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Some sort of weird possession? Ownership? Or is it kinship?
Every day I saw him at work, it felt as if he could understand me. Understand what I need and dash it out to me without a single word. Calm my storm. He was just there. Mine. And now that I realized he has a whole life, and a girlfriend, it felt like a betrayal, and I couldn’t live with that.
“This was all a mistake,” I mutter under my breath as I toss the damp covers off my body and move to take a shower. “He’s a mistake.”
But I only see it now. After I learned what his desire for me looks like.
My words should have been enough to stop whatever it was that took over our rational thought last night. Stop his soft lips from touching mine while his hard and evidently large cock ground into my core. It would have been enough to drive anyone else away.
But Vassar is not like anyone else, is he?
No. He isn’t and never was.
I should have picked anyone else for this fake boyfriend crap. Literally anyone but him, but the only guy who has been my constant. My toy. My one ticket to that ocean floor.
I cannot believe I said all that to him last night. Granted, for most people, that would mean nothing, but for me, that was the most open I have been in, well, ever.
And I think he knows it.
He always sees through my shadows and murky waters.
Somehow, he pried those words out of me without as much as lifting a finger. No, not words, my deep desire to be loved, despite not having any love to give myself. One look, one word, one touch, and I was gone.
What would happen if he kept going? Kept emptying out the ocean I’m drowning in? What locked doors to my heartless soul would it pry open without as much as a passcode? And I was about to let him.
No. Come morning, I will kick him out, give him a glowing recommendation, and send him far away. Preferably to a different state. Or no, make that a country.
But once again, the jealous green monster living inside my head—especially for Vassar Levidis—has its own ideas when I wake up in the morning and find him gone.
Chapter sixteen
Vassar
“Daddy!” Victoria squeaks out, jumping off her bar stool and running into me as soon as I open the front door.
“Hey, Angel.” Falling down to my knees in front of her, I wrap my arms around her little body, and she returns the favor tenfold. For the first time in the last twenty-four hours, I feel at peace, breathing in the comforting scent that is my daughter, and I vow to never leave her alone again.
Sleep was non-existent while I spent the night in that museum of black and white. Or actually, maybe it was a mortuary since I am still trying to warm up from my time there.
I was questioning my sanity the whole night. Why did I touch her, feel her perky tits in my palms? Why did I drag my hand into her pants, only to be addicted to the scent of her when I would never get the taste to go with it?
She said it was all an act, but nothing about feeling her in my arms felt like one. Neither did the heart beating out of her chest. And maybe that is why the stupid organ kept tugging on my feetto move up those stairs, follow the enchanting witch, and finish what I had started. This time by my hand, not hers…
I am tired to the last thread of my bones, and I still have a whole workday ahead of me, but this, right now, my daughter in my arms is all the fuel I need to go on forever.
“Daddy, I missed you so much, but you still forget that I am a mermaid, not an angel.”
“Hmm, can you be both?” I swear my five-year-old rolls her eyes at me, and it hits me like a truck. I am not here to see her grow up. I am not here to watch all these crazy little things she does. I am not here to read her bedtime stories or take her out for ice cream over the weekends.
I have no weekends.
“Fine, I guess for you I can be both, but only if you make me my chocolate chip pancakes,” she says with a sly smile, fully aware that she will have me do anything she wants with no complaints, and my mouth tips up into a first genuine smile of the day.
“That is a high payment, Angel. But for you, I’ll do anything.” I tip her nose as she giggles and goes back to the bar stool where she was coloring her Little Mermaid coloring book.
“Okay, time to fess up, big brother,” my sister confronts me as soon as I get up from my knees, and now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Where were you? What work had you ‘working’ the whole night? Oh my God, are you—” I slap a hand to her mouth before she can say the next words because Victoria is sitting not three feet away from us, and even though she is fully engrossed in her art, I don’t need my sister putting weird ideas in her bright head.
“Will you stop with the interrogation? And no, I am not.” I don’t continue knowing she understood I meant I am not seeing anyone.
