18. Chapter 18 Staley
Chapter 18 Staley
T hree days have gone by since the epic verbal smackdown in Theo’s class—three very long days of daydreaming about the electrically charged hug we shared. I’m supposed to be at Theo’s house in three hours, which will give me enough time to take care of myself and trade off with Leslie for Dad Duty today. He’s got an appointment with an occupational therapist today to strengthen his eating skills. A mountain of pillows, textbooks, and unfolded laundry camouflages my bed. I dig through the mess in a desperate search for my headphones. I need a dopamine release, a chance to escape for twenty minutes and keep some of these hot feelings I have for Theo at bay. No inappropriate behavior at cuddle sessions. Ever.
“Jackpot! Come to Momma.”
The podcast app on my phone displays the classic icon I can only associate with Luca. The electric-blue frame contains a linear, scroll-like drawing with Luca Blue scrawled across it. What I wouldn’t give to catch a glimpse of the voice who usually edges me to completion multiple times a week. It’s the one thing tabling my stress, keeping me at an even keel.
Between cuddling clients, schoolwork, Dad’s appointments, and trying to keep my shit together, I haven’t had much time to enjoy the musings of Luca Blue. Once a month, I’m graced with a new recording.
Do I want more than one a month? Yes.
Am I above listening to the same track over and over again? No.
Today, there’s a new recording, fresh off the heels from another release two weeks ago, and I laugh at how, for once, the gods shine in my favor. I pop my wireless headphones in and settle into bed under my comforter.
Mood and setting are big turn-ons for me, and I don’t skimp on these details when I dim my bedside lamp. Luca’s more than a sexy voice. He can tell a story, one with feeling. It’s as if I have an anonymous dirty boyfriend to help me regulate when the stress of life gets too real. Luca might be pretending, but dammit, if he doesn’t get me off like his hands are on me right now.
Sliding my shorts off, I wriggle underneath the fresh sheets and close my eyes. Removing one of my senses makes this part all the better.
“Should We Hug?” The title of this week’s recording has me smiling from ear to ear, the memory of Theo’s embrace still imprinted in my mind.
I press play, and binaural sound effects fill my ears, tickling parts of my brain. A sunny day with a gentle breeze acts as a soft introduction to what will turn naughty in a matter of minutes. The dichotomy is not lost on me. A full timbre, one I know all too well, rolls down my body, and it’s here with him where I find escape.
The way the sun kisses your skin is so damn distracting.
He laughs in one of those handsome-guy ways.
It’s so golden, like your eyes.
Damn. I love it when the tiny details in these scripts match my physical description—homina homina homina.
It’s a new kind of hell not being able to put my hands on you when we were in public. No, I know, hugging isn’t problematic. It’s what happens to me when I hug you.
Oh, how I cannot wait to cash in on the rain check hug from Theo. I’m not leaving his house today without planning a coffee date, hang, or whatever.
No, please don’t be embarrassed. I’m a weak man when your cheeks turn red. Every time I see you, I want to hold you. Tell you how damn lovely you are. I’m not sorry for being so forward. Can I get you something to drink to help you relax?
Some might argue these tiny storytelling details are the epitome of delayed gratification. But for me, they matter.
My God, look at you.
[BEAT.]
Hey, where’d you go? Eyes on me.
[Soft chuckle. BEAT.]
Because I want to see your mouth when you show me all of you, when you bite your lip, so unguarded, I want—no, I need—to know each part of you when we work through this lesson together.
To be seen, it’s all I want, even with all of my flaws and imperfections. Someone who doesn’t think I’m crazy when I share my intrusive thoughts.
Don’t look away. That’s better, sweet girl. Your eyes on mine. Drop your head back on the pillow. Imagine my fingertips dragging softly from the top of your head down the entirety of your body.
My fingers dance alongside the inside of my thighs, bringing my skin to a pebbled state. I follow directions well because then I don’t have to think.
Every part of me wishes it was Theo here bossing me into sexual submission, touching every crevice of my body. The track continues at a leisurely pace. Slow and sultry, edging me to the brink of release. And then, Luca cuts me off at the knees when he says the following:
Ask me again. Ask me what I’m afraid of.
My body shudders at the timbre and the word-for-word delivery of his words. Theo? No, that can’t be right.
I shuffle back thirty seconds and replay the command, rubbing my center more enthusiastically than before. If I weren’t in a communal house, the groans and outrush of pleasure would be shouted across the place. Something about needing to be quiet makes this self-care session release exploding stars through my body, triggering an orgasm until I’m a blacked-out night sky.
Ask me again. Ask me what I’m afraid of.
The words rip through me as confusion and pleasure threaten to shut me down.
Holy shit. No, no way, this has to be a coincidence. My cheeks blaze with heat and desperation as my wrist tires from working myself over harder than before, and then Luca growls into my ears.
If I cuddle you, there will be no going back.
A million pieces break apart and reassemble within my body; there is no way to suppress the noise within me now. This cannot be possible. What kind of behind-the-scenes universal tomfoolery is this?
