Kane's Hell

“You have an errand to run. My nipples will be here when you get back.” She smirked as she pushed off me.

I groaned dramatically. “Yeah? Well, Hilde will be here too.”

She smiled sweetly as I crawled up from the floor.

I wrapped my arms around her, leaning to her ear. “Careful little tease. I’m not afraid to make you lay flooring naked with an anal plug in your ass. In fact, I’d like it very much.” I smacked her butt and walked out of the room, speaking over my shoulder. “I must go pick up a sink now. Make Hilde take a bite of my food, so I know she’s not trying to kill me.”

Helene laughed as she followed me from the room.

I pulled out of the driveway a few minutes later, and I passed Hilde on my way into town. I gave her the appropriate wave, and she ignored me completely. I wandered the aisles once I’d made it into the oversized store. I was contemplating buying the light fixtures I still needed, but as I strolled, I kept worrying Helene wouldn’t like them. It wasn’t my house, it also wasn’t my intention to live in the house any longer than I absolutely had to, and yet, I couldn’t help but want that space to feel like us.

The whole process ended up inspiring a very pleasant daydream of Helene—one that included a home of our own, a life of our own. I could imagine relaxing on a couch with her and watching a movie, laughing with her at the dinner table, making love to her in a bed that belonged to both of us, sleeping in late, taking walks, owning a dog for fuck sake. It was all so … domestic, strangely and intriguingly domestic. It also felt very foreign to me, as though that life was a page in a magazine—stunning, glossy, perfectly composed, but it was just a picture of something beautiful. It wasn’t the thing itself. The thing itself existed in some place so far off and outside my realm of understanding that I couldn’t really accept it truly existed.

But, God … what if it could?

When my brain returned from fantasy land, I was staring blankly at a display of ceiling fans, seeing nothing, just staring like an idiot.

I looked around, making sure no one had caught me drooling over my daydreams, and then I moved on to the kitchen section. It didn’t take them long to bring the large farmhouse sink up to the loading area. It was going to look perfect with the antiqued cupboards. My dad’s house was rustic to begin with. That had always translated into run down, cheap, outdated, smelly, and just plain disgusting. But now … the rusticity was going to be charming, fresh, and frankly, damn enviable. It was exactly what a quiet, out of the way home buried in the woods was supposed to be. It was the type of home that belonged on the pages of that glossy magazine spread I was enthralled with.

My phone rang as I was pulling out of the parking lot, and I snatched it up.

“Mr. Thorson, this is Sadie from Shady Oaks.” Her voice was clipped. I didn’t think Sadie liked me very much.

I sighed. “What’s he done now?”

Sadie was silent for a moment. “No. It… I just wanted you to know we’ll be calling Dr. Cameron to have your father seen early this next week. It’s nothing we feel warrants emergency attention. He’s exhibited some behaviors that could be concerning but could also be nothing. We just want to be thorough.”

I pulled the truck over in a parking lot. “All of his behaviors, past and present, are concerning to me,” I muttered. “What kind of concerning behaviors are you talking about?”

“He seems confused, disoriented, placid.”

“And you consider this somehow different from how he’s been behaving since having a stroke?” I scoffed. “Sounds pretty typical to me.”

“Well, that’s the problem with stroke victims. It makes it far more difficult to assess their symptoms when their neurological function is already compromised. He just doesn’t seem … himself.”

“Meaning he hasn’t broken anyone’s nose recently?”

“Meaning, I think it’s important to further assess his current state,” Sadie said with a decidedly annoyed tone to her voice. “You know, Mr. Thorson, he is your father. And I understand that his behavior now may be off-putting, but you can’t—”

“First of all, Sadie,” I cut her off quickly. “You don’t know my father. And what you call off-putting, I happen to know as his normal state of being. He is no more an asshole now than he’s ever been, and if I choose to hate him for that, that’s my business, not yours.” I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I appreciate you calling. Keep me posted on any new developments.” And then I hung up.

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