School was my refuge.
I threw myself into sports in middle and high school as an escape. I was so damn thankful when I could start playing on teams and didn’t have to pay for any of it. I put in the time and the work, kept up my grades, and reveled in my athletic success. I wanted something to lose myself in, wanted to hear someone tell me good job, because I sure as hell never got that from my father.
And I got that. All of my coaches loved me. I played every sport they let me, minus wrestling. Never could get into that. Reminded me too much of home. Someone trying to pin me down, encourage me to fight, to break free.
Hated it.
I might have run away from my foster home when I was seventeen, but I remained in school because hell, I was on the baseball team and we were going to the division championships. I couldn’t abandon them. I wanted that title. I had scouts sniffing around me for a while, but my playing abilities combined with my grades were never quite enough. I wanted to finish out my senior year, though. By that time no one was allowed to call me Will anymore and I was going by Ethan. No one questioned the change, not even my teachers. It was as if they knew.
They probably did.
I stayed with my friend Daniel, crashed on the floor of his bedroom and thanked his hot mom over and over again, though she always told me it was no bother. She’d blush furiously, like she knew I thought she was hot and she was trying to discourage a crush.
Never did anything with Daniel’s mom, though I wanted to. Back then I was ashamed of any sexual feelings, afraid I would turn into some sick asshole like my dad. That scared me. I think I fixated on Daniel’s mom because I didn’t have one and she was so nice to me. I just . . .
Wanted someone to love me. Accept me.
If I were honest with myself, I’d know I was seeking something more with Katie than just reassuring myself that she’s safe. I want to watch over her, and it’s not just because I feel it’s my duty.
I want her. As wrong and twisted as I know it is, I can’t deny it. I want her, all for myself. When I think like that, in such possessive terms, it scares the shit out of me. Makes me feel like I’m turning into my father.
The last fucking thing I want to happen. I know I’m nothing like him. I get angry, yeah, but I don’t have rage issues. I don’t want to brutalize women or exert my power over them. And I definitely don’t want to do that to little girls.
Dear old dad is a sick fuck. I’m just a warped individual with an unhealthy fixation on a girl from my past.
Regret and guilt course through me and I shove both feelings aside. One dinner, I tell myself, making yet another empty promise I will no doubt break. One dinner won’t hurt anyone or anything. I’m playing with fire, I know. The more I get to know her, the more I talk to her, text her, fucking think about her, the more I want her. There’s no use denying it. I may as well embrace the want.
No matter how much it might get me in trouble in the long run. If she figures me out . . .
I’m fucking done for.
I’m here now, waiting for her in the location of her choosing. Not in the town where she lives, which surprised me but again, made me proud. She’s being cautious, not allowing me a deep glimpse into her personal life, though I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking, specifically about me.
Katie keeps me at arm’s length while we get to know each other and I understand why. It’s the right thing for her to do. She’s being safe.
Safe is good.
And I’m being reckless. Insane. Fucking around with something—someone—I shouldn’t. Though I know it’s wrong, it’s as though I can’t stop. I want her, all for my own. I want her to belong to me.
Have you ever experienced something that you know is so fucking wrong it only ever feels . . . right? That’s what’s happening right now. Talking with her on the phone—though the conversation had been brief—I’d almost fallen apart at just hearing her voice. The voice of my dreams, the same sweet voice that haunts me in my nightmares.
I hold on to that voice like a lifeline. There are so many things I want to hear her say to me, whisper to me in my ear. Forbidden, dirty things she’d probably find terrible. She’s not that kind of girl. She’s good and sweet and pure, a girl who’s been damaged by a man who violated her and tossed her aside like yesterday’s trash.
The sick cycle of what I’ve become isn’t lost on me. I want what I can’t have. I have no right to do this, to think like this, to act on this. I followed her like a stalker. Found her address after much investigating and skulked around like the asshole I’ve become. My behavior reminds me of . . .
My father.