There isn’t time to process my hypothesis or to drum up a scathing speech to give Theo when I see him because he’s known since day-freaking-one who he is and what I’m into! And he had the nerve to play coy—shy, even—with me, a person who gets off on his secret identity. This cannot be right. I have half a mind to let him have it. I just had angry sex—with myself, and it was incredible.
A ringing blares through my headphones as if I’ve been caught in the act with a hand in my cookie jar. Death is the least I can offer to whoever is interrupting me. There’s a chance my sheets will need changing after all of this.
It’s Leslie.
“Hey, Leslie.”
“Staley, I’m sorry to call you this early, but I’ve got a flat tire, and my husband has already left for work. I’ll be about an hour and a half late. I called roadside services, but they will take longer than I expected. I know you’ve got appointments today.”
“It’s okay, Leslie. I can reschedule or cancel. In all honesty, you might have saved my bacon. Today’s appointment was bound to be complicated anyway.”
“Won’t you lose money, though? You left the paperwork for the new meds out on the counter. Pricey. I do not snoop, but can you afford to miss a session?”
“It’ll be fine, Leslie. Don’t worry. I’ll see you in a little while.”
Canceling on Theo is the smart thing to do. I need time to build my case and maybe another climax. How will I call him out without admitting I got off to his voice this morning?
I don’t know if I should be enraged or let this play out in my favor because he’s been leading me on this whole time. Using people isn’t my style, but I could make his cheeks burn as hot as mine have. Who on this campus can say they know the real identity of Luca Blue? Who knows what being cuddled by a man with a poetic, sex-laced voice feels like? Me. I can say that.
You lucky bitch.
I drum out an email to Theo in hopes he’ll see it.
Theo,
Something urgent has come up, and I must cancel today’s session. You can contact the office to reschedule, but there’s nogoing back as far as refunds go. I’ll see you in class for today’s lesson.
Deuces,
Staley
Heat radiates from within my belly, begging me to tap back into where Luca and I left off. Against my desires, I put my pajama shorts back on. An email alert comes through.
Staley,
Is everything alright? I don’t want my money back; your time is valuable to me.
Warmly,
Theo
Ugh. Why must he be so damn lovely while simultaneously respecting my time? I don’t owe him an explanation but give one anyway.
Theo,
Everything is fine. I’m stuck at my house longer than expected this morning. Rescheduling could be tricky; I imagine your schedule is packed with writing.
No Diggity,
Staley
Sassy and ironic email sign-offs are my absolute favorite, and I cannot help but laugh-snort at myself for this one. Before I can fasten a bra to my body, another email comes through.
Staley,
Yes, I’m sure. Maybe we could work something out. Why don’t I come to you?
No Doubt,
Theo
Oh, no. Absolutely not. He doesn’t get to flirt back with me!
Theo cannot come to my house; it will only confuse Dad, and I don’t want to explain to Leslie why I’m now taking clients in the family home. This confrontation with Theo needs to happen somewhere else. Leslie has never once judged me for my work, but this might cause her to question my professionalism when she sees how hot Theo is. I begin a response, begging Theo to do anything but come here. My eyes stop on his words; why don’t I come to you?
An image of Theo cumming is enough to paint my ears with heat.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I weigh how selfish I am in wanting more. Luca in the flesh instead of recorded? Oh, man.
Clenching my legs together only amplifies the lingering sensation I’m trying to fight off. A slow gasp leaves my mouth, and a shudder rolls down my spine. It’s damn near impossible to remove the searing memory of Theo’s hand on my waist, his voice firm and assertive near my neck, lighting every nerve ending of my body up. I am such an idiot.
Maybe I’m wrong. Perhaps I want Theo to be Luca, and I’m crossing the wires of my real life with my imaginary sex life, and they aren’t the same.
“Help! Help me!”
Dad never calls for help. I race down the hallway, my fever dream of Theo’s body entangled with mine dissipating in my panic, my heart pounding for an entirely different reason now.
“Dad? I’m right here, it’s okay. Shh, it’s okay.”
“Where’s Leslie? Leslie!”
Dad sits on the edge of his bed with the sheets tangled up in his hands, his face awash in confusion. The backs of his hands are white because of his grip on the linens, and his eyes chase after each object in the room, looking to identify anything.
Approaching him is a delicate dance of moving closer while remaining steady mentally; I don’t want to make him more afraid or confused. Dad never raised a hand to me as a child, and he wasn’t big on time-outs either. As far as consequences go, the ones I did receive came naturally, and life lessons were often taught by talking things out.
But talking doesn’t happen the same anymore.
My hand hovers inches above his shoulder with hesitancy, hoping he’ll lean into me.
Cuddling strangers regularly is fine. Touching my dad is terrifying.
All the providers warned me that in an agitated state, a person with dementia can lash out verbally or physically. The thought makes me sick to my stomach, but I push through the shitty feeling anyway. His shoulder is cold to the touch and bonier than the full-bodied man I’m used to.
Losing weight. One more thing to worry about. I wonder if he’s scared because I’m so afraid for him.
