Episode 14

Catherine Howland:

Something shifted after that night when Landon couldn't tear his gaze from my form clad in the emerald green dress that hugged my curves.

Something fierce and primal began to consume the last shred of innocence I had preserved until then as I silently prayed to be kissed in that instant.

Months have since trickled by, reinstating our usual arrangement to meet on weekends. Now, contrary to the past, watching my lengthy roster of beloved films while I revel in his physique.

I clasp him, and he reciprocates—a gesture that would be quite innocent were it not for the thoughts igniting a forbidden fire within me.

Today unfurled into a magnificent yet tumultuous Wednesday, sunny and radiant until evening unfolded a star-studded sky.

School was fine, and my parents have found little to reprimand me for, thus I've slipped under their radar for the time being.

I've also been cordially plotting with Fanny for hours on end, orchestrating her seventeenth birthday for the forthcoming month and wrapping up a joint project for our science class.

Today was eminently pleasing, though imperfect it was, for perfection eludes days not graced by Lan since Monday.

I still harbor the stretch of time 'til Friday evening when he will come for me and spirit me away to the apartment.

A mental note I make to stock up on more incense; I've purchased scores of them to burn in the apartment. The essence of Amy had long since dissipated, yet I continue acquiring them fondly, much to my brother's unbothered disposition.

As eleven o'clock inscribes itself on the clock adorning my bedroom wall, I illuminate my phone, room swathed in darkness, poised in bed as I navigate to the conversation thread with Landon.

Me: Working?

My lower lip bears the brunt of a nervous bite as I await his reply, which promptly arrives.

Lan: Still got time for you.

Me: You were working when you dropped me off at school Monday. Have you even slept?

Lan: A couple of hours, maybe. I’m fine; they handed me an easy case.

The head of the law firm graced my brother with his inaugural defense case, one he claimed was tilted in favor favorably, simple to close for our client. Nonetheless, this does not deter Landon from tirelessly laboring to avert any loose ends.

A seemingly minuscule detail, overlooked, could detrimentally pivot such a case.

I’m no sage in jurisprudence, yet faith in Landon is steadfast, for I know he will excel.

Me: Make sure you don’t skip meals and actually rest as one ought to.

Lan: I’m in top form; your worries are needless.

Me: I do worry anyway! You perennially neglect your health, teetering toward collapse.

Anxieties for him gnaw at me; peradventure, we should reassess our weekends together, gifting him more hours of liberty to slumber as adults should. This ache of absence, I'd endure if it spares his wellbeing.

Lan: This messaging isn’t cutting it. Be swift in responding so mom doesn’t catch your phone’s chirp.

I barely manage readiness to write back when my phone commences its vibration and ring, to which I swiftly yield answer as the call manifests.

"Mom thinks I'm asleep; she can't hear me talk," I whisper, masked by my pillow.

"I needed to hear your voice, dolly. It’s lonely without you."

"Have you been drinking?"

He chuckles at my query. "No. It's merely sleep deprivation."

My head nestles into the pillow, phone pressing against my ear, his rich timbre bridging through.

My heart flutters with elation at his voice; lower abdomen tingling in response, tempting my hand to seek some form of solace.

"Lan..."

"I’m here, little one."

"With you, demons are kept at bay. They shun pursuit, or at least lack the vigor to impact me," I yearn to confess that he is my remedy, the antidote to any anguish. But then he might query beyond my capacity to reply. "I cherish our weekends, yet they fall short of sufficing."

"They are indeed insufficient," he concedes.

The tingling spreads, a delicate quiver erupting between my legs.

"Lan, I am enveloped by an odd sensation." Restlessness consumes my position upon the bed.

"Describe it to me."

"It’s as if I'm ablaze," I speak softly, eyes dart toward my room's stilled door to confirm its closure.

He is silent on his end, yet his presence lingers, breath audible over the phone, now labored, heavier than before.

"Dolly, have you ever explored your own touch?"

"Explored?"

"Have you never caressed yourself there?" His voice dips lower, more resonant.

"No," I breathe more rapidly. "I fear mother might enter, I’m forbidden to lock the door, so..."

"So you’ve never indulged."

"No, I haven’t," I affirm, even as he cannot see my nod.

This peculiar sensation has magnified since that night at his apartment when we sought his assistance to return home. From that point, it's as though a switch was flipped, and merely beholding him no longer suffices.

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