Going Home
Returning to my hometown isn’t an easy decision. If I weren’t jobless and trying to escape my sick ex, I wouldn’t have been driving across three states without knowing what to do next. I just need a place to hide and think.
If people heard me say I was about to crash into a house that had my name on it, they would call me silly. Dad left that house to me and his latest wife when he died five years ago. So, theoretically, it’s also my house, even though I’ve never lived there for over a decade.
“So, how long are you going to stay with us?” asked my dad’s widow, Linda, when I rang her and told her about my trip to Aurora last week. Her tone was distant and reluctant, a sign I wasn’t welcomed. I can’t blame her, though, since she’s the one who has been living there and taking care of the property. She must think she deserves more. We don’t have to like each other; we only need to be civil.
“I’m not sure, yet,” I replied. “I just need to have a little break from New York. Maybe a month or two. My apartment lease ends this month, so I need to figure out what to do after this. I mean, I’ll need to find a job again, eventually.”
She was quiet for five seconds before clearing her throat. “I’ll have the guest room ready for you. We can’t wait to see you again, Lilian.”
Of course, she didn’t mean her last line, but I didn’t make a fuss about it. “Great. See you next week.”
That was one hell of an awkward phone talk after a year of no communication between us. It’s going to be an interesting summer getaway for me.
I glance up at the sky that has gradually turned tangerine. The perk of traveling in summer is the longer daylight, since driving in the dark sucks more energy. I’m lucky we’re not expecting rain in Illinois today, or I would have checked in a hotel fifty miles ago.
After an hour of driving, I finally see Chicago’s city lights glimmering against the evening sky. I’m almost home. And yes, I still call Aurora home, regardless of what happened. But hey, I still have a few memories about this place that give me reasons to smile, like my childhood when Mom was still alive, for instance, or when I spent time with my high school besties talking about boys and sex. Little did they know I wasn’t interested in any boys at our school because I was busy fixated on a man.
The only problem was that the man was our excruciatingly hot teacher, and he was engaged. Obviously, it didn’t stop the girls from doing stupid things to draw his attention. Something like spreading their legs under the table, wide enough for him to see their panties, or leaning forward to show off their boobs when they talked to him. Compared to them, I was like a mosquito on the dark-painted wall; I was invisible. My breasts were flat, my posture was too skinny to my liking, and my eyes were too big for my diamond-shaped face. Not to mention my stubbornly straight jet-black hair that made me look like a mannequin wearing a cheap wig. He barely noticed me.
Well, that was until I made a stupid move at the end.
Fuck! I wince at the memory. Okay, let’s not go there. It was embarrassing, and I wish I could erase the scene from my head for good.
Before I know it, I’m entering my family home’s driveway. It’s almost ten-thirty — later than expected, but the bright light occasionally blinking in the dim living room indicates someone is still up and watching a TV. Once my backpack and duvet bag are in my grip, I trudge toward the porch, but before I can ring the bell, the door is yanked open, revealing a teenage girl who looks like Linda; blue eyes, straight nose, thin lips, and a pointy chin. But she definitely inherits her chestnut curls from her dad, since Linda is blond.
“Hi, Daisy. I bet Linda told you about my arrival tonight?”
She nods, eyeing me from head to toe. “You’re taller than I remember.”
I chuckle at her remark. “And look at you. You’ve grown into a stunning young lady.”
She shrugs and holds the door open for me. “Come in. Mom is going to a music festival in town. She won’t be home before twelve.”
Roaming my eyes over my surroundings to see what has changed, I climb the stairwells. “Why didn’t you go with her?”
“Eww.” Daisy scoffs. “It’s for old people. And she’s going with a man friend.”
I stop at the guest room door and turn to her. “Oh? Is she on a date with someone?”
“Yep. Well, I’m not sure, actually, but they’ve been pretty close lately.” She crosses her legs and slips her hands into her sweatpants pockets, her shoulders slouching. “But it’s weird as fuck, you know.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s my flipping headmaster.”
“Oh, wow.” I laugh at her disgusted face, but then I remember vaguely she told me she went to my school too. “Do I know him? Probably not. I left school like, eleven years ago.”
“You should. It’s Mr. Greyson.”
My breath hitches in my throat. “What? Noah Greyson is your principal now? I thought he was transferred somewhere else?”
“And got transferred back three years ago. It’s his first year as our headmaster.” She groans again.
“And Linda is dating him?”
Daisy nods. “Yeah. I believe they’re kinda fooling around.”
“Damn,” I mumble, feeling uneasy all of a sudden.
This is ridiculous because I was over my silly crush on Noah Greyson years ago. I even dated a few guys before I met Aaron, my possessive ex. But whenever I was alone in bed and played with myself, Mr. Greyson’s green eyes and sexy smirk invaded my mind. I would imagine my dildo as his erect cock jamming into my pussy and my fingers as his lips sucking my nipples, and then I would come hard. He’s my forever fantasy; my naughty little secret.
Holy hell. This is going to be weird. I don’t know if I’m ready to see my fantasy turn into flesh and blood.