“Dad, it’s okay. It’s me, Staley. Leslie has a flat tire. She’ll be here soon to take you to your appointment.”
Dad’s eyes turn to where my hand presses into his body, and I wait for whatever comes next. Either way, I freeze, panicking that today could be the day my father brings me harm simply because I’m trying to care for him. His gaze darts from my hand to my eyes, and all I can see within him is an innocent smile. I’m sorry, kiddo. I didn’t mean for this to happen.
A nod falls from his head as he releases the accosted bed sheets.
“Staley?”
Will today be the day he remembers me, his little girl?
“Yeah, Dad.” My soul lights up at the sound of my name on his lips.
“Where’s Leslie?”
A desperate smile masks the frown I want to show him.
“She’ll be here soon. Let’s get you ready for breakfast.”
We spend fifteen minutes getting him clothed in his comfiest joggers and a soft cotton T-shirt. Pre-diagnosis, I would have been mortified to see my father naked in any capacity. Now, it’s part of our everyday routine.
Dad sits at the kitchen table, staring off into space, eyes vacant and unblinking, and for the fourth time this morning, my heart develops another fissure. Waking up every day bracing for inevitable micro-devastations is a heartache—a suffocating and unstoppable feeling—when someone you love is slowly erased from the family portrait.
Selfishness consumes me, and I make an impulsive decision and throw caution to the wind.
Theo,
If you have enough time and are comfortable doing your cuddle session here, you’re welcome to come by.
Bag it up,
Staley
Smiling this hard hurts my cheeks as I type out my home address. I’m caught between hoping he’ll race over here and turning down my offer.
A soft-boiled egg and a bowl of applesauce are asking Dad to do a lot, but I try to serve it to him anyway. The clock fills the dining room with the sounds both of us cannot formulate. It’s terrible, but sometimes I don’t know how to talk to Dad about my life or if it even matters.
But, of course, it matters. I know this.
The things I want to say to him are on the tip of my tongue. How I hate college but will finish it because it’s his dream for me. I am exhausted down to my bones, but I will work this hard for him because he did the same for me. I want to ask him for advice about boys and to get the skinny on why he and Noah don’t hang out anymore. It’s easy to dwell on our new normal and stay angry and sad. The two often tangle themselves up in my body, ejecting only through difficult breathing and erratic heart rate.
The rattle of the front door opens and closes, followed by Leslie announcing her arrival.
“Good morning, Monroe family! What a day it’s been already.”
Leslie’s bright, energetic smile softens the tension.
Before I shower, I debrief Leslie on the morning events, and she hugs me without asking if it’s what I need. She knows because this isn’t her first rodeo with sick parents. She practically puts a foot in my backside, shoving me into the bathroom, assuring me she has Dad handled and to take care of myself.
“Give yourself some time to unplug, Staley. Shave while you’re in there, for heaven’s sake.”
Oh, Leslie has jokes today.
An uninterrupted shower is rare. Nine times out of ten, I need to cut the bathing short and end up with one leg shaved and the other not. As the bottle suggests, I double shampoo my hair and keep the conditioner on for two minutes. It’s been a while, but I apply the vanilla shea butter shaving cream and use a fresh razor to tidy up my legs and bikini line.
A muffled exchange of words catches my attention. Dad talks to Leslie more than he does me anymore, but even then, his engagement is brief at best. Sweet laughs meet my ears.
Leslie is probably watching The Maury Povich Show —again.
Curiosity and impatience are two of my greatest strengths. Wrapping a too-small towel around my torso, I hurry to the other end of the house, searching for what’s so funny.
“Leslie, what on God’s green earth are you laughing about out here? You know none of these guys are ever the father, right?”
And because the universe is a total dick, I stand dripping wet in a towel covering only my tits and bits, with my mouth all slack-jawed staring at none other than Theodore Sullivan himself.
“Staley, you have a visitor. He sure is handsome. You didn’t tell me you were having company today.”
Leslie winks at me as she waves Theo through the front door.
“Theo.”
My heart nosedives into my low belly, and I am overcome by his face yet again. I’ve memorized every facet of his face down to the perfectly divoted dimples, but it feels new whenever we come together. Today’s Theo discovery is his one eyebrow arched independently of the other.
Leslie’s eyes dart between us—me, wet in more ways than one, and Theo, with product in his hair. His defined brown curls are in a state of perfection. It’s hard to miss the slight five o’clock shadow along his jaw and the uptick of the side of his mouth. A smile?
“You didn’t get my reply? I said I’d b-be right over.”
Theo’s eyes go wide as he scans me from head to toe, trying not to address the elephant in the room, which is me being stark naked.
Leslie waves her hand before my non-blinking eyes and whispers, “Honey, it might be polite to put some clothes on unless this is a different kind of visit.” She drops her eyes at me in accusation but with pride.
Theo and I study Leslie at the same time, ready to defend her theory about what is happening here.
“Right, clothes. Theo, you can watch Maury with Leslie in the den. I’ll be out in a minute.”
I mouth the words I’m sorry to Theo as I walk down the hallway backward.
He mouths back I’m not.