→June 8th, 2020 @ 4:59 A.M.
A couple agonizingly monotonous months pass since Vera broached the subject of a possible furtive affair with Graham. During that time, the beleaguered fish-out-of-water did his best to keep his nose clean as he was deathly afraid Lewis, the imposing patriarch, would get wind of it & murder him on sight. This proved more & more difficult as Vera would tease him in broad daylight, often where either/both of them could be caught; the riskier the act coupled with how brazen the setting seemed to determine how excited the unfulfilled housewife would become. Still, those incidents that happened two weeks prior seemed to fade into the background of the affected parties' minds as if March's ceaseless rains washed it away for April's overgrowth to shroud it in preparation of the sweltering May; by the sixth month business had returned to usual. Had it not been for the lumbering father's constant back-and-forth between teaching his mining safety classes and scavenging for fresh scrap for his "home junkyard" business, Graham might've been more discouraged to entertain the idea of doing Lewis's husbandly duties for him in secret. Alas, the man torn between being devoted to his (possible cheater) girlfriend and the many carnal opportunities laid out in his future-mother-in-law whose offer he didn't rule entirely; not even the suspicious clinginess and subsequent sex he received from a suddenly needy Nova seemed to dispel that cloud of thought entirely.
[
Not that I mind the extra attention, but it does make one a little wary as to why it's happening all of a sudden. I mean, Vera seemed pretty damn convinced that Nova was low-key creeping behind my back. Does she know that I know what she's up to? It would make a lot of sense. Come to think of it, she hasn't left the room in the middle of the night since I called her out on it; well...as far as I know, anyway.
]
Of course, he couldn't always be home to be sure. Trapped in that house, surrounded by temptation around every corner, Graham quickly resolved to find a job. It didn't take long before he was hired working the graveyard shift at the Amazon Warehouse in Morgantown, sorting & handling packages designated for delivery. Following a particularly challenging double shift he was scheduled to work, the drained warehouse worker made his way home just before the sun first peeked over the mountaintops.
[
Everybody's still gotta be asleep, I reckon.
]
Quiet as he could manage, he crept up the stairs to his bedroom and found it pitch black inside. The bed, he found, was messy as if someone was sleeping in it at one time; however it was unoccupied, he soon realized. Too tired to care, the loud growling coming from his stomach brought his attention to more pressing matters.
[
Guess I spoke too soon there. Food first, then I'll find out where the hell she went this time--he ordered his priorities mentally, already feeling nausea rise from his empty stomach. That's what I get for skipping lunch.
]
He made his way back down to the kitchen, shuffling his feet so his work boots didn't clunk against the rustic hardwood floors. Past the island counter, he made his way to the fridge when his eyes caught a note stuck to the fridge by a "WVU"-shaped magnet. Graham's eyes recognized the handwriting as Nova's just by the flowy calligraphy-like lettering; it read:
Went out clubbing with the girls.
Don't wait up, babe!
P.S. Mama set a plate aside for you, it should be in the fridge!
♡ XOXO ♡
He scoffed, ripping the note off the fridge to wad up into a ball and free-throw successfully into the lidless kitchen trash can. Between the revelation by her own mother of her "proclivities" as well as his own swelling suspicions, Graham's faith in her dwindled with each minutely suspicious deed she committed; in short, he did not trust her one bit.
"Out there doing who knows what, with who knows who while I'm bustin' my ass at work all night. And all I get is some fuckin' X's & O's. I can't fuck that, that ain't making sure I'm fed. Tch." He grumbled under his breath as he yanked open the fridge door for his food, finding a plate neatly wrapped in tin foil. "At least someone's lookin' out for me in here. If I left it up to Nova, I'd be starved half to death dragging a pair of big, blue bowling ball-sized nuts."
Peeling the crinkling wrapper back, the plate was piled high with a healthy portion of fried chicken, garlic & chive mashed potatoes, buttered asparagus, and even included two dinner rolls the grateful man suspected were made from scratch.
[
Hot damn, she really looked out for me. If I keep eating like this, I'll be fat for sure-- he thought as he peeled the foil off and disposed of it in the trash can with a quick flick of the wrist.
]
He popped the plate into the microwave and dialed it up to cook for three minutes, hopping onto the island to plop his butt on the edge while he waited. To be sure the bell didn't wake everyone in the house, he kept a hawk-like watch over the countdown, popping off the counter to stop the countdown at the last second.
