𝐈 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟐 - something in the orange
masterpost • ao3
summary — joel has never been one to give in, yet somehow you've changed him — broken him down and opened him up. cracked his ribcage in two. wrapped yourself tightly around his organs, and now he has to carry the weight of you.
word count — 13.8k
tags — joel miller x reader, dad's best friend, no outbreak/no cordyceps, age gap, slow burn
content warnings — hefty age gap (reader late 20s/joel early 50s)
psa — okay so i got tired of waiting to hear back from support and decided to go ahead and post this chapter. i am still holding out hope i'll get my blog back but in the case i don't, this is my backup/new one! if you're one of the readers of this fic or my former follower who is finding this then feel free to follow me back for future updates just in case ♡
author’s note — i wanted to thank you all for your patience on this chapter, i'd been really unmotivated to finish it during this whole fiasco, but luckily i had already written the bulk of it before it all went down. that being said this is by far and away my favorite chapter i have written so far!! it's also the longest sitting at a whopping 13k words! also i name drop reader for the first time in this fic oopsie! and last but not least, thank you all as always for your continued support and love for this story! this has been such a great experience for me, and given me so much confidence as a creative writer, and it's all because of you all and your lovely comments and messages! love you all dearly, and i hope you enjoy! ₊˚⊹ᰔ
tag list — @vanillaxbambi @juliebb1 @froggyloora @starryd147 @rottedbeneath @lanagriffinxxx @jackiecarter @javiermillerrrr @angelgmf26 @swagdaddy2004 @pinkcabinet @billionairecowgirl @therewastherewas @violent-darkness @lyfeofaloner @tendertulip @mustachepascal @daughtersofc6in
It’ll be fine by dusk light, I’m tellin’ you, baby / These things eat at your bones and drive your young mind crazy. / But when you place your head between my collar and jaw / I don’t know much, but there’s no weight at all.
There’s this heaviness to Joel’s bones like lead. Suddenly all the iron in his blood congealed, weighing him down. It’s with him the moment he wakes up, and each second that passes, every minute that his mind is filled with you, it gets heavier. He’ll lift his head from the pillow, neck already aching under the strain, only to find the shape of you still lingering in the mattress beside him. Your smell permeates everything around him, suffocating in the way only love can. It’s that burn, the need to breathe in the water, even when you know it will drown you. But the thought of that temporary relief, the cool rushing in, for even a moment of bliss makes the pain worth it.
He carries it with him throughout the day, like a chain around the ankle, dragging his guilt everywhere he goes. The deafening silence of it taunting him — work, the store, the gas station, home. It’s as inescapable as the wind, or the unrelenting Texas sun. Each day it crushes him and he has to learn how to carry it.
There are moments he wonders if it’s all worth it. If this thing is worth the weight.
In his weakest moments — or maybe his strongest, it’s hard to tell which is which at this point — he thinks about ending it. Imagining full conversations with you, sometimes he even imagines telling you the truth. But more often than not he imagines a lie, excuses or confessions, sharp words meant to maim. Taking a blade to his ankle, sawing through bone and sinew, forcing the weight off of him, even if it leaves you both scarred.
Those are the moments Joel can’t stand to look at himself. Every reflection he passes his eyes avert, he can’t stand it. The man who looks back at him, all bruised under eyes and worn lines, greys standing out more and more against his dark hair. That man looks old — looks weak.
Joel always considered himself to be strong, to know who he was, what he wanted. But ever since that day it’s all out of balance. Like everything is just slightly off center, his equilibrium trying desperately to catch up, to keep him from falling.
He’s a mess. Coming to work late, ordering the wrong supplies, putting mayo on his sandwhich when he fucking hates mayo. Tommy keeps making jokes about him getting old, senile. Joel does his best to laugh it off but by the time he’s at work the weight is so unbearable he can barely think about anything else. He tells himself Tommy doesn’t notice.
The drive home everyday is a blur, everything distorted, just movement and light. It’s dangerous really, he shouldn’t be driving like that but what else is he supposed to do. Maybe Tommy is right, maybe it’s sundowning or something; no matter that Joel’s only 52. It’s a reasonable explanation, why the evening comes and suddenly everything feels different.
It has nothing to do with him opening the door and finding you there. Sometimes you’re in the kitchen like you used to, listening to some grungey band while cooking over the stove. Other times you’re on the couch, curled up under a blanket watching some gory horror movie. Whichever way he comes home to you, the warmth of you envelops him instantly. Your scent lingering over everything, sinking into his bones. In those moments it’s a comfort, not at all the suffocation of the mornings. He relishes those moments. His bones lose their ache, the weight left at the door. You always turn, sensing him there before he’s even made a sound, and the smile that spreads across your face is the most beautiful thing Joel thinks he’s ever seen. No sunrise, no solar eclipse, could ever compare to it. It’s a blessing bestowed upon him that he doesn’t know how he managed to deserve.
In those moments he’s himself again — he knows with every fiