Reason
994 Words
The house is too quiet. Every step I take down the hallway echoes like it means something. Only one lamp is on, casting gold across the walls, and everything feels a little too still. A little too warm. With just the two of us here, the silence hums like it’s holding something back. I know I shouldn’t think about him, but I do. About how his voice sounds when it drops low. About how his mouth might feel against skin. About how his hands probably know how to ruin a woman, piece by piece.
I hate myself for wanting to know.
I always hear them. My mom and Nathan. Sometimes in the bedroom. Sometimes not. Kitchen. Bathroom. Living room. Garage. It’s like they forget I live here too. And I’d be lying if I said it never got to me. If I said I never felt something crawling under my skin when their voices got louder and the walls felt thinner. But this is different. This is the first time we’re alone. No mom. No noise. Just him in the living room and me in a nightgown that’s far too thin.
Why did I even wear this? Was I trying to tease him? Make him uncomfortable? Maybe.
Or maybe I just wanted him to see me.
I should turn around. I should go back to my room. But I don’t. I walk barefoot into the living room, pretending I’m just here for water, pretending my heart isn’t thudding like a drum under my ribs.
He notices me right away.
He’s on the couch, lounging like he belongs there. Shirtless. One hand draped across the back, the other holding a glass of wine. The TV glows softly, playing some old movie with slow jazz and long stares, but he isn’t watching it. He’s watching me.
His eyes move slowly — from my face to my legs, to the hem of my nightgown and how it clings to my body in the low light. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. I just keep walking, like nothing is happening.
“Want some water?” I ask, heading to the kitchen.
“No,” he says, his voice rough. “But a glass of wine might help.”
I raise a brow. “Wine?”
He looks up, his eyes meeting mine without hesitation. “Yeah.”
The way he says it makes something hot crawl up my spine. I bite the inside of my cheek and look away. Why does his voice have to sound like that? Like something you shouldn’t want but do anyway.
I grab the water, take a sip, and lean against the counter. My thoughts are spiraling, flashing between the sound of my mother moaning his name and the way his jaw clenches when he looks at me. I hate that I notice. I hate that I care.
Slap.
I smack my cheek lightly. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to wake myself up.
“What are you doing?” His voice comes from behind me, closer than before.
I flinch. “Nothing. Mind your own business.”
He sighs. That kind of long, tired sigh adults make when they’re trying to be patient. I turn to face him and for the first time tonight, he doesn’t look calm. He looks... sad.
“I know you don’t like me,” he says, voice quiet. “But I’ve been trying, Ava. I’m not here to take anything from you. I just... I just want a chance.”
I narrow my eyes. “A chance to what? Replace my dad? Make my mom forget about me completely?”
He opens the fridge, avoiding my gaze. “That’s not fair.”
“Oh, really? Because it feels fair to me.”
He pulls out the wine, pours two glasses, and offers one to me without a word.
I hesitate. Then take it.
I walk to the living room and sit down on the couch, curling one leg under me. He sits across from me, watching the screen, but his eyes keep flicking back to mine.
The movie playing now is some black-and-white film where two people are sneaking around behind their partners’ backs. Every scene feels heavier now. Every kiss they steal feels like a message.
“How ironic,” I mutter.
He glances at me. “What?”
“This movie. Infidelity. Secrets. Pretty fitting, don’t you think?”
He says nothing. Just sips his wine.
I shift my gaze to him. My voice lowers.
“You want to know what I hate about you?”
He doesn’t move, but I can see his shoulders tense.
I lean forward. “Your presence.”
His brows lift slightly.
“Your voice. Your footsteps. Your stupid perfect face. And mostly,” I say slowly, “your d*ck.”
His lips twitch like he’s trying not to react.
I keep going. “It’s the only thing my mom cares about now. Not me. Not us. Just you. She cooks for you. Laughs for you. Twists herself into knots to keep you happy. And she moans so loud when she’s with you, I can’t even think straight in my own house. She used to care about me. But now? She doesn’t even look at me.”
The words sting my throat, but I let them burn.
He’s quiet. He looks away, swallowing slowly. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”
“Yeah, well,” I breathe, “now you do.”
Silence.
The moaning in the movie gets louder. I grab the remote and click it off.
“Too much,” I say sharply.
He runs a hand down his face. “I’ll talk to her. I’ll tell her to be more present with you.”
I scoff. “That’s not the problem.”
He tilts his head. “Then what is?”
I look at him.
And I say the truth.
“You.”
- Writer
