Page 9 of Audiophile

“That’s my good girl.”His voice is rough as he palms his cock while he’s on his knees for me. The rush of it is incredible.“Now. Let go. Come for me.”

His demand pushes me over the edge. My vision goes dark as my whole body tightens up, hand locked between my thighs asthey squeeze. I hold my breath until I’m dizzy in the blackness, and pleasure rolls through me while my lungs strain. My back arches, exposing my breasts to the chill, and the cold makes me shudder.

I moan, deliciously warm and pliant. My head is empty and light, but my body is heavy as I sink back into the bath. “Knight, you always know what to say.”

“I love watching you. I’ve been dreaming about your perfect little pussy coming on my tongue all day.”

Oh God. He sayspussyin the same crushed velvet way that the stranger in the market saidPetra, and now I can’t unlink the two in my mind. The recording continues, but I’m not paying attention. Could it have been Daddy Knight in my checkout line? What if he knew—when I was laughing my ass off because my arousal had ramped up a thousand percent—that I’d imagined Knight?

I clutch my wine in a desperate attempt to hold on to my sanity. The stranger from yesterday was the closest I’ve been to an attractive man in a long time, and there was an entire conveyor belt between us. My dry spell is as parched as the wafers at church, and making me delusional. There’s no way Daddy Knight would step foot in Swift River.

“Lay with me for a while, and then I’ll go make that dinner you’re craving.”As the recording continues, I push away the memory of flirting gone wrong. Knight’s blue eyes call me back in. The water lacks the heat of a lover’s touch, but it’s better than nothing.“You know my other favorite? Being here with you.”

I nod as I brush my thumb over my lips, aching for a real kiss. “Me too.”

I lay in the bath for a long while as I sip my wine, wishing—as I always do—formore.

After the bath cools,I pull on my sweats and snag a bowl of cereal from the kitchen as a makeshift meal. I bring it with me to my ancient desk and search the document on my laptop for the last line I’d written.

I’m at the heart of the story now—the conflict with the dragon king looming over my pixie and her friends. She squints her eyes in determination as she looks up, up, up at the snow-covered mountain where the dragon hoards his treasure. She’s minuscule next to the cliffs, less than half the height of the dragon’s long fangs.

My fingers fly over the keys as I let my pixie’s voice drown out my own. I forget to exist when I’m writing. I’m nothing more than a conduit for the story pulsing through my neurons and forcing itself out of my fingertips.

Life is better in Galin. There’s no room for my failures, my past, or my thoroughly shredded heart. My grief grows with every anniversary of that horrible day. I don’t cry, but it festers beneath my skin until the pain of it is all I know. Until it’s normal. My head is too full with it—it drives me insane.

But in Galin there are endless possibilities, rainbows, and second chances. I disappear, and my pixie lives her vibrant life—the way it should be. If only one of us could exist at a time, I wish it could be her.

“Yo, I’m home!” Tommy yells up the stairs, breaking my concentration.

I yell right back, “You’re on your own for dinner!”

“Aw, man,” Tommy whines. His steps are heavy on the stairs before he slumps against my doorframe. Though Livi is his twin, the resemblance between him and me is strong. We both share Papa’s mouth, and Ma’s nose and curly hair. “Petronia, why you gotta do me like that? And cereal is not dinner.”

I push my bowl further away, but it’s too late to hide it. I’ve forgotten how to be the independent person my father raised. Unable to manage daily responsibilities. Lack of executivefunction and basic will to survive. The fairy world retreats back into a haze of darkness, leaving the brightest colors behind.

“It’s enough for me,” I argue.

Tommy’s whole body changes. A frown pulls at his mouth as he leans against my desk, seemingly taller and older. “I’m not the bad guy here. You’ve got to get past this shit with Nate. You’re living half a life. Pushing us all away. It’s not healthy.”

It comes out of left field. Like the rest of the family, Tommy ignores the burden I carry around. My long-standing depression is the constant elephant in the room.

But his face doesn’t belong to the Tommy who fights with me over the last muffin or makes jokes at the wrong time. This is the Tommy who became a paramedic to help people, and is studying to become a surgeon to help more. I am the embodiment of disappointment when this Tommy comes out, and I prickle under his attention. “I’m fine. I’m sorry I snapped.”

“Troni, you’re not fine.” I must look awful if he’s bringing out my childhood nickname. “This breakup is killing you. Our parents are old school. Ma thinks if she makes enough pasta it’ll fill the hole in your heart. Pops wants you to be happy, but not so happy that you’ll leave again. Neither of them will help you the way a therapist or some antidepressants can. If it’s about insurance—”

I shake my head. My half-life has nothing to do with missing my ex. I’ve been suffering for years, but I was too far away for the family to see that my pain never eased. No wonder Nate dumped me. “I’mfine.”

“It’s been almost six months. When will you admit that you’re not moving forward?”

“Leave it, Tommaso!” I snap. “Why are you home?”

“I got called in early.” Tommy sighs. “You need protein, not cornflakes. I’m making chicken. Get your ass downstairs in ten minutes.”

I wince. Tommy can be an annoying, overeager puppy, but hurting him hurts me too. I reach out to grab his wrist before he walks away. “I’m doing the best I can, okay?”

He squeezes my hand, but really he’s squeezing my heart. It’s rare to see his soft side.

“What happened today?” I ask. “You seem…out of sorts.”

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