SORRY I'VE TAKEN SO LONG TO WRITE THIS. I AM VERY NERVOUS ABOUT THIS ONE. HOPE IT ISN'T BAD AND THAT IT SATISFIES YOU, WHAT FINALLY HAPPENS?
CHAPTER 12
CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW
TWO WEEKS LATER
Whenever, on the rare occasion that my daughter goes to her mothers for the weekend, I like to listen to some old music, a little Frank Sinatra here, a little of The Rolling Stones there. And also, mostly, since it's safe to and my daughter is nowhere in the house to feel embarrassed of me, I like to get a little drunk. Sometimes even indulge in a little orchestral music and the classic piano symphonies I enjoy listening to so much -Beethoven, Liberace- while catching up on work in my study.
I have a hidden stash of hard liquor above the refrigerator, out of sight where my daughter usually cannot reach it. Pure large gin and vodka bottles are hidden right up near the wall, where Katherine can never see them.
I haven't eaten any dinner yet, but tonight, I decide not to. Seeing as I'm alone, I decide I'm allowed to get completely and utterly shit-faced tonight. I haven't done this in months, so I decide I deserve a little fun and to be reckless for once. I'm sure the bitch ex has drank enough holidaying for the both of us with her new asshole.
Grabbing both bottles, I set them on the counter. Then I grab a glass and pour myself a generous few nips of vodka. I tip it into my mouth, straight, cringing at the aftertaste. The bitterness stings deep in my gut, making my throat ache with warmth.
Pouring myself a glass of gin, this time I take it slower, sipping small mouthfuls while pacing into the living room.
I find one of my CD's, only just remembering Anastasia still has some of my good ones of Frank Sinatra that I let her borrow. It doesn't matter, though. I have enough Frank albums as it is. I open one up, pushing it into the player, pressing play.
Then I turn up stereo system a decent amount, mouthing along to the words as I down the rest of the gin in four mouthfuls. I'm definitely giving my liver a workout. I haven't been this reckless since my college days and I drank an entire jug of beer all by myself.
The doorbell rings just as I'm wandering back into the kitchen to fix myself another drink.
I almost don't answer out of stubbornness. If this is the bitch ex dropping our daughter back onto the doorstep because she's decided not to take her for the weekend and let me have a little piece and alone time, I will be furious.
But then it rings again, hesitantly and quickly, a second later. I can't just leave whoever it is out on the doorstep in the cold. If it isn't urgent, they wouldn't have rang twice. They would have given up on the first go.
Slamming my glass down on the counter, I head towards the door briskly. I open the front door, and see her. I've just opened the door, at the right time, because she's started walking away, assuming since no one had answered that there isn't anyone home.
I know who it is the instance I see her back facing me. It's that bag. Always familiar, always the one she brings along with her when staying over; The strap around one shoulder, the bag hanging and swaying around her hip. I know that body shape, that stark-white, long sleeved woolen cardigan that hangs just around her backside. I know those slender, slim legs, accentuated in tight black leggings. Not due to studying her body out of some sick perverted leering, of course, but simply due to familiarity.
Above all, I know that wavy, dark hair that falls just inches below where her shoulder blades begin.
Anastasia. I haven't seen her in over 2 weeks.
To say the least, last weekend was extremely quiet and my daughter was restless without her. Admittedly, I felt the same and, dare I even admit it, I had missed her myself. Even I had missed Anastasia's welcoming, positive presence in the house.
"Anastasia?" I call in confusion, leaning back against the door.
She stops at the sound of her name, turning back around to look at me. In the darkness outside the front of the house, with just the harsh automatic sensor lights illuminating her face, she looks younger. I don't know whether it's because I'm starting to get a little tipsy or not, but just with my shirt on, it's freezing when the air blows in at me. I think I even see her shivering in the lights. She appears vulnerable almost. A look I haven't seen on her before.
What is she doing here? Did she forget that my daughter is staying over at her mother's this weekend? Or did Kate not even remember to fill her in? It's confusing. Surely she would have known?
"Oh, Mr Grey." She bites down on her lip as she starts walking back towards me, both fingers tugging on the long sleeves covering each wrist. "Um, I wasn't sure what to do. I'm sort of... lost at the moment." Her eyes stare and shine at me in the light, then she looks towards the garage nervously. "Um, I know that Kate's staying at her Mom's this weekend, but I just... I don't know what else to do?"
