The Fling (18+)

Chapter 15

Back at the house, after a tense, silent ride in the SUV, I made a beeline for my room, determined to wash off the day's sweat and aggravation.

Under the spray, I replayed the events of the afternoon, the involuntary, voracious hunger for Adam interspersed with anger at my father's callous words.

Going over that disastrous conversation, I kept coming back to one thought-

I have to talk with him.

Twisting the knob, I shut off the water and stepped out, drying myself and dressing as I rehearsed the words I wanted to say.

With one last look in the mirror, I sucked in a lungful of air and murmured a quick prayer for courage before heading out.

Downstairs, the light glowed under the door to Dad's study.

Steeling myself, I raised my hand and knocked.

"Come in."

My hand trembled as I opened the door to find him seated behind his large, mahogany desk. He was leaning back in the rich, leather desk chair, eyes fixed on the wall mounted TV, a tumbler of some ridiculously overpriced liquor warming in his hand.

Irritation flashed over his face, and he took a sip as he returned his attention to the TV.

I crossed the room as he asked, "What do you want?" Disinterest dripped from every word.

Settling down in one of the chairs opposite him, I answered, "We need to talk."

"About what?"

"What you said to me today-"

"Oh, please-"

"It was a low blow, and I'm not okay with it."

Leaning back, he rolled his eyes. "Fine. Say what you came to say."

Meeting his indifferent stare, I began, "I know that you don't agree with some of the medical decisions that I've made-"

He scoffed, taking another sip.

"-but those were my decisions to make."

"Right," he snorted, "because at eighteen you were supposed to be old enough to make that call."

My gaze hardened, "I was old enough to know that I didn't want to spend the next thirty years dealing with debilitating pain and near-constant bleeding."

The words I spoke were icy, unyielding, remembering the nightmare of my teenage years-

-the nightmare that had started with my first period and had only ended after one last-resort medical procedure-

It had destroyed the endometrial lining of my uterus, but it had also set me free.

And he fought to stop it.

His eyes narrowed, "There were other solutions, and you know it."

"You think so?" I asked, tilting my head slightly, "You actually think that I would have gone down this route if I hadn't exhausted all of my other options?"

"There's-"

"Hormones? Birth control? Tried it - not effective. Laparoscopy? Only resolved some of my symptoms."

"Nora-"

"Do you even know how bad it got?" I demanded, "Do you know how many school days I missed because I was in too much pain to function? Do you know that I got so anemic from blood loss that I had to get a fucking transfusion? Do-" I cut off, unsure of whether to proceed.

"What? No, please, do tell me what justifications you cooked up in your head," Dad taunted.

Leveling my stare at him, I asked, "Do you know the first time I had sex, it was so fucking agonizing that I almost passed out?"

He recoiled, "Jesus-"

"I thought it was normal, you know? Like, everybody talks about how the first time's supposed to hurt, so I didn't think anything of it. And then it hurt exactly as bad the second time, and the third, and the fourth..."

"I'm your father - I don't need to be hearing this!"

"Apparently you do! You actually seem to think that I just woke up one day and made a flippant decision, but I didn't. I chose a future where my life and the way I live it wasn't going to be dictated by my shitty fucking uterus!"

"You destroyed your womb!"

He slammed his drink on the desk, splattering liquor everywhere.

I flinched as a droplet hit my cheek, stunned by his words.

Standing, I swiped it away with my hand and snarled, "I am more than my fucking womb."

He watched me, anger glittering in his eyes, "You threw away any chance you had of becoming a mother before you even knew what that meant."

"The fuck I did-"

"I tried to make you see reason, to get you to understand the mistake you were making, but between your mother and that quack doctor she dug up, there was nothing I could do. You turned eighteen, and in the eyes of the law, that was old enough for you to gleefully make yourself barren."

"How fucking dare you..." I shook my head, dazed by his audacity.

"I'm your father-"

"A title you're going to lose if you don't start respecting my choices. Fuck," I spat, "you're so worried about not getting grandchildren that you're destroying your relationship with your actual child."

"You are a child."

"Excuse me?" I demanded, my voice lethally quiet.

"You are a child," he repeated, pausing to drain his glass. "You're an immature, petulant brat who refused to listen to reason when it could have saved you."

"...reason?" I asked, "Reason? I already lost most of my teenage years to the kind of misery that you can't even fathom, and you think it's reasonable to make me continue living like that? Why? Just so you can play 'Grandpa' when it suits you?" I laughed, but there was no humor in the sound.

Rising, he walked to the liquor cabinet and poured himself another glass, "If you're going to throw a tantrum, go do it somewhere else."

Fire filled my eyes as I fought back the urge to strike him, to lash out and hurt him in kind-

-and then it slowed, cooling to a simmer as I realized what I was going to do instead.

"You want me to go?" I asked in a clipped tone, "Okay, I'm gone."

Without another word, I walked out, heading upstairs to change, a plan taking form in my head...