0:01
The number blinked in continual suspension until Graham pressed the "door eject" button to retrieve the steaming plate, careful not to touch anywhere beyond the very edges. Delicious aromas emanated off the plate, aromas that made his mouth water in anticipation. As he left the kitchen to head to the den, he snagged a fork from the stainless steel dish-drying rack, stuffing it securely in the thick dollop of mash. The lonely man weaved between the furniture, choosing the three-seater sofa's middle seat to touch down. He scanned the room for the remote, only to find it on the chaise-lounge perpendicular to his place of rest. Sighing, he set the plate down on the coffee table in front of him, then rose to snag the sleek controller, turning on the nondescript sixty-five inch widescreen TV. Some half-finished weepy romantic period piece movie showed up on screen, Graham groaned low before immediately changing the channel to find anything else that might be playing.
[
Infomercial....reality TV trash...infomercial....syndicated rerun...nature documentary on gym socks...old action movie that's just started?
]
An appraising press of the remote's "guide" button revealed his entertainment prospects were firmly between slim and none; he clicked on the blockbuster 90's "beat-em-up" that seemed loaded with lavish pyrotechnics but was a bit light on a cohesive plot and settled in with his food. Graham took the first bite and moaned softly at the taste, shoveling the food into his mouth in a feeding frenzy until little was left on his plate but crumbs. He set the dish back on the table in front of him and shoved it aside; Graham kicked off his boots into a messy pile by the sofa before propping his heels up on the table. Settling into the seat, he slid down into a slouch with his hands knitted over his full belly. Flickering lights and muffled gunfire filled the den as the simplistic action/adventure movie winded through its first twenty minutes before the sound of creaking stairs drew Graham's attention away from the screen. From out the darkness padded the youngest sister who was cloaked from the neck down in a cornflower blue quilt with faded princess prints covering its outside. Seeing her filled Graham with conflicting emotions: one part was regret that he woke her up watching TV and the other part was bubbling lust when he remembered how delicious her body looked naked in that hallway. He chose to only show her the regretful side by sitting up some to grope around him for the remote, turning it down hastily.
"Shit, my bad. I didn't wake you did I, Maggs?" He inquired, sitting straight up, brushing off his pants legs with uncontrollable compulsion.
She said nothing to this, seemingly lost in the phone held in both her hands while her head bent in rapt attention of whatever she was doing. Maggie surprised him further by making her way into the den to join him on the sofa, taking the seat to his left, her thumbs tapping the screen rapidly. The washing light of a commercial interrupting the featured film filled the room with an eye-piercing white light that made Graham blink to adjust to its brightness; he turned to look at her again, only to realize in the light that not only was the phone's black but also Mag's eyes were closed as she "texted".
[
So...she's sleepwalking again. I suppose I oughta guide her back to her room like Vera mentioned before, but I dunno...maybe I'll wait it out to see if she wakes up on her own.
]
They sat there for a few more minutes as the movie continued to play out for the odd pair. Graham glued his eyes on the violence happening on-screen to avoid ogling his girlfriend's somnambulant little sister. And for a while, he did well to keep his eyes to himself. That is, until, she began to fidget in her seat, grunting as if trying to escape a constriction that didn't exist. Graham shot a look over her way only to find her peeling the covers off her to reveal sleepwear he was certain she hadn't intended for anyone else to see. A skimpy, cropped tank top clung to her and stopped just below her ribs to expose her midriff; its spaghetti straps were frayed to the point of tenuously holding it together while little moth-eaten holes peppered it front to back. Barely covering her lower half, she wore plain-white cheeky panties that covered just enough of her goods; she fanned at herself while shifting to sit cross-legged, revealing black & purple striped socks that reached knee-level. A fine dew formed on his brow now, finding himself uncomfortably hot now as well after seeing Maggie's bedroom attire. Still he turned his attention from the movie to the sleeping siren seated beside him, hungrily devouring her scantily clad body with his eyes. He found that the longer he kept looking at her, the greater the itch formed in his hands to reach out and touch all her lovely places on near-display.
[
There's still a couple hours 'til dawn...maybe this is my one & only chance to make a move-- The thought made the lecherous onlooker's heartbeat hasten in his chest, though the decision to engage tore him asunder. Should I? Ugh, decisions, decisions.
]
Graham looked left, then right before lowering the movie's volume from 10 to 4, just in case someone were to wake earlier than expected. He inched closer to her, careful not to stir the couch cushions too much so not to wake her; little by little he moved closer until their hips were touching. He let out a muted exhale, drying his sweaty palms on his work pants before nervously raising his hand to reach over to her. It shook while it remained suspended just out of reach of her, still some caution remained even when he was so close to satisfying a curiosity.