"You don't know what else to do?" I have no idea what she means or what's going on, but she looks sincerely worried. Her fingers keep fidgeting with her sleeves and she looks rather... upset. I can see she's cold standing outside at this hour so, without thinking, I step aside, beckoning her in. "Come in and talk to me. You look freezing."
"Oh. Are you sure?" Her teeth bite down on her lip again briefly, as she peers past me through the front door, her face filled with indecision. "I don't want to, um, intrude?"
"You're not intruding," I assure her seriously. I reach out, taking her arm gently. Even through the fabric of her cardigan, I can feel her trembling. I rub her hand with the back of my hand, guiding her in. "Please."
She smiles at me gratefully, moving past me. She stops inside the hallway as I shut the door, Frank's voice filling the air between us as she glances back at me. Now that I can see her better, it looks like she's wearing red lipstick but I can't be certain. I don't think I've ever seen Anastasia wear lipstick. Perhaps I just haven't bothered to notice it.
"What's happened?" I ask gently, because I can see she's concerned. I may have issues with raising a young woman and knowing how to understand her, but I try my best, even with her best friend. "Is everything all right?"
"Not really." She breathes in deeply. "See, my Mom isn't home at the moment and she's gone away for the weekend, so I really... I don't know what to do."
"Your mother's gone away for the weekend?" I repeat in surprise. What kind of mother would leave her daughter alone, especially at her age, all weekend?
"Yeah, she, um... she likes to take advantage of the weekends when I'm staying here. She went off somewhere with this man that she's dating right now so I'm sort of stuck alone."
"Your stuck alone all weekend?"
"Yeah. And it's pretty... scary and lonely. I wasn't sure what else to do, so I... I caught a cab here. I forgot that Kate was going to be away."
She told me about her father dying when she was younger, so I don't bother asking if she has any other relative or someone close to her that she can stay with. But the fact that her mother just up and left her without some sort of parental supervision no matter how mature she seemed, it leaves me feeling irritated, her negligence towards her own daughter.
"So I'm sort of stuck at the moment," she continues in an unsteady, quiet voice. "I really don't have anywhere else to go right now or... um, anybody else I know so I... I thought it would be safest if I came here?"
"So you don't even know where your mother went?" I ask her. "This is something she usually does every weekend while you would stay here? She would go away?"
"Pretty much, yeah." Turning on her side, she gestures towards the front door, her face changing. All of a sudden, she doesn't look so much as worried anymore, as she does upset. It's as if something is bothering her; Something is niggling away at her. "Um, look. I can just go and leave if you want? I know I'm not your daughter, it isn't really your problem, and I-"
I'm stunned by her words. Where did that come from? Where did she get the impression that I was forcing her to leave right now? Am I truly that heartless to her? "Anastasia, I'm not saying that I want you to leave right now, sweetheart," I get out desperately, running my fingers through my hair, "That isn't why I'm asking all these questions. I'm simply just trying to-"
"-But I heard you, Christian, don't you get that?" She mutters out loud over me abruptly with a laugh that sounds bitter.
"Heard me? Heard me with what?"
"You know, that... that Sunday morning a few weeks ago?" Her voice is shaking, her bottom lip jutting out a little as she glances down at her sleeves again, yanking on each of them with her fingers. "I heard you with Kate a couple of weeks ago but clearly you didn't expect me to?"
I stare at her blankly, blinking. I can see she's visibly upset about something, but I'm not entirely sure what. This reminds me, oddly enough, of arguments I have with Katherine; How she'll get so fired up, that expressing herself and attempting to vocalize her point is stressful on her. But I said something to my daughter, and she heard?
"You said to Kate to drop me home right away, like I'd done something wrong and that... that it might do us some good, it might be healthy if we had some time apart because I'm always here on the weekends?" She explains in an impatiently loud voice down at the floor and suddenly, I get it. Shit, she heard me. I hadn't meant for her to hear me.
And now that I realize that she had, that she's hurt and almost on the verge of tears because of overhearing me, I feel like a complete and utter, cruel asshole. It occurs to me how selfish I've been, thinking of myself and not how her and my daughter felt. I'd unintentionally been punishing the pair of them, pushing them apart, all because of me and my stupid fucking reactions and these weird feelings I've developed for this girl.
