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Eighteen
Savannah
HavingAidan in my personal space felt right.
Not oddly so, just right.
How could it not be?
I hadn’t lied to Jen when I’d said he was one of my favorite people.
The psychologists called it a parasocial relationship, and though it was a fairly new phenomenon, I’d rubbed up against it throughout my entire life because of my dad.
Much as Conor stanned on my pop, I stanned on Aidan.
Conor wanted to see my dad perform a song, I wanted to see Aidan jack off in the shower.
As long as he didn’t find anything wrong with that, I didn’t either.
I just had to get Aidan to agree to it.
I wasn’t fussed about which exact shower, it just had to involve him being wet and soapy and I’d probably feel like I’d died and gone to heaven.
Thoughts of which stopped me from feeling like I was going nuts.
My apartment had been breached. It was no longer safe, no longer a protected area.
I wasn’t sure if it’d ever feel right again, and though the Points had tried to clear it up—the living room was back to normal. No blood stains, no broken glass. The only proof of what had happened was the missing coffee table—the place was tainted with my fear.
It might as well have soaked into the walls, seeping into the air itself so that every breath I took, reminded me of last night’s attack.
Of how close it had been.
Throat thick with stupid emotions that I really didn’t have time to process right now, it was far easier to imagine Aidan jacking off in a shower.
So I kept that at the forefront of my mind as I tossed things into a couple of suitcases; clothes, tchotchkes, my kindle, then started sorting through the various pieces of equipment I thought were necessary for the upcoming days, potentially weeks, when I wouldn’t have access to my apartment.
The prospect of being glued to Aidan’s side made that less of an ordeal.
Something he picked up on.
"I’m surprised you’re not arguing with me."
"I might have felt a little more constrained if we hadn’t had sex," I informed him as I tucked my laptop inside the special pocket within my carry-on luggage.
"You’ll have to explain that logic," he murmured, poking at one of my zen gardens that I had on a table by the window in my office.
"Now I’ve got you hooked on my pussy, we’ll have to do it again. And again. And again. Why would I complain?"
He shook his head. "I always knew you were trouble."
"You still saved my ass though, didn’t you?" I prodded, pausing my packing to shoot him a look.
"You had answers I wanted to hear." He picked up the little rake and began smoothing through the pebbles in the zen garden to form his own patterns. I didn’t mind him destroying mine. Only because it was him, though.
"Didn’t your dad ever ask if you’d done as he requested?"
"Da doesn’t ask. He just expects. That creates many a loophole that can be exploited." He cast me a look. "Do you want to know what it was that made me come to the coffee shop that day?"
