Ben
She has something to tell me. My arms drop to my sides. I shouldn’t be touching her so much. I shouldn’t have closed the door. I shouldn’t have invited her in. But she’s here now, just inches away from me… and my God, my hands are shaking.
I want to pull her onto my lap and bury my face in her neck. What kind of man am I that I can barely control myself around this beautiful child? I’d wondered if it were some kind of sickness, if maybe I liked young girls. But I don’t.
It’s just this girl. This one girl. Not yet eighteen. Not for another two months. I cannot touch her. Not only because of the moral code I strictly adhere to, but because of existing laws.
Melody is below the age of consent.
“Ben,” she says in that sweet, lilting voice of hers that brings to mind wind-chimes dancin