"It's the reason why I didn't come last weekend," she mutters, still down at the floor and at her hands. "I just... I don't know what I did wrong and I've been going crazy out of my mind all week trying to figure it out!"
"Anastasia, you didn't do anything wrong. I promise you."
"Then why?" she demands, and finally, she peers up at me. "Is it because I texted you that time even although I... I guess I probably shouldn't have?" She shakes her head, frowning in confusion.
"Of course not. It isn't about that at all," I assure her. "Honestly, I enjoyed it with you!"
"Then what? You don't want Kate and I being friends anymore?"
"Absolutely not, I would never-"
"- You don't like us being friends? You don't like me?"
"That isn't it at all, Anastasia." I sigh loudly, holding up both hands. How the fuck do I explain this? Obviously, I can't explain it. If I explained it, the terrible embarrassing truth, then... "I think you're a wonderful friend to my daughter. Honestly, I appreciate that she has someone there as loyal as you."
"Then what?" Her eyes are wet, blazing with anger. With hurt. I can see it's taking her everything not to shed tears. It's devastating. "Just tell me what I did here?"
If she cries, I have no fucking idea what I'll do. I hate it even when my daughter cries, I cannot stand it. Especially when I know it's all because of me and all my doing, that I'm the one responsible for it. Some might call it being soft-hearted or weak, but it's the truth.
But if I somehow was irresponsible for even one second, if I told her the truth...
That I did it out of my own selfishness, that it was all for me.
I didn't suggest time apart because I thought Anastasia and my daughters close friendship was bordering on unhealthy. Time apart being healthy for them was a flat-out lie. The suggestion of time apart being healthy was solely for me, and for my own benefit alone.
So that I could sort my own shit out, so that I could attempt to stop whatever it was that I was starting to feel for her by putting some distance between us. Even if that meant unfairly separating my daughter from her best friend for a while.
Even if it meant hurting my daughters closest and only friend at school.
Truth is, I've begun not to trust myself around her anymore. To do what is probably the 'right' thing, in everyone else's eyes.
2 weeks away from her and all I've done is think about her constantly. The absence of her in the house on the weekends, her sunny presence- it was not just felt by my daughter, but by myself as well. She's become a constant fixture in my mind.
I should win the Worst Father of the Year Award. If anyone would win 1st prize right now, it would be me. And deservingly so. How have I made such a mess of this?
I try again, hoping my face looks as honest and heartfelt as possible. "Anastasia, like I just said... it wasn't anything you did at all. I just noticed that you and my daughter have been spending a lot of time together. Every day at school, at the house on weekends. I simply thought it might..." I hate to do it, because again, I'm lying through my teeth. But it's the only thing I feel I can say, the only safe excuse to come up with right now at the tip of my tongue. "Do the pair of you some good, to focus not only on school work and assignments that are coming up, but to also focus on your upcoming graduation and the lifestyle choices you both are bound to make."
"And we talk about that all the time, despite what you think," she says defensively. "We don't talk about foolish things all the time like boys that Kate might be attracted to at school or parties we'll eventually go to, or what new fashion or make up trends that are coming into style."
Of course they don't, and I already assumed as much. With a girl like Anastasia who seems so much more mature and wiser beyond her years, I expect their conversations to naturally have more depth than that.
"We've actually talked a lot about college," she continues, making her point, raising her chin higher in the air. "We've talked about what we hope to do once we graduate and we talk about filling in college applications together and how, eventually, we hope to rent an apartment together in the future..."
She's so upset she's trembling. I take a step towards her out of pity, and then she bursts into tears, just like I was fearing and dreading she would. Her face crumples miserably, her lips wobbling, then the tears spill out, cascading down her cheeks.
"Ssh, ssh. Don't start crying, Anastasia, please." My heart is broken, shattered into a million pieces as she quickly brings up her arms, wiping her moist cheeks hurriedly on the sleeves of her cardigan. She sniffs loudly, avoiding my eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't know that you heard me say that to my daughter."
"I know you probably didn't mean for me to hear it, but... I did," she says, her voice just a soft whine. "And it really hurt, because... I've been trying to be nothing but supportive to you because I know all the hard things you've been going through and I'm trying to be a good friend to Kate, and I just... I don't know why you'd kick me out like I've done something so badly wrong!" I can't bear it, the sound of her voice, the look on her face. And it's all my fault, and I can't bear it for making her upset.
It is official. I am an asshole of epic proportions.
