Page 23 of Lessons in Desire

Swallowing, I walk over to it and prepare myself for the smell of body odour and stale beer.

“Hey dad!” I shout and open the door.

My feet immediately coming into contact with a stray beer bottle sending it rolling along the floor, the sound like gravel. He doesn’t answer. I push further into the room, taking in the state of it.

“Dad?” I shout again and shove open the curtains to let the light in. Dust motes dance in the beams of sunlight coming in through the windows, lighting up a mass of takeout wrappers and dirty clothing that litter the floor.

I check through each of the rooms, but I don’t anything but rubbish and a rancid sour smell. He’s not here.

Walking back outside, I spy Lillian, a neighbour who we’ve lives next to for as long as I’ve been alive, sitting on her porch across the way.

I wave to her. “Hey, Lillian. Have you seen my dad?”

“No.” She sucks on the butt of her cigarette, the deep lines around her mouth folding deeper as her lips purse.

“Well, do you know where he is?”

“No.” The smoke spills out of her lips. “But I imagine he’ll be back soon.”

“Okay, thank you.” I turn and head back inside the trailer, annoyed by her cryptic response.

I lie down on my childhood bed; a small single shoved into a room with barely enough space to move in, and I wait. He can’t have gone far. My dad rarely left the trailer when I lived with him and the only places, he would go were the grocery store and sometimes the bar if he had any spare change to buy a bottle of beer with. He must have gone to one of those, so he should be back soon.

I wipe a hand down my flower-dotted comforter, the pink petals faded with age. The familiar smell of my room lulls me into a weird state of calm. This place never felt truly like home, but being back is sending me into a weird state of nostalgia.

Almost like part of me misses it.

Eventually, I drift, my mind sliding into a dream world full of fuzzy clouds and a wash of light and colour.

Asher is lying in a field of fresh grass and budding flowers. I’m smiling at him, a paintbrush in my hand as I work on a portrait.

“Stay still.” I scold gently.

He smirks, sending me that insufferable grin of his that sends the wings in my stomach fluttering. “It’s hard to stay still for so long.”

I roll my eyes. “You own an art gallery. Surely you knew this is what painting a portrait required.”

“Yes, but I’ve never wanted to fuck the artist before.”

My stomach dips, my pussy throbbing as if in agreement with him.

“Behave.” I say smiling.

I place the paintbrush down onto the easel and walk forward, giving into his lure. When I’m within reach, he reaches up for me, pulling me down until I’m straddling his waist, my heat pressed into his throbbing cock.

“This better.” I grin.

He pauses, thinking, and in one quick move he turns our bodies until he’s holding himself above me, his core pressed into mine.

“Now this is perfect.” He leans down and hovers his lips over mine, our breath mingling. I want to kiss him, to drown in him, to bend to his will. He leans down closer, so close we’re almost touching, and then—

A door slams shut and my dreams shatter. The trailer trembles with the force of it and a second later I hear my dad mumbling. I jump up from the bed and shove through the doors to find darkness pouring in through the window. I must have been asleep for hours. My father is stumbling through the living room, his steps uncertain.

“Dad?”

He turns at the sound of my voice, his eyes shifting weirdly before eventually focusing. He looks paler than last time, thinner too, like his body has been stripped of all pigment and fat. In other words, he looks awful.

“Linny!” He shouts. “My sweet girl.” He walks forward and his hands grab onto my face, holding it. His touch is heavy, almost bruising.

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