Page 8

On my drive back home from work I think about him.

It seems every day is harder than the previous one, and I'm struggling to keep up with all the hard work that Dylan has given me. Despite all that, my mind can't seem to shake him off.

He isn't that much older either, I realize, now that he's not disguised by a thick beard.

Today, he took his hat off for a few seconds, letting his dark blond hair hang long, almost down to his shoulders.

Then I caught the glimpse of a ribbed torso when he was helping the crew unload the truck.

He is not as bulky as his clothes made him look.

Or rather he's big but fit. It was too damn distracting.

I found myself thinking what he would feel like on top of me, with all that weight pressing down on me, with no means of escape.

I didn't imagine myself in the submissive role with someone often.

I did prefer to bottom but I never allowed any of the guys I hooked up with to take full control.

But since I moved to Alaska, when I was alone in bed at night, I craved dominance.

Someone to help me just... let go. I was never able to completely submit to someone.

And Dylan seems to have something that made that part of me awaken.

The worst of it all, he isn't the kind of hot man who knew he was hot and who exuded that sort of arrogance.

If anything he is stoic. Reserved even. Like someone from an old Hollywood movie, more concerned with doing a job well than how he looks doing it.

His confidence seems to come from a lot of earned experience–he certainly knows his stuff on the construction site and that zero-bullshit attitude is incredibly attractive.

And the way he scowls and generally seems annoyed by the universe made my stomach warm with want. Which is confusing as hell. It is obvious he hates me so why do I find that so attractive?

Strutting around the area, observing everything, I swear he's watching me just so he can see what will I fuck up next. And when those eyes focus on me, giving me one of those once-overs, I want nothing more than to sink to my knees at his feet.

Often I think about purposely doing something wrong just to have that gaze fixed on me, to be the centre of all that masculine attention.

What would it be like to be fucked by Dylan McKenna?

Or suck his cock? I let myself imagine it.

His dick pushing past my lips and down my throat, Dylan's fingers in my hair, the murmured words of encouragement and praise.

But before I get too far into my fantasy, the picture in my head morphs into another, of the reality where I can't even imagine a life where I could have a meaningful relationship with someone at this moment in my life.

I have issues, plenty of them. And I'm struggling to even have a normal job.

The pressure to earn enough money to pay for all the expenses and things my uncle provides for me is real.

And there is something else entirely. I glance in the rearview mirror, taking mental note of the vehicle behind me.

I'm fighting a shiver as I grip the steering wheel–it's a woman behind the wheel with a girl in the car seat behind her.

My habit of watching who might be following at any given moment had proven hard to break.

I know this is irrational, and that I am as far away from that monster as possible, but anxiety is not something I can control.

Once I arrive and shut off the engine, I let out a breath of relief.

I'm safe here. Walking up the small stairs that lead to the front door, I decide to go straight to Aunt Adel and her cozy kitchen.

I don't want to be late for dinner that she always so happily prepares for me and Uncle Paul.

I go inside, still somewhat awkward that I don't have to knock before getting in.

"It's me, Auntie," I shrug the jacket off and peek into the kitchen."Smells nice in here."

"Hi Noah," she gives me a small smile while wiping her hands on her apron."How was your day?"

"Good, I guess." I'm not sure I'll ever say that with complete honesty, because I don't think I'm very good at my new job.

"Do you mind taking your work boots outside to the porch?"

I look down at my dirty boots, so muddy from the rain that was falling all morning. "Oh. Fuck. Shit. Sorry, Auntie Adel." I blink at her stupidity. "Ah... Sorry for swearing! I'm..."

I shake my head to clear it. I open my mouth but nothing else comes out anymore. Which is probably for the best.

"No, no, you're ok. Just vacuumed today and wasn't feeling like doing it again." She chuckles like it isn't a big deal. But I'm not sure. I'm making messes wherever I step my foot on.