I have no idea what to do. If she were Katherine, I would have apologized and hugged her. Maybe even kiss her forehead and hold her until she stopped crying. But Anastasia is not my daughter and what I've been feeling for her, even now... they are not fatherly feelings in the slightest. So I do the only thing I assume is both right and safe to do, without making her feel uncomfortable.
Stepping closer, I grab the strap of her bag, sliding it off her shoulder. I dump it on the floor, then slip my arm around her back. I hold onto her for a second, letting Anastasia sob softly against my shirt while covering her face with the white sleeves of her cardigan out of embarrassment, then my mind is made up, despite how dangerous and downright uncomfortable it may be for me. I'm the adult here, and I have a responsibility. I can either be responsible or irresponsible and utterly reckless and act out on my attraction to her.
Of course, naturally due to the man I aspire to be, I immediately be the former of the 2.
"Come into the kitchen where it's warmer," I murmur gently. "Since your mother isn't home at your house for the weekend to supervise, you can stay here for the 2 nights like you normally do."
She has nowhere else to go, obviously. I have no other choice and to just send her out on her way while I've made her upset, well, fuck, that would be incredibly callous, even for me. Besides, a deeper part of me will be happy to know where she is after learning about her mother being absent and that she's safe. It's the best thing to do. It satisfies some protective fatherly old codger instinct in me.
Plus, it's just 2 fucking nights alone without my daughter here. How difficult can it be?
"Really?" She pulls her face out of her sleeves for 30 seconds to peer up at me hopefully, her eyes still wet with tears. The look almost breaks my heart all over again. Her cheeks are red and splotchy from crying, and up closer, holding her to me, I hadn't realized she has tiny freckles scattered around the bridge of her nose. "You wouldn't mind if I stay here for the weekend?"
"Well, I wouldn't dare leave you out on the street, would I?" I say quietly, rubbing her shoulder with my hand. "Of course, you can stay here for the 2 nights. However, I should warn you that it may get boring in my company and because Kate's not here to amuse you..."
She shakes her head, wiping around her face with her sleeves again quickly. "Thank you," she murmurs. "I'd really appreciate it."
Leading her into the kitchen, she pulls away from me, climbing up onto the stool at the breakfast table. She wraps one long arm around her stomach as if to comfort herself, the other, she holds in front of her mouth, still shielding her face, unnecessarily ashamed of her tears. Again, she looks so vulnerable and younger and endearing as she sits there, sniffling quietly. Seeing and managing to make Anastasia cry- it was something I hadn't ever wanted.
"Are you hungry?"
She shakes her head, her eyes darting around the room while she bites her lips. Then she notices my lone glass on the table, as well as the 2 large bottles of vodka and gin.
She raises her eyebrows at me, "Are you planning to drink both of them large bottles of alcohol in 1 night?" Finally, I know everything is starting to get back to normal again. Now, she sounds much better. Less upset and lighter with amusement, although her eyes are still shining with unshed tears and her face is still red and track-marked. Due to crying, her lips seem more larger and swollen. I find it irresistible.
"Of course not," I reply, trying to think of something to say to get her to smile. God knows, it's been lackluster without her smiles these past few weeks. I could definitely use a smile right now. "Unless you wish to see me fall into an alcohol induced coma?"
"Of course not." My heart feels lighter when she laughs shortly. Success.
I pour myself a much needed glass of vodka after seeing her emotional. Young women crying... it takes a lot of energy out of you. "You can sleep in Kate's bed, seeing as she's away," I tell her, then I swallow a mouthful down, wincing at the aftertaste. I peer over at her to find Anastasia staring at me in a strange way.
"Do you think I could maybe try some?" she asks uncertainly.
I stare at her for a moment thoughtfully, considering. I shouldn't really do it and it would be asking for trouble. I do not want to support underage drinking, of course, but even I cannot see the harm in just giving her permission to have one, small sip. I decide, why the hell not?
"Only one sip," I allow, handing her the glass.
I watch her, feeling more amused than I probably should.
Anastasia holds my eyes as she lifts the glass to her lips, pursing her top one over the rim. I cannot contain my laughter at her reaction when she finally finds the nerve to tilt up the glass, inhaling in a particularly impressive mouthful. She cringes and moans in disgust as she swallows hastily, shoving the glass back into my hands forcefully. Her eyes narrow as she makes another comical expression of disgust, shaking her head furiously.
