My breaths are heavy as I give the car only a moment to warm up before I’m backing out of our driveway.

The second I get onto the main road, I’m nervous. The roads are really bad. My car is all-wheel drive, a necessity living in Maine, but still. I can feel the tires slipping as I pull off, picking up speed quicker than I normally would in these conditions, because I’m so fucking eager to put distance between me and that house.

The radio station is still where I last left it, playing Christmas songs at low volume. That Wham! song they play to death is on, and right now it’s really irking me more than it usually does. The lyrics are crooning about giving your heart to someone special, and I want to retch.

This fucking sucks.

Glancing at the screen, I contemplate switching to one of my playlists through the Bluetooth. I want to rage right now. I want angry music about heartbreak, not this dumbass whining in my ears. But I can’t take my attention away from the roads. My wipers are on mid-to-high speed, and it’s still difficult to see with all the snow and sleet flying at my windshield, practically blinding me.

Driving for only about a mile, my speed picks up, and I’m so distracted by the bleak state of my life, I barely notice my foot pressing further and further down on the gas.

I can’t believe how stupid I am. I can’t even fathom that all of this is happening as a result of me crossing a line in my sleep.

This is what happens when you stifle your subconscious for so long. When you want someone so badly it blurs out everything else, and you end up stumbling over the edge of rational thought and action, into the exact thing you’ve been keeping locked up tight.

My heart worked with my brain and my body, conspiring to fuck me over. And that’s exactly what happened.

I fucked everything up, and I’m sick over it.

What did I really think would happen?? James would hook up with me a few times and realize he loves me back, as more than a guardian? That he would throw caution to the wind and agree to more with me, just because of how badly I want it?

As angry as I am, he’s right. No one could ever understand…

Look at Woody Allen, for fuck’s sake. He married his adopted daughter and has been permanently labeled a creep. And he didn’t even raise her from that young, I don’t think!

I mean… I’m not sure I want to compare James to a creepy old man, or me to... whoever his child-wife was, regardless of how popular his films are. I don’t even know… I’m just… Losing it.

Ugh. Fuck this. Fuck love, fuck feelings, fuck the best goddamn sex I’ve ever had or could ever imagine… Fuck everything.

Speeding the street with my head fogged by nonsense, I hit a patch of ice, and my car swerves. The steering wheel vibrates from the traction control, the tires attempting to grip at a surface too slick, and I fishtail.