I tossed and turned, reliving my humiliation from last night. I thought I'd be so bold and alluring, kissing Uncle Jay. I thought I was finally bringing forth all the fearless spirits of my lady protagonists - but he treated me like some inebriated child, acting blindly just to get some attention.
I barely know how to explain it to myself, let alone to Uncle Jay, that what I'm feeling - and these feelings are growing stronger day by day - is something more. What I want is something substantial, even though I barely know what it is I want from him, with him.
On my way down to breakfast, I creep quietly through the main hallway, stopping at the thermostat on the wall. I adjust the number, turning it very low, then continue on my way to the dining room.
I keep my gaze down, avoiding eye contact with Uncle Jay, who I see, peripherally, is already seated at the table.
There's a plate of scrambled eggs and buttered toast already set at my place. I scoot in, sprinkle some salt on my eggs, and dig in.
After a few bites, I glance up at Uncle Jay, doing my best to exude pure innocence. Uncle Jay holds my gaze for several beats before glancing down at my chest. Inwardly, I feel a jubilant triumph! It has not gone unnoticed that I came to breakfast in my tightest tank top, without a bra. And my body is definitely reacting to the cooling temps in this house.
"I think you forgot a layer, Lita," Uncle Jay says, his head back down and fork poised to deliver another bite of eggs.
"I'm feeling great, Uncle Jay. I surely don't know what you're talking about," I say, primly.
Something akin to a growl emanates from his side of the table.
When I'm finished with my food, I walk over to the refrigerator to pour myself some juice. As casually as I can manage, I "accidentally" drop the cap to the juice carton. Slowly, I bend over to retrieve the cap from the floor.
"Lita!" is Uncle Jay's loud reply. Oops, I guess he noticed my short skirt and lack of panties. My heart is racing at what I've done, how I've exposed myself in front of someone, but I also feel so daring and bold. I'm perversely proud of my naughty milestone.
I hear the chair skid as Uncle Jay quickly withdraws from the table. He dashes out into the hallway. I hesitate for a moment, having no idea where he went off to or why, but continue putting the juice back in the fridge and take my glass to the dining table.
Jay returns, with a fluffy grey bathrobe in his hand. He tosses it at me with a curt, "Here, put this on."
I do as I'm told, as is my habit. I huff and plop down in my chair as Uncle Jay returns to his seat and glares at me.
"What is this really about, Lita? Are you acting out about your parents? Are you trying to get back at me for something?" Uncle Jay asks, seeming genuinely perplexed with my behavior.
And I can't say that I blame him; I can kind of see how this looks from an outside point-of-view. But the struggle is explaining it all from my point-of-view. I've tossed and turned in bed, I've sighed heavily in the shower, all my alone time is consumed with me analyzing and trying to re-analyze my own feelings and their origins. I don't know the why or the how but I know the what: I have feelings for Uncle Jay. I'm attracted to him. I want his attention and affection and intimacy. Maybe it's a crush, maybe it's lust, or maybe it's something more. But I'm addicted to him looking at me, and talking to me. I crave his touch and dominance over me.
"It's about you," I finally declare, my gaze glued to my glass of orange juice. My mouth is quickly drying out and my thoughts are racing around. I continue speaking, for once not rehearsing what I'm going to say but just blurt it out. "I want you, Uncle Jay. And I don't think you're entirely against that prospect."
I look up and find Uncle Jay frowning at me.
"Listen," he starts with a sigh. "You're cute, Lita. You've got the looks and the sweet, innocent personality. Usually. But we're family. I grew up with your father, I did stupid shit in college with your parents. You're my godchild, for fuck's sake. We cannot go down that road. I - I'm sorry."
I drop my gaze back to my juice and nod my head, trying to ignore the lump in my throat. Uncle Jay's chair slides across the floor and I hear him walk out of the room. When I turn to look through the empty doorway, a tear spills out of my eye. A raw pain hits my chest. I want to yell, or throw my glass against the wall, or knock over the table. I want to say that this is not how the story is supposed to go. He's supposed to be reluctant at first, then I slowly start to chip away at his walls, and we fall madly for each other. I want to beg him to not shut down on me.
But, instead, I walk to the sink, dump my juice, quickly rinse out the glass (because I'm not a complete monster), and mope all the way back to my bedroom.
~
I slept. I slept all day. I slept until the sun was setting. The purple twilight disoriented me momentarily, but then the memory of what happened at breakfast slammed into me, and my heart ached anew. Then I got annoyed with myself. What is so wrong with me that a rejection to starting something has torn me up? It's not like I was just dumped by a long-term partner; it's not like someone I was madly and passionately in love with just left me for someone else. Why am I so hurt?
Wallowing in my own melodramatic misery, I unsteadily made my way to my bathroom. My legs were taking forever to wake up, and I stumbled over the bathroom rug.
A yelp escaped me as I crashed into the tub, hitting it with my forearm before I collapsed to the tile floor on my knees. Stunned, I remained in that position, on my hands and knees, my knees burning and my forearm smarting. "That'll be a lovely bruise," I muttered to myself.
I attempt to stand gracefully, but my knees are now throbbing and I have to scoot myself over to use the sink as leverage to get up. Leaving red smears in my wake.
"Lita! Are you okay? What happened?" Uncle Jay looks like he ran here from wherever he was in the house. He surveys me up and down, then does it again.
"Where does it hurt the worst?" he asks as he pulls a first aid kit from a cabinet.
"I'm okay, just embarrassed," I grumble. But Jay shoots a look at me from over his shoulder and I amend my statement. "My knees seem to be bleeding, and my right arm hurts."
My knees are already exposed, as I'm still wearing that slutty short skirt, and I feel a wetness of blood trailing down my right leg. I hold my arm up so that Uncle Jay can see where I banged it.
He sucks in a breath and winces. I reach for the kit but he steps back, out of my reach.
"Sit," Uncle Jay commands, pointing at the closed toilet. I do, flinching as pain jolts up from my knees.
