I’m still hopelessly infatuated with my own goddamn guardian, and it’s sick.
Inconvenient and so damn wrong.
What is wrong with me? Am I some kind of pervert?
I came to terms with my sexuality pretty early on. By the time I was twelve, I already knew I liked boys not girls, and it’s never been something I’ve struggled with. Sure, I don’t broadcast my sexuality to the world, but that’s because I don’t broadcast anything. I like keeping to myself. I have friends, and they know I’m gay. I came out to James when I was fourteen, and he didn’t even bat an eye. He just told me that he loves and accepts me no matter what.
Why in the fucking world that made me swoon, I have no clue.
Yet from the moment I came into my own as a teen, growing slowly from a boy into a man, the only person I’ve managed to develop feelings for is the one I can’t have.
The one I won’t have. Ever.
It sucks balls. And not in the good way.
The movie keeps playing, into the next one, and James orders us pizza. It arrives quick enough and we eat. I indulge in my cake pop afterward while James finishes his second beer, quietly asking me to grab him another one. Taking the empty bottle from him, I jump up and race to the kitchen. He’s been asking me to get him beers since I was old enough to carry them, which only serves to remind me that I’m his kid. And I always will be.
I fucking loathe how heavy that fact sits in my gut as I return to the living room with a new bottle.
Sinking onto the couch, I hold out the beer, and when he takes it, our fingers brush. Tell me why that one insignificant touch sends a rack of shivers through my lower stomach and a twitch into my crotch. I have to fight not to roll my eyes at myself.
“Thanks, kid,” he murmurs, sipping from the bottle.
Kid. Yea… That’s what I am. His fucking son… Forever a child in his eyes.
I barely even notice I’m shivering so hard, teeth chattering, until he grunts, “You want me to start a fire?” He nods toward the fireplace across the living room.
“Uh… no.” My voice scrapes, and I clear my throat. “I’m fine.”
“Good, ’cause it’s actually pretty warm in here,” he huffs.
My side-eye takes in the sight of him, watching the TV and ignoring my fidgets. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, nowhere near as bundled as I am, and clearly, he’s comfortable. The lines of his wide chest, broad shoulders and thick arms are visible beneath the material, prompting me to tug my lower lip between my teeth.
I’m not cold either, James… Actually, I’m burning the fuck up.
Scolding myself internally, I decide to take on a new tactic for distraction, something that’s proven effective in the past. Prying into his heavily-guarded armor.
“So what happened with Leslie?” I rest my head on the back of the couch, eyes locked on the television screen.
“Nothing.” His deep voice rumbles at my side, giving me even more chills.
“That doesn’t sound right,” I keep poking. “Two years and it just ends? There’s gotta be a reason.”
He stays silent for a few lingering moments, swallowing a long pull from the bottle before he finally answers, “I don’t think I was in love with her…”
My stomach clenches. “You don’t think?”
His eyes shift to mine for a split second. “No. I… wasn’t.”
“Why not?”
“What’s with the third degree, kid?” He narrows his gaze at me from the side. “You breaking into investigative journalism or something?”
“Uh no.” I give him a look. “That would make for a very bland piece of writing. No one cares about your love life.”
He lets out a throaty chuckle, one that slithers into my brain through my ears and presses on something that releases a shot of dopamine. James doesn’t laugh often, and when he does, and I’m responsible for it, I swear to God, it’s like a hit of some really good drugs.
He sighs it out and shakes his head. “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t accept me for who I am… and who’s in my life.”
A painful throb of guilt stabs me in the chest like a sharp blade.
Me… They broke up because of me.
It’s my fault.
James will die alone because he’s too busy fretting over his grown-ass adoptive son, who’s secretly never happier than when it’s just the two of us.
I’m such a selfish asshole.
Correction, a perverted selfish asshole.
There are so many things I want to say, but I won’t let myself. Instead, I just slither off the couch and mumble, “I’m going to bed.”
Giving him my back, I only make it two steps before I hear him calling. “Jess… Don’t be like that. You wanted to know, so I fucking told you.”
I peek at him over my shoulder, forcing a smile. “No, I know. I’m just tired.”
Leaving the room quickly, while trying to act like I’m feeling totally normal inside, I stumble up the steps into my bedroom. Once inside with the door closed, I take in a long breath, squeezing my eyes shut while releasing it slowly.
I hate everything about what I’ve become. A thorn in the side of the person I love most in this world. The only person I love, for that matter.
I feel like such a moron as I pace around my bedroom. Obsessing over my own father—figure—for years, like a total creep. I just want these feelings to go away, but I’m not sure they ever will. It’s like a sickness… A terminal disease with no cure.
Trust me, I’ve tried to transfer the feelings onto others. I’ve hooked up with a few guys, more in the past year than before. I didn’t even have my first kiss until I was fifteen, because I never wanted to give it to anyone who wasn’t my own goddamn guardian. But I finally bit the bullet and did it. And it felt… so fucking wrong.
But I kept getting back up on that horse, only to be tossed off every time in disappointment. I lost my virginity six months ago to a dude from school, and even that just felt like a means to an end.
We’ve fucked a couple of times since, and it’s alright I guess, because he’s hot. He’s the captain of the football team, but he’s straight, so no one’s allowed to know he likes putting his dick in guys. Not that I even care, because I don’t want anything from him. Anything but a meaningless distraction.
An ultimate dissatisfaction.
Crawling into my bed beneath the covers, I grab my phone where it’s been charging on the nightstand. Speak of the devil, I have a new text from Tanner. I open it to find a dick pic, and I roll my eyes. Why am I not surprised one bit?
It’s a decent dick, and I guess it sort of gives my own erection some traction, but not much. I’m too lost in my own head, too focused on my sick crush to even bother responding. Instead, I stuff my phone under the pillow next to me and close my eyes.
My hand slithers down to the waistband of my sweats, slipping inside and grazing myself over my boxers. Teasing my hardening flesh, my mind swims with images of the man downstairs. The man who’s almost twice my age, and technically my father. Though not by blood, it’s still wrong. I’ve known him literally my entire life. He raised me… Changed my diapers and shit.
It’s twisted.