I go back, take them off and go back in again in my socks that are probably smelling bad from all the sweating. I'm so hungry that I could eat a horse but I feel awkward eating the food that I don't really deserve.

"Go have a seat." She instructs me.

"I'm feeling kind of useless." I slowly trail over to the dining table. "Um... I should be helping with dinner or something."

"Oh please, I'm making it every day for Paul and myself, what's another plate? I love doing it."

"I could get some groceries from my next salary."

"Sure. But no pressure." She waves me off. "If you wish, you can set the table now."

Of course, why didn't I think of that? Soon we hear the door open and Uncle Paul comes in. Once everyone has a plate full of food we dig in and the sound of silverware against plates fills the silence.

"How's it going?" Uncle Paul turns to me, those eyes careful and sincere.

I remember Dad being kind and thoughtful–when he wasn't in practice or travelling for away games.

And I guess Mom was nice before. But it was never quite like this.

We were never a family. Never supposed to be.

Suddenly a flashback of that night when I overheard my parents talking invades my thoughts. I was asked a question. Get a grip.

"Good." I manage.

"That's good. How is Dylan McKenna treating you?"

I get a whiplash from hearing that name as I'm pulled from one nightmare to the other. Dylan is becoming one. Or I am becoming his.

"Um..." I glance down at my plate.

"He's a tough guy, keeps mostly to himself but unbelievably reliable and hardworking."

"I don't think he's happy with me," I mutter after swallowing my food.

I reach for the glass of water because it seems there's something still stuck in my throat.

I don't seem to be able to focus. The faces of my past keep showing and reminding me what a failure I am.

Her face comes up telling me I should be in that grave instead of her.

I don't deserve nice things, a fresh start, a warm meal and family.

"I'm sure he's only worried about the deadlines. Janet mentioned they are picking things up before the snowfall. It gets less done in winter."

I nod but can't really say anything to him anymore. I feel feverish suddenly, unable to even blink. Am I having a panic attack?

"How was your day today?" Adel asks Paul but their voices are suddenly so far away, like a distant echo.

"Oh, it was fine. I'm going to Anchorage tomorrow for that meeting with the investors. I will be finishing late so don't count me in for dinner."

"Oh yeah. Is it the 10th tomorrow? Already? How the time flies."

I hear the date and shiver. Not a good shiver, either. Dark energy, like tendrils of fear and unease are sneaking through my mind, slowing my heart to a heavy thud in my chest.

Tomorrow is the 10th. Which means today is... No. No no no.

October the 9th.

Suddenly, I have to get out of here. I can't stand being in this room with these nice people, pretending to be someone I am not. I'm suffocating.

"Excuse me, I need to use the bathroom..

. T-thanks for dinner." I almost stumble as I walk out of the dining room.

I can't believe it's the 9th today. How could I forget?

On my way to the back door I spot a liquor cabinet in the living room and grab the first bottle I see, then leave grateful that nobody is following me.

I climb the stairs up to my room, shaking, almost hyperventilating.

Maya. I'm so sorry I forgot.

I unscrew the cap bringing the bottle to my lips forgetting the glass. After Maya died, I swore off the pills and drugs, but I don't think I can give up this, I need it to numb the anger. Or set fire to it.

Emotions clog my throat and flood my brain as I take swig after swig, the sting and burn on the way down almost non-existent.

I'm numb to it. Numb to fucking everything, yet feeling so much at the same time.

Betrayal. Anger. Hurt. Resentment. Things I have no fucking right to feel. And I'm suffocating beneath it all.

I wince as I down another mouthful.

Those bright blue eyes flash through my mind, in between all the darkness. Every day Dylan looks at me like he hates my existence. And I can't explain why, but that fact hurts me more than anything else at this moment. I'm such a fucking failure and he seems to have all of his shit figured out.

The soreness in my muscles from the extra hard work that Dylan put me through today combined with the heating in Uncle Paul's house and whisky is making me close my eyes.

And then there's darkness all around me.