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I hate this. After Stas and I had been together about a week, he’d asked more about my family. I lied. He’d talked about his family. Gave me that speech about how much family meant. How family loyalty was everything and he never understood anyone that would turn their back on their family.
At that time, I didn’t think what we had would grow into this and I just lied to avoid the topic.
Now I’m trapped in it all.
I was so scared he wouldn’t want me if I told him the truth. I mean, I don’t want my family to find me either, so in my head I rationalized the whole thing. I’d been pretending I didn’t have a family for years, so in a way, it felt real to me.
I’ve been re-creating myself since I left and it also terrified me that somehow, if I told him the truth and he didn’t kick me to the curb, he would force me to be involved with them again.
I should have been honest. Maybe I could have explained that not all families are as close as his, that not all parents have their child’s best interests at heart. I could have tried.
The irony is, I grew up lying. It was our family legacy, and when I left, I swore I would change. And I did. Until I screwed up and told Stas I grew up in a commune.
I told him my parents died from the flu. Said they got sick and in our ‘village’ doctors were taboo, so they ended up dying along with the majority of the other members and that’s when I left. I said that was when I decided to find a new life, but it’s been hard because I have no birth certificate. I never went to school. There is no record of me anywhere.
Lies.
Lies.
Lies.
But I knew if I gave him real information about me, he could figure out who I was, that my name is not really Ginger Murphy, and then he would never trust me again. I rack my brain, day in and day out, trying to figure out a way out of this.
But nothing seems plausible. I only pray I can just keep up and actually become Ginger Murphy in every way and never have to reveal anything about my past.
My only slip up, was I told them the cult I lived in was in Herald, Virginia, which is where I actually grew up. That was my mistake, but I’ve never mentioned the town again and I just hope that Stas doesn’t remember that little tidbit.
“Must have been a fun way to grow up, I would think, in a place like that. Utopia.” George counters, leaning back in his chair and arching his back. He’s several inches taller than Daddy and broader as well, his chest filling out the white shirt on a deep breath. “Maybe we take a break? My ego and my back could use it.”
I stifle the laugh and am relieved at the change of subject. “Sounds good. You hungry? I’ll share my chicken strips with you.” I stand and stretch, feeling the hours of sitting on my still-sore rear end from a little play spanking I got yesterday, as well as the reminder that Daddy was inside me there just after.
He waves his hands in front of his face. “No, thank you. It’s bad enough you eat the spiciest ones they serve, but then you add that ghost pepper salt to them. Christ, that will peel the bark off a tree.”
“Suit yourself.” I snicker, walking into the kitchen and retrieving a box of the chicken from the warming drawer. George was nice enough to bring me a decent supply and I’ve been munching on them all day.
I hop up onto the counter and take a bite as George shakes his head at me.
“Well, I’m hungry too, just not for those. I’m going to run to Marcio’s and get a pizza. You want anything?”
I shake my head, chewing a mouthful of the deliciousness, and he laughs as he pulls his keys from his pocket, already heading toward the back door.
“I shouldn’t be more than forty-five minutes. Maybe an hour, it’s a ways to town from here. You have your phone?” He asks, pulling the door open and stepping into the garage. His phone dings with a text. “It’s Stas asking if we’re good. Says they had to land for another mechanical problem that delayed them a few hours, but he’s hoping to be home before morning.”
I watch as George taps a reply.
“You want me to tell him anything?”
“Tell him I miss him.”
He nods and goes back to the phone as I lean back on a locked arm, making halfway dirty moaning sounds while I chew, swinging my feet off the edge of the counter.