"That's without a doubt the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted in my entire life," she breathes out, then she brings her sleeves up to her mouth, coughing into them with a shudder. "Ugh. How can you drink that?"
"Usually people like to add other things to the alcohol," I explain to her. "Like cola, for instance. But if you intend to get truly drunk, and quickly, drinking it straight is the best way to go."
"So you're planning to get drunk as fast as possible?"
"Well, it was my original plan. Until you came along, of course."
"Well, please," she murmurs softly, her voice trembling with a restrained giggle. "Don't let me stop you."
Things fall silent after that for a weird moment, with Frank crooning in the background. I tilt my head back, downing gulps of the vodka. Then I pour myself another glass. I can tell it's already hitting me; That good, relaxed tipsy feeling. I can feel myself sweating beneath my armpits, the heat in my face.
"Hmm," Anastasia murmurs finally, and as I look at her, I see she's not looking at me. She's combing a hand through her hair, her slender fingers weaving through the lower strands. I think she's smiling to herself, blushing. "I think that would be interesting."
"What would be?" I ask, lost.
"Seeing you drunk," she explains quietly, her voice hoarse. She lifts her blue eyes up to me, and yes, she is definitely smiling now, I see. There is definitely something about her when she smiles. Even her eyes glitter, radiating warmth. I am fucked. "I mean, I've seen you upset before," she adds, and the heat in my face grows even worse at the memory. How she'd come downstairs, finding me emotional in the kitchen. It isn't a particularly fond moment for me. "But drunk. Like I said, that would be... interesting."
I swallow another sip of alcohol, eyeing her, "Interesting?"
"Yeah, because... you're just so..." She pauses thoughtfully, eyes still on mine, teeth sinking into her lower lip,"Self-restrained and... insecure, I guess. I think it would be interesting, seeing you lose all inhibition. I think it would be interesting to see you fully relaxed. Something tells me you aren't very often." At that, she presses her lips tightly together, suppressing a smile as she glances down at her thighs.
Perhaps its because I'm halfway there to getting drunk, but I feel mesmerized by her, enchanted by her. I cannot seem to take my eyes off her as she lifts her head while squeezing her eyes tightly shut, her head moving slightly.
"My song," she whispers with a full smile. Then she reopens her eyes, meeting mine.
I listen too carefully, realizing the track that's now playing is 'I've Got You Under My Skin'. "Actually, it's my song," I mutter, teasing her, feigning insult. "Since I'm older than you, I believe it's safe to say that this has been my song for far longer than it's been yours."
"Ours then," she murmurs, correcting herself playfully. "It can be our song then."
I didn't even realize how close I was standing near the stool where she sits, until she slides off, brushing up against me. I back away, trying to put an appropriate distance between us, but by then, it's far too late. My physical reactions are far too fucking slow and sloppy, likely due to the vodka and gin. I feel drowsy and too content to even move fast enough.
Anastasia reaches out, taking my hand, prying my fingers off the glass I'm holding. She sits it down on the breakfast counter, then she holds my hand tightly in hers. It's fucking disgraceful of me, how much I like the smallness of her hand compared to mine, the shortness in the length of her fingers compared to mine and how soft and dainty they seem to be.
"Dance with me?" she asks, very temptingly.
Girl after my own heart, willing to dance to the glory that is Frank...
I study her as she steps in closer, the fingers of her left hand still clinging to mine, and before I know it, I am obeying her command.
She brings up her other hand and I feel it, aware of it more than anything else in the entire fucking world, as she slowly traces her fingertips lightly up my bare arm. I swallow against a hard lump forming at the back of my throat as I watch her slender fingers roam, tracing a pattern up the protruding blue veins on my wrist. Again, I'm not sure if it's the alcohol impairing my brain cognition but I feel dreadful spasms of warmth, of enjoyment at what she's doing to me. I haven't been touched like this in so long.
Curling her fingers over my arm, she continues up my forearm, clenching down into my skin, then releasing... clenching again, releasing, like a pleasant massage, until... she reaches up over the fabric of my shirt. My eyes drift to her face as I swallow against that irritating lump again when she reaches my bicep. Her fingers squeeze and feel around at the solid mass of muscle, her eyes glistening, breathing hard.
"Your arms are very muscular," she observes, her voice low, drowsy.
"Are they?" I sound just as drowsy.
