Second Son by Mallory Hart

Author:Mallory Hart [Hart, Mallory]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-06-13T16:00:00+00:00

ANDREA

MAY 1992

It shouldn’t have pissed me off.

But when I woke up in the middle of the night, watching Claire get dressed and sneak out the door, it did.

That bitter thought followed me throughout the week, putting everyone around me more on edge than usual. Even Manny kept his mouth shut, saying no more than two words to me in a clip. I worked, I drank, I played piano until five in the morning. I even called Amber, who had been blowing up my phone like it was her only job. But the second she picked up, I put it down, wondering how much of a dick I’d be if I asked her to dye her hair red.

No sex. I tried, but I couldn’t do it, taking my blue balls and my shame into cold showers, bitterly jacking off to the memory of fuck . . . Andrea. That sound skipped like a broken record in my head, making it hard to do anything but want to strangle her.

I didn’t know what I expected, less why I cared. I did what I set out to do, which was making it up to her. I didn’t hurt women; it was one of the few things I respected my brother-in-law for. Treating them like shit was another story, but that day in my office wasn’t being callous—it was genuine hurt. So, I did what I had to fix it. Selfishly, I wanted to fix it, and getting that quick little fuck out of the way should have been the end of my fascination. I told my sister there was nothing between me and Claire, and I wasn’t lying. So only God knew why I couldn’t get it up unless I imagined her hands around my dick.

She wasn’t a kid anymore, that was for sure. She wasn’t dumb either, even with the spitting accusations I gave her. I learned the hard way to never react on emotion, but something about the way she looked at me made me lose it. That fear, the shaking disgust like I was the worst thing she’d ever seen. She wasn’t even close to being the first to watch me like that, but it only got under my skin when she did. Maybe it was because she did it to no one else, but the few bits of rationality I had left told me otherwise.

I liked how she looked at me on New Year’s. I liked her shy smile after I kissed her cheek on Christmas. I liked how she looked with my finger in her mouth, wide eyes staring at me like I was God as I fucked her. Those little looks were few and far between, and I pathetically held on to each one. I didn’t want her smiling at waiters, at her friends, at strangers at the bar. I wanted her smiling at me.

In the end, I could chalk it up to annoyance at finally crossing something I couldn’t have. I got what I wanted, and usually without much of a fight.

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