Sadie (18+)

Chapter 12

I went back and forth on the matter, questioning if I had simply imagined the events.

His hands had paused only for a moment, and I began to question whether he was even aware that I could feel him at all. Had I imagined it?

I was frozen nonetheless, my breath stuck in my throat, my thoughts muddled and chaotic. I hadn't a clue what to do next, but I pretended I couldn't feel him against me, as the moment was precious and likely to collapse.

With the cool air against my face and the warm, foamy water gently lapping at my chest, I remained still, my back pressed against his chest, afraid to move. I reveled in the closeness of it all, the support of him behind me, against me. My skin erupted in goosebumps upon our contact, and they were raised and obvious in the afternoon light.

His expert hands were no longer massaging like they had been previously—they were now awkward, fumbling, using less pressure than before, and I could just feel the puffs of his breath along my neck.

It had to be what I thought it was.

"You okay, Dad? You look a little sick," said Julia, the moment melting from my grasp. I blinked, feeling disoriented, and moved back over to my corner of the hot tub while the heat blossomed in my cheeks. Once I turned around, I finally got a glimpse of Vincent, who did in fact look a little sick.

"I'm fine, honey," he said quietly, then cleared his throat loudly. "I think I just need some water. I'll be right back."

I watched him excuse himself, the muscles in his arms flexing as he lifted his body out of the tub, droplets of water sliding down his chest. I noted the dusting of wet, dark hair along his pecs, admiring it as though growing the hair himself had taken an obscene amount of effort.

With the split second I used to look at his crotch, I couldn't see anything hard, or any lump at all, and again I wondered if I really had imagined it all. Maybe he'd adjusted himself to fix it. I pinched my arm, now fully convinced I really was in a dream.

The hot tub was bare without him, boring. My body returned to its normal state soon after the adrenaline faded, but I was left with an emptiness I knew only he could fill. I tried to wrap my head around what had happened, but still couldn't fully make sense of it.

I wanted to run after him, but I knew that would certainly raise suspicion. Instead, I hung around and chatted with Julia, who was blissfully unaware of the events that had taken place in her family hot tub.

"I'm kinda thirsty," I said, smacking my lips together. "Do you guys want anything to drink?"

"I can get something for us," Gina said, beginning to rise. "I could make some drinks. Oh wait—I forgot you two aren't allowed. Maybe some virgin drinks!"

"Stay," I said. "You don't have to get up, I can get something from the fridge. You look too relaxed."

Gina smiled. "I am. I've missed this tub so much."

Julia smacked my butt on my way out of the hot tub, and for a moment everything felt normal, the way it was before my attraction to Vincent started, back when I wasn't a horrible friend.

When I was back inside the lodge, beach towel clutched around my figure, the previous events hit me like a hard slap in the face. Vincent wasn't around, so I snuck off into the bathroom and placed my hands against the sink, staring at the unfamiliar girl before me. I took deep breaths, over and over again.

I spent a few minutes there, listening to the silence, wondering who I'd become in such a short amount of time. The man responsible for my dilemma appeared in the doorway, his presence scaring me, pushing a gasp out of my dry mouth. I wearily watched his reflection through the mirror.

A damp shirt hugged his chest, but I tore my gaze away so I wouldn't look like a blood-thirsty animal.

"We don't talk about what happened," he addressed, then pushed a hand through his slick hair. "Okay?"

"What happened?" I asked timidly, staring down at the floor. I wasn't even sure myself.

He put his hand up as a teacher would to their student, slowly shaking his head, silencing me, making me feel small and ignorant. His defensiveness, at least, indicated that I hadn't imagined any of it.

"Okay," I said simply, not knowing what else to say to him, nor how to properly react. I pushed past him and into the bedroom where I huffed out an angry, bull-like noise. I didn't hear him come after me, which only made me angrier. My excitement about the previous events had dissipated almost instantly.

Even worse, I felt rejected, and that hurt coming from him. This wasn't like the Vincent I'd known since I was a kid, the funny, sweet, sometimes-strict-but-came-from-a-good-place-father. The last thing I wanted was for him to dislike me in any sense, and I suddenly felt guilty, too, knowing I was responsible for all of this, for changing him.

By the time dawn came around, most of the confusing emotions had left my system, thanks to the much needed nap.

Dinner involved avoiding eye-contact with Vincent, which was fairly easy since he appeared to be doing the same thing. When nighttime rolled around, I hung out in the living room while Julia talked on the phone with Justin in the bedroom.

Tony was sat at the dining table, my boredom bringing me to him. His attention was focused on a tub of ice cream, the wet chocolate dribbling off the sides and onto the table.

"What's up?" I asked, then studied him for a moment, noticing the resemblance between him and Vincent. "You've got the same eyes."

"As who?" he asked, sounding cranky. We were closer when I was younger, but he stopped bothering with Julia and I when he grew up.

"Your dad," I said. He didn't respond, instead continuing to hungrily scoop spoonfuls of ice cream from the carton into his mouth. It only took me a moment to realize what was wrong with him.

"You're high, aren't you?" I asked, squinting at him, noting the bloodshot eyes. "You may have the same eyes, but his aren't red like that."

He glanced around the room, but it was empty and quiet except for the distant chatter of Julia in her bedroom, and the television in the master.

"Yeah," he admitted, scratching his head.

"Any left for me?" I asked. He nodded, then pushed the chair out from behind him and motioned for me to follow. Once we reached his bedroom, he pulled out a little jar of weed, then swiftly encased it with rolling paper. Soon after, a perfect little joint lay in his hand.

"You owe me," he said. "Stuff's not cheap."

After we went back and forth taking hits, Tony dozed off, his chest gently rising and falling. I sat up, feeling both sad and nauseous as the weed entered my system, then trailed back to Julia's room in a daze.

I shut off the lamp, crawled under the covers, and hugged my best friend while swallowing down a sob, a tear leaving a salty path against my cheek.