"Yeah, they are," she murmurs, both her eyebrows lifting. She seems impressed, and it occurs to me that she is not the only 1 breathing loudly here. Frank Sinatra's music may as well not even be playing. All I can seem to hear is her breathing, and my disjointed breathing.
Why does it have to feel so good, the way she touches me? I can't understand it.
Somehow, I feel like she's praising me, as if she's commending the way I look after myself. Admittedly, I do try to look after myself. Jogging, golf, weight lifting, good diet, all of that. I have never had anyone Anastasia's age comment on it before. Frankly, I like it, the fact that she is.
Fuck, who am I kidding? Put everything she's said it me on 1 single scrap of a page, and it would be all compliments and flattering remarks. What is it that she wants from me?
"And you have a big mouth," I murmur beneath my breath, then feel like kicking myself. Jesus, she has a big mouth? What sort of thing is that to say to someone?
Anastasia's mouth drops open at my words, then she closes it, giving me a weird look. I think she's playing with me, she's amused, but I can't tell. "I've never been accused of having a big mouth before?" To my relief, she laughs. I still feel stupid though.
"It came out the wrong way," I say hastily, embarrassed. "Probably thanks to the alcohol. I meant it in a good way."
"How can it mean something good, you saying I have a 'big mouth'?"
"I meant a big, beautiful mouth. With the lipstick you're wearing." I gesture awkwardly to my face, still kicking myself. "When you smile, I mean. You have a nice, beautiful big smile. It was meant as a compliment."
Finally, she brings up her hand, meeting the top of my shoulder.
Without hesitation, I reach down, gripping the side of her waist, her hipbone, my fingers spread apart. I know how to dance, of course I do. I like to think of myself as a good dancer. And as I instinctively take the lead, guiding us out of the kitchen with wide, bouncing steps, I notice Anastasia struggling to keep up.
She laughs softly as she stumbles back, her foot and one of her knees knocking against mine. I find myself unable to look at anything else but her face while she watches my feet move, trying to copy me, her brows furrowed in concentration.
It feels fucking amazing and I feel liberated. Teaching her how to dance, guiding her towards the living room while Sinatra plays.
Somehow, every single time I'm with her, like when I taught her how to steer The Grace, she makes me feel masculine again. I feel like a man again, an experienced, worldly man teaching a young woman and offering her guidance.
I feel young again.
I feel desirable when, getting into the knack of it, Anastasia finally lifts her chin, meeting my gaze.
Her eyes flash back at me as she laughs, every movement making the strands of her long hair blow back away from her shoulder. There's something alluring about her exposed long neck, her collarbone. I find myself wanting to kiss it, to trace every hollow of it with my mouth.
Yeah, as I can see, this time away from her being at the house has helped me completely. Getting rid of her for 1 weekend and yet, the minute she shows up here, dancing with me, just like that I'm infatuated with her all over again.
Shaking my head, I try to discipline myself in keeping my eyes on nothing else but hers as we move. A new song by Frank starts- The Way You Look Tonight, another favorite of mine- and I try to keep focused by chanting the lyrics to the song in my head instead of paying too much attention to how nice the lipstick suits her and how good her hand feels in mine.
"Yes, you're lovely, with your smile so warm, And your cheeks so soft," I speak under my breath along with Frank, hoping not to let my mind wander. "There is nothing for me but to love you, and the way you look tonight..." I notice her eyes drift to my mouth as I speak the words wordlessly, and I think I hear her laugh again.
"You know the words to this song?" she asks, impressed.
"I do. Honestly, I know most of the words to good old Frank's songs."
"Well, your a very good dancer."
"I've had years and years to practice, Anastasia. Once you get to be my age, you'll get your practice in as well. Trust me." I cringe at how elderly I sound, how stupid, but to my relief she just smiles. Frank's right. Yes, she is lovely indeed, with her smile so warm and her cheeks no doubt soft...
She starts a new conversation over the music, lifting her voice louder, "I didn't get to ask you before obviously, but... um, I guess I was wondering how it went after your date with that Gia woman a couple of weeks ago? I mean, I know you told me how bad it was, but... did you 2 ever go out again?" She sounds curious, yet there's a slight hopeful edge to her tone.
"No, we didn't end up taking it any further, Anastasia. We never contacted each other ever again.I suspect Gia felt it went just as terrible as I did."
"Oh. And so you haven't been on anymore dates since that?"
