Joey Avery appears to have everything. Happiness. Loving parents. A life all mapped out. But it's all a lie. An entire life based on a lie. First of all, she's a her, not a him, though it gets people confused all the time, since her name is typicall...
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I didn't go to the funerals.
He died two weeks ago, and it still haunts me. Probably always will.
I used to have nightmares about every little thing dad did to me, Xander made them go away. Now, I have nightmares about his death. The look in his face. The blood coming out of his wound and his mouth. His hands loosening from around my neck. His lifeless body on top of mine. My hands and clothes covered in red.
I hope Xander will be able to make those leave my mind as well.
***
"Do you like to dance?" I ask him as I'm straddling him.
He shakes his head no, "But I'll be dancing with you tonight."
A smile forms on both our faces, and I'm pretty sure I'm blushing. His hands explore my body, making my skin shivers, the only thing keeping me warm being his shirt that I'm wearing.
"I can't wait to see you in your dress," he comments.
I haven't shown it to him yet, I only told him it was black and gave him a matching tie.
"But I mostly can't wait to get it off of you at the end of the night," he adds, tracing the sides of stomach with his fingers. "I missed being in you."
"Addict," I tell him.
We haven't had sex since everything happened, since the day my father died. Mostly because my whole body was hurting from the hits I had taken, but also because, even though I hated him, I was still grieving him, especially knowing that his death was my fault.
"You're the best addiction," he whispers in my ear as he kisses my lobe, and down my neck.
I bring his face to mine, his lips meeting my lips, his body against mine. I can feel him under me growing harder and harder each time our lips connect, and my hands grip his hair, pulling them a little.
He might not have to wait until tonight if we keep going at it.
"I love you so much, Joey," another shiver travels my body.
There's something in the way he pronounces my name. Like it's the most precious thing.
"If I learned to love again, it's because of you," I tell him. "You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. Je t'aime."
Mom used to say those words to me all the time. She loved French, she was taking online classes, dreaming that one day she'd be fluent and would go to France. Someday, I'll go for her. I'll have to practice my French until then because it's horrendous.
We're about to start kissing again when the doorbell rings. I try getting up, but Xander grabs me by the waist pulling me back on top of him, shushing me before I can even protest.
"They'll go away."
They don't. They ring it again. Again. And again. Until Xander gets annoyed, and heads to the front door, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a shirt. I follow closely behind him.
