I knew I fucked up. I knew it was wrong.
I still didn’t give two shits.
Avery wastoo precious not to be obsessed with, and no matter what kind of stern warning my father gave me, I wouldn’t let her go that easily.
Only it wasn’t just a stern warning.
My dad gave me an ultimatum: either I found my own place and stayed far away from Avery, or he would reveal myperversionsto her mother and let her handle it accordingly.
I wasn’t mad at him. He was well within his rights to be pissed off and want to tell on me. I honestly wouldn’t have blamed him. I was shocked he didn’t rat me out, to be totally honest—thankful, though, because it meant I still had a chance at watching my Avery.
So, I did as he asked—distanced myself.
I found an apartment in the next big town, a whopping two hours from their house, and even stopped coming around as much. The goal was to make it look like I didn’t have a magnetic pull to the amazing girl fate saw to make me fall in love with, despite the familial ties.
It worked.
My dad and I drifted, but that was bound to happen—it wasn’t like we were close to begin with. I wasn’t upset, not when he was the one who delivered her right into my hands, trapping her in my web for eternity, introducing me to the most profound emotions I’d ever experienced.
Avery’s mom, Marissa, had always been kind to me, but we never had a relationship.
And my adorable little Avery. She still hated my fucking guts, but she loosened up a little bit once we lived under separate roofs and only saw each other for special occasions and holidays.
That’s what she thought, anyway.
Although I had my apartment, I spent much more time at the house than any of them realized, basically lived there still.
When Avery was eating dinner, I stood outside the dining room window under the oak tree in the yard, hiding in the shadows as I watched her laugh with our parents and talk about her day. I longed to be part of the conversation, to have her look at me that way, to tell me everything that had happened to her, both good and bad.
When Avery was gone, I snuck into her room to smell her clothes, go through her things, and steal the occasional item. I had a box under my bed of the things I’d stolen from her: panties, lipstick, even a lingerie set I decided looked too sexy for her to wear for someone else. I kept it for the day she’d wear it forme.
When Avery was sleeping, I was at her window, sometimes inside her room if she had forgotten to close it. I loved sitting by her bed, watching her chest rise and fall as she dreamt her night away, oblivious to how close danger was.
When Avery spent the night away from the house, I was in her bed, wishing she were there with me. I liked to think that when she slept in her bed next, she would smell me, not knowing it was me but aware something was different.
I’d fucked many women over the years, ones who looked like Avery and ones who were totally opposite, just trying to get her out of my system. It did nothing except fuel my need to haveherunder me, moaning my name, clenching around my cock, looking into my eyes as I made her feel so good, she couldn’t take anymore.
I couldn’t have that, not yet.
But Michael could.
“You can sit back up, sweetheart,” my obstetrician told me after she’d pulled the cold speculum out.
I wiggled my ass back up onto the table and tucked the sheet back around my legs like she hadn’t just peered into the most intimate part of me.
“Was this your first time having sex?” she asked as she removed her gloves and washed her hands.
“Uh, yeah,” I responded quietly, wishing I was anywhere else.
She turned back around with a sympathetic smile. “Unfortunately, it’s pretty common to tear, especially the first time, if there wasn’t enough lubricant. I am sure that’s all it is.”
“Is that bad?” It felt like there was a severe wound inside me. The pain forced me to walk slowly, and I struggled to get out of bed. Even going to the bathroom was a fucking nightmare.
“Not at all; it's not the worst news. It should heal on its own, but until then, I’d recommend taking pain medicine if it ever bothers you.” There was a knock at the door, and she opened it slightly, pulling a stack of papers into the room. “I’ve printed off a little bit of information about vaginal tears. You can take it home and read over it if you’d like. If you’re not feeling better by the end of the week, though, go ahead and schedule another appointment, and we can check it out again.”
“Thanks.” I took the papers she gave me, heat rising to my cheeks when I spotted the large ‘Vaginal Tears’ title on top of the paper I’d have to hide when I left.
“Do you need a doctor’s note for anything?” I shook my head, and she logged off the computer. “Well, you go home and try to get some rest. Nothing strenuous for a few more days, okay?” She reached for the door. “I’d also recommend staying away from sex until you're healed, and when you try again, you may need to use some lube to help avoid future tears or make sure you spend time getting yourself properly prepared. Once you’re dressed, you can go ahead and leave. Take as much time as you need.”
