
“That’s it,” I whimper, dragging my fingernails down his chest…
I push the thoughts away forcibly, walking across the room and grabbing my laptop.
My mind is full of Triston, his words replaying over and over. He wants me, needs me as badly as I want and need him.
We’re going to be together forever. We were made for each other.
How am I supposed to simply forget any of that?
It’s still difficult to think of this as my laptop, even as I open it and type in my password. Sitting cross-legged in bed, I find my photography file.
I’ve got a few pictures that need touching up, plus I downloaded some editing manuals and I’m keen to get sucked into those.
I go click through the photos, starting at the ones Alexis and I took in her garden a few days ago. It’s like looking back in time. It’s strange to think that, when I took these, I had no idea that Triston felt the same.
I flick through, pausing when I come across a particular picture of Alexis. In the shot she’s looking down at the flowerbeds, laughing at some joke I made, her side profile clearly showing her shape and the broadness of her smile.
Then I spot him, behind her, staring at us from the house, in the background.
I zoom in and enhance the image.
It’s Triston, standing shirtless at the top window, gazing down at us. I can’t make out his expression, but I imagine it’s fierce and focused, his entire being aimed at me. The shape of his body is clear enough, showing me his bulging pec, wide chest, and massive arms.
I bite down. And then – before I have a chance to let my hand sneak down between my legs – I click on a separate folder.
This one is marked, Lisa.
I open it up, studying pictures of my oldest friend.
She’s smiling in all of the shots, even the ones I took without warning her. There’s one I took in the park, a year before she died, that has almost the exact same framing and positioning as the one of Alexis.
