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By the timeI made it back to the house, I was starving.
It was the middle of the night, and I tried to be quiet. Okay, I think I tried to be quiet. Most of the shots had worn off, but I was still buzzed. I opened the fridge, mostly full of fancy waters and juices. A green bottle that I didn’t recognise, and a large casserole dish with a glass cover, caught my eye. I didn’t bother heating it up. I took off the top and grabbed a spoon, scooping a heap of meat, cheese, and noodles into my mouth. Slapping the tray down on the counter, I opened the fridge again and searched for the milk. Popping off the cap, I gulped straight from the jug.
“Are you seriously shoving your face full of my lasagna and drinking straight out of the milk jug in the middle of the night?” The sound of her voice was like a light being flipped on. My body ignited, and I shut the refrigerator door. I couldn’t get the smirk to leave my face, though.
Alyssa stood in front of me in a silk black robe, puffy face, and swollen lips. I must have woken her up. She rubbed her eyes and swatted her hand at me as she turned to leave. I reached out and grabbed her arm. I don’t remember thinking about it, just doing it. Why? Because I was lonely, but mostly because she looked so fucking perfect with her bare face.
She looked down at my arm, and then at me. I pulled her to my body and crashed my lips to hers. I bent, my hands cradling her face. Both her hands flew to my wrists, but she didn’t push them away. She breathed hard, and I felt her tongue rush inside of my mouth, our lips sliding together as I sucked and licked. Her tongue and lips fought back aggressively, surprising me.
I ran my hands down her back and cupped her plump backside, picking her up and carrying her to the counter behind us. I bent down and licked up and down her slit. She hissed, and I stopped.
“Do you want this as much as I do?” I looked up at her, and she nodded.
Propping her feet on my shoulders, I lapped at her sweet cunt until she was writhing beneath me. I kept my mouth around her clit, sucking gently and flicking the hood with my tongue. I slowly slid two fingers inside, and she took a sharp inhale. I looked up into her face, the window behind her and the full moon brightly spilled over her tits.
A car alarm outside sounded, startling us both. Alyssa hopped off the counter and pulled her robe together. “We can’t… we should stop.” She walked away, holding out her arms as if to steady herself. She walked away from me, the sweet nectar from her pussy still all over my face.
My father stood in his bedroom doorway to my right, but I wiped my face and kept walking. I jogged up the stairs to my bedroom and adjusted myself, my dick straining against my jeans. I hadn’t even closed the door yet, and I was whipping open the button and zipper, my back against the door, slamming it shut. I fisted my cock in my right hand and wiped my face with the left, smearing it into my mouth and tasting her sweet come. I erupted in less than five strokes. All over my hand, but all over Alyssa’s tits in my imagination.
My first instinct was to hate her. Everything she represented. She was spoiled, manipulative and a freak. I guess I can’t judge her for that last one. I didn’t want to judge anyone. It would take time for her to see who Kostas really was. The scared little boy inside of him that never really healed. If grandpapa just hugged him a little more or even spent more time with him- things could have been different.
I’ve already learned that only you can take responsibility for your growth and choose to take the steps to make it better. Our father would always hide behind his fists and his booze. It was the life he chose after our grandmother’s death. I was betting on the day he would put his hands on Alyssa.
And when that day comes, I will finally have a reason to beat the ever-living shit out of him.
I didn’t even tryto stop him. When he kissed me, the beach house around us ceased to exist.
It was just him and I. Our tongues, lips, and teeth. I was nursing my arm with a tub of cookies and cream ice cream and passed out with a spoon in my hands. When Kostas tried to yank me back from the stairs, he left a blue finger shaped bruise on my forearm. Kirsten told me to run, get out while I can. I shouldn’t fuck around with a guy like that.
She would know.
She’s right, but my drive to succeed is stronger than the fear of him hurting me. I could tough it out longer. I had to take a little more time.
A crash in the kitchen woke me up from a dead sleep, and I went to the noise out of sheer curiosity. Four of us lived here. Who would it be? I watched Judas as he chewed. As he inhaled the food that I made for hours. I didn’t even want to make the damn thing, but after Kostas chastising, I decided I should. Just to keep the peace. The way his jaw worked, the way his nostrils flared. Watching him eat the noodles and sauce, sloppy and loud. It only made me think about one thing I really wanted him to eat.
The first time I took his photograph, I was in awe of his physique, his height. When I got closer, his prominent Greek attributes made my breath catch. Some people see art in sunsets or in music, but I saw art in people. Every person as different as a snowflake or a thumbprint. And Judas’ thumbprint was a relic of a Greek God. In the flesh.
I snuck a few photos of him one morning after a night he was home and in bed at a reasonable hour. He sat by the pool with a mug of coffee, watching the people on the beach. Fresh from sleep, pillowy lips and squinty eyes; I snapped photos of him that could be in magazines. The beach and the sunset in the background.
I started that workday with a bright smile and pep in my step.
Two weeks had passedand living on the coast of California was boring if you didn’t surf.
Some days were so hot it was just better to stay in the A/C, and the other days I spent underneath a dock, watching camera screens. My eyes burned; my back was stiff. Long, boring nights without entertainment only led to shenanigans. Well, that’s what my mom used to say. Idle hands are the devil’s best friend. I always kept myself busy and prepared. I valued myself for my thoroughness and respect for staying in line. It was how peace was kept and how people became civilised.
When I found myself without a book or a project, my mind would wander. And wander it did. Right through the drawers of the desk. The phone call from the other day wouldn’t leave my head.
‘Hold out a little longer.’
There was something about Alyssa that I didn’t trust. People that got drunk too much were just hiding from something. Running away from something. And Alyssa sure liked her wine. What was she holding out for? Was this something she had roped my father into? Or had she not even told him? My alarm bells were ringing. I knew my father was deeply wounded by my mother. Not something he would ever admit. He had convinced himself that he had moved on.
The therapist we saw briefly after Mom left said, ‘if you deny your feelings, you’re not dealing with them.’ I doubted my father was over his relationship with my mother.
It made me wonder if Alyssa knew that.
Perhaps she didn’t care or had something to hide herself. She seemed that type, too personable and way too attractive. I opened the smallest drawer at the centre and an envelope with Alyssa’s name in cursive was inside. I snaked my fingers into the paper crevice and spread it apart. Personal checks, a lot of them.
I spread just a little further and squinted, cash. They were all made out to cash. I know that each small business can do business as they please; I’ve worked at some pretty sketchy places. But wouldn’t it just make sense to put the money back into the business?
