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DARYL

I rinse my hands under the faucet, inspect them, and then scrub at my nails again. My morning grooming routine has become more stringent by the day. I may actually be bordering on OCD with this shit, and it may going to get worse, because no matter how hard I try, this dirty old man may never feel clean enough to be in the presence of Cadence Malone — aka the untouchable Miss Malone, Beaumont City’s poster child for virtue and grace.

Sweeter than fresh strawberries still warm from the sun, she caught my interest in a heartbeat, and I’ve been trying to curb my obsession ever since. Young and beautiful and far too sweet for a roughed-up, roguish son of a bitch like me, I knew she couldn’t be more than a guilty pleasure, but she quickly became my only pleasure. My entire routine is now based around the times I’m able to see her, and I know that seems unhealthy, but every time I’m in her presence, I feel like my best self, and it’s a potent drug. In those brief moments of bliss, I’m wrapped in her warm glow of acceptance, where I’m both free from my past and wide open to the infinite potential of my future. She’s like crack mixed with warm cocoa. Medicine for my soul. And my heart never stops pounding when I see her.

I’m in love. It’s the truth. And there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve tried to look the other way — to find love in more appropriate places, but out-shone by Cady’s radiance, other women have become invisible to me now. I haven’t even been with a woman since I properly fell in love with her.

Which is an issue in itself. It goes against everything people assume about me, and I’m paranoid people will find out I’ve gone cold turkey and wonder why. What could possibly be the reason Daryl Horndog Winters would swear off women? Diseases, homosexuality, or involvement in a secret affair are the only three I can think of, and all three would fuel rumors that leave me in a worse position than being the town’s resident ass-fucker of women.

So what can I do? I keep appearances up and suspicions low. I travel out of town for short stints and brag a big game about what I did while I was gone — fuck , I’ve even lied to my friends about it, so they don’t worry about me throwing my life away on a woman I can’t be with. But the truth is, I’m smitten as fuck and fixated beyond return. I know I’m not good enough for Cady, but I’ll never stop striving to be. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about her and wonder how I can bring the same kind of joy to her life that she brings to mine.

I’ve drawn cautiously closer over time, hoping to learn all there is to know about the woman who lives rent-free in my head, where she sits on the throne I’ve built her, surrounded by offerings I’d set at her feet in real life if it only felt right to do it. But the more I learn, the more I love, and it’s torturous to feel so secure in the knowledge that she’s The One , when the barriers between us seem insurmountable, but I’m invested now. I’m a man on a mission to be who she needs, and now that I’m close enough to study the intricacies of the masterpiece, I can see through the layers of illusions that have been painted over the original, to portray an image of Cadence Malone that serves everyone else but her.

It’s not all true what they say about her.

She’s a good girl, for sure. And I’d bet my eye teeth that she’s a virgin to boot. I’m not sure if she’s ever even been kissed. She dresses like a nun, is spoken of in revered tones as if she’s a saint, and if you ask anyone in town, they’ll tell you their librarian is an angel — a literal godsend . A local icon and treasure, who is to be protected at all costs. She loves her family, dedicates her time to helping others and giving back to her community, and doesn’t have a selfish bone in her body. From the outside looking in, she may well be the purest twenty-six-year-old anyone has ever met.

But her cheeky smiles, twinkling eyes, and increasingly smutty book recommendations suggest there are deeper, darker, and far more saucy layers hidden beneath the innocent facade she’s been coated in — layers that keep me up all night wondering if she’d like to experience some of the carnal acts from those same erotic stories.

When she first questioned my borrowing of romance novels, I told her — tongue in cheek — I enjoyed the happy endings. Her eyes had lit up. Me too , she’d said, and she soon began setting her favorites aside for me. While I don’t think she’d meant it in the same way I had, I haven’t been able to stop wondering about it since. I started visiting the library more often, and now I’m hooked on going every day I can, for a little banter, a few smiles, and another gem for my erotic To Be Read pile.

The first few love stories she recommended were fairly tame, but over time, she’s really come out of her shell, and the heat levels in the romance books she’s currently endorsing have climbed into the thermosphere. It’s almost as if she’s flirting with me through the pages, and I’ll consume each of them in one sitting, while I stroke my cock, and wonder which bit of the action she enjoyed reading most. And then I spend the rest of the day berating myself for being a filthy fucking pervert who’s obsessed with a woman half my age, and I do my best to focus on non -sexual thoughts about Cadence Malone.

Which is also an issue.

The more I observe of her life, the more enraged I become at the injustices she willingly endures.

It feels less like her cockblocking father and the other townspeople are preserving her virtue and more like they’re holding her hostage. Every time she sneaks a foot outside the box she’s been put in, she’s met with resistance, judgment, and isolation. I remember the day when she swapped her long skirts for a pair of jeans that hugged her curves, there was no end to the questions she faced — even though the jeans were more appropriate attire for the situation — and she’s never worn them since.

On the rare occasions I’ve seen her around town on her own, she’s not praised for the excessive hours she’s spent taking care of her mom, she’s told how good her father is for allowing her some free time . Desperate for connection, her eyes always light up when anyone talk to her, but too often she’s let down. Her eyes sparkle when I talk with her, but this town has her earmarked and destined for spinsterhood, because the minute I, or any other single man, goes near her, some Good Samaritan shows up to make sure nothing untoward is happening. In a public place, there are eyes on her constantly, so she’s never left alone in the company of a man. In less populated areas, it’s easier to talk to her alone, but an interruption is inevitable, and so predictable it can be timed. If there’s nobody in the library when I arrive, I usually have no more than seven minutes before someone shows up.