"No, absolutely not." I wonder if she notices how uncomfortable I sound. The date with Gia had been horrifying. Honestly, I think it's turned me off trying to get into the whole dating scene again. I think I'm content now with being a single father for the rest of my life, if it means avoiding anymore horrendous dates with women. "I think the dates scared me off forever. I still have nightmares even just thinking about it." It's an exaggeration, of course. I don't truly have nightmares, I just want to try make her laugh again. Yes, I'm selfish that way.
"Good then." I think I hear her mutter it through Frank's crooning. Have I mistaken her saying that? I observe her, very carefully, the way her face looks. Did she truly just say what I thought she said? Did she really just say it was 'good' or am I imagining the whole entire thing?
"What?" I try to mouth over the music, confused.
I twirl her around, try to change routine a bit. Second time I twirl her and she spins back around beneath my arm, I see she's smiling, a large, carefree beautiful smile. She meets my gaze with red cheeks as she laughs silently beneath the music, tilting her head to the side. She's enjoying this and perhaps, I am too surprisingly. I cannot remember the last time I've danced without making a fool of myself, yet here I am, causing this girl such joy. It makes my heart heat up.
And then I don't even know how it happens, but suddenly she's standing close, her face inches away from mine. She's muttering something beneath her breath at me, rambling nervously. Something about how she hasn't felt brave enough to do it but now that graduation is approaching she'll probably be gone soon and now she feels ready. If she doesn't do it now she'll regret it forever. Or something along those lines. It's impossible to hear her properly with the music. It's all so fast and my ears feel somehow blocked, probably due to the drinks.
She untangles her hand from my fingers, and then she lifts up, until her arm is resting on top of my shoulder. I think I feel her fingers play with the strands at the nape of my neck, and then she lifts up her other hand, touching my cheek and her fingers feel so fucking good on my cheek. She strokes around my jaw, playing with the coarse stubble on my cheek, and I'm not even sure how this is happening and how we even got here, right to this point.
My head is filled with so many different things, it's foggy. Confusing to set my brain straight. It's wrong, I should move away. Fucking child molester, my daughters friend. So smooth and gentle, her fingers. Haven't even been stroked on the face by a woman in months. Then her fingers glide beneath my chin, playing with the hairs there that I haven't gotten around to shaving off properly, and I feel both my heart and mind shut down.
"Do you find me attractive?" she asks clearly through Frank, her voice different. Nervous, desperate. She licks her bright lips, her tongue peeking through a little. "Because I, um... Christian, I think your amazing. I know you probably already know that, don't you? That I... I have this sort of, um... crush on you?"
I feel like I'm turning into something else entirely, I'm not me anymore. A shifting change of gears, from man to animal. From the man I try to be, good, respectful, a decent father, to this... thing. This morally unacceptable thing.
Her fingers stroking the back of my neck, my chin... it's all too much. I bend down towards her, kissing her, very roughly. Pressing my lips against hers, holding them there tightly, waiting for her to react.
In some far away, distant fantasy in my mind, I expect her to immediately pull back, to rear back in disgust, shouting names at me. You sick fuck, what are you doing? Your my best friends dad, and yet, you kiss me, you fucking pervert? Get away from me, your disgusting.
I only feel her lips parting against mine, her breathing changing. She weaves her fingers through the hairs at the back of my head, clenching them into her fist, yanking at the strands. Her breasts and chest brush against my shirt, she's so close. Leaning against me, moving her warm hot mouth around mine.
The drinks I've consumed have evidently effected my mental alertness and my coordination. Just as she wished, all inhibitions, they've seemed to have disappeared. Vanished without a trace.
HOPE YOU LIKED AND THAT IT ISN'T TOO UNREALISTIC? TIME GAP BEGINS IN NEXT CHAPTER, WHERE ANA STARTS COLLEGE AFTER APPLICATIONS, ETC. SHE'S JUST DESPERATE TO AT LEAST LET HIM KNOW BY ACTION HOW SHE FEELS BEFORE GOING TO COLLEGE. THANKS FOR HELPING ME OUT WITH UNDERSTANDING THE SCHOOL SYSTEM, IT MEANS SO MUCH. AND ALSO, THANK YOU FOR YOUR KIND SUPPORT, I GET DAUNTED BY NEGATIVE WORDS BUT THAT HAPPENS IN ALL THINGS I SUPPOSE. :-)