My Husband’s Dad Wants Me

Chapter 3

Another late night at the office, and afterward some colleagues dragged me out for drinks. After what had happened on the subway the night before, I wasn't about to take the train home — I called a cab instead.

I got back smelling of alcohol to find the house empty. Gerald was out.

After a shower, I changed into the new lace dress I'd just bought. Passing his room on the way down the hall, I noticed the door was open a c***k. I glanced inside.

He was standing there holding something dark, doing something I couldn't quite make out — and then I recognized it. Those were my underwear, the pair that had gone missing.

My face went scarlet. I could feel the heat rising all the way to my ears.

Back in my room, I couldn't settle. I kept turning it over in my mind, unable to make sense of it, unable to let it go.

Knock knock knock. "Joanna. Milk's ready."

I opened the door and took the glass from him. "Thank you. I'll drink it in a bit — you should get some sleep too."

I drank about half and left the rest on the nightstand. He'd been bringing me warm milk every night for weeks now, and honestly, I was starting to dread it. I lay down and stared at the ceiling, thoughts circling, until sleep finally pulled me under.

In the dream, my body felt crushed, like something enormous was pressing down on me. I dreamed of hands moving over me, slow and deliberate, and just as the figure above me began to pull away my clothes, I cried out, "Stop — no —"

I jolted awake.

There was a silhouette above me, close, still. He was staring down at me, his expression unreadable in the dim light. His chest was bare, and even in the near-dark I could see the definition of his body.

I looked again. It was Gerald.

I shot upright and shoved him back. "What are you doing in my room?" My voice came out smaller than I wanted. Then the other thought hit me, and I said it before I could stop myself: "Did you put something in my milk?"

I reached down and realized my underwear was gone. It was in his hand.

He smiled — slow, deliberate, with something dark in it — and brought the fabric to his face, inhaling right in front of me.

"Joanna," he said. "I've wanted to do this in front of you for a long time. Since my son left, I've thought about you every single day, every single night." He paused. "I did put something in your milk. I've been coming to your room every night, just to look at you. I never expected you to wake up tonight."

Then he reached for my legs and pulled them apart.