It’s fucking weird — and clearly a conspiracy. One she clearly doesn’t enjoy being forced to live, if her regular jokes about packing her favorite books into a suitcase and escaping to some anonymous city or a cabin in the woods are anything to go by. People have been boxing her in and isolating her for so long, she’s started to do it herself. She wants to be free, but with the world seemingly pitched against her, she can’t quite reach the key to escape her captivity. She’s tired. And I know why.

Her dad’s an asshole.

He’s got her trapped in a cycle of servitude and people pleasing, day in and day out, and it’s taking a toll on her spirit. She’d have been a child when it started, so that cycle is ingrained too. He’s raised her to be his doormat, and she’s become like a creature conditioned to obey its master — but I’ve seen her gaze wistfully beyond the bars of that prison to where freedom lies. She’s thought about what it’d be like, but she’s drained, alone, and afraid to leave the devil she knows.

I’m not sure anyone else even sees her struggling with the weight of her loneliness as she carries the lion’s share of her family’s obligatory load. If they do see, they’re either pretending not to or they don’t care. It could be that they’re blind to the whole Malone Family charade. I’m certainly not. I’ve seen this kind of thing before. Hell, I’ve lived it. Despite every effort of my father, I survived to tell the tale. I can’t unlearn all the valuable life lessons his abuse pounded into me, so I’m wise enough to know a narcissist when I meet one, and Vander James Malone is most definitely that brand of devil. Which is why I’ve made it my mission to keep an eye on Cadence and give her spirit a boost when I can see she needs it.

It’s not like I can offer her assistance in any other way. I can’t touch her, and I doubt she’d want me too. She’s perfect and pristine and half my age…

I grip the edge of the countertop and hang my head. There are few things in this world more torturous than an unending desire for forbidden fruit. Itching powder on a body with no arms, perhaps? The image of a bear scratching himself on a tree comes to mind, and I sigh. At least an armless person could relieve themselves that way.

Where is my relief? Death? Ugh . Though, if I can outlast Vander, there’ll be no real barrier to declare my love for her after that. We’re practically the same age. How’s his health? I’ve vowed to keep myself in good shape so I can be around longer for Cady. I’m definitely fitter than him.

I puff up my chest in the mirror, tweak my nipple piercing, and assess my abs. Not too shabby. I could wait him out.

The air rushes out of me, deflating my chest through another defeated sigh. Even dead, Vander James Malone would leave a legacy of protection behind. I can already imagine what people would say if the guy died and I stepped in to care for Cady the way she deserves. He’d roll in his grave . His precious only daughter — the last in her family line — tainted. By a low-down, dirty, cradle-snatching ass-fucker. Poor Cady would be shamed and twice as resistant to any advance I could make. She’s not the kind of girl who’d run her family name through the mud, least of all for someone like me.

She’s a good girl, and she loves her father. Loves him. Why else would she suffer for him the way she does? She works tirelessly to please him, and for what? A frugal pat on the head here and there? Permission to leave the house, but only go to approved places, like her second job? It’s not good enough. She deserves so much more than that.

I wish I could pull her close, hold her tight, and tell her that I see how hard she’s trying. I want to steal her away from it all, and tell her that even though putting herself first for a change may seem scary, everything’s going to be okay . But I can’t. Not unless she sees the mess for herself and intentionally chooses a different path. Until then, all I can do is carefully support her however I can, while I subtly help her realize her worth. It’s like walking a tightrope, or playing a high stakes chess game. If I make one wrong move, the game is over, and that’s an ending I can’t tolerate. As her self-appointed servant and protector, her triumphs are personal to me. She’s an angel caught in a battle full of demons, and I need to see her win.

My heart races with the passion inside me, and my thoughts get loud.

What happens then? She’ll love you back? Idiot!

Now I’m back to the start of the same argument I have with myself every time. I try to let go of the hopelessness of the situation. As much as I want to climb up on that beautiful woman and leave her dripping with my love, I’m destined to love her unrequitedly from afar.

“Why do you have to be such a stupid, worthless asshole?” I ask my reflection angrily, until I see my father’s frown creasing my face. Intentionally rubbing the lines away, I rumble at him in frustration. “You’re dead to me. You don’t get to make me feel like shit anymore. Only I get to do that now, and I choose not to. I’m a good person, and I’m not hurting anyone by loving Cady from a distance.”

I meet my own gaze in the mirror and hold it steady. “Stop overthinking. The truth is simple, and nothing will change it. It doesn’t matter if you never get to be with her. You love her, and you’ll do whatever she needs you to do to make her life easier and happier, because it’s what she deserves. That’s the decision you’ve made. You don’t need reciprocation to make that commitment to the woman you love. Maybe in the next life, you’ll find each other in different circumstances, and then you can be together. She’s worth waiting for.”

I see the pain in my eyes before I turn away. I look like my friends all had when they’d been pining for the loves of their lives. And now they’re all living happily ever after with their wives and kids, and I’m… me. I’m different .

I’ve always been the last in our group to do everything, so I’m used to it, but it doesn’t get easier to be me. If life’s developmental milestones were properly mapped out beyond infancy, I’d have failed to complete any of them on time. I walked late and talked late; was late to every class at school. Once there, I met every learning task with a different perspective than was instructed, which caused further delays, until I could prove that my way worked fine too. I was last to swim. Last to grow pubes. Last to drive. Last to fuck. Last to find my way home .

I didn’t even know what home was until I met Cady. It doesn’t matter that we’ll never marry. It doesn’t matter that I’ll never see her belly swollen with my child or see our babies grow to sit around the family fire at Christmas. She’s already given me more than I ever hoped to have — a ray of sunshine on every cloudy day. She’s proof there’s good in this world, and that’s all I need to know in order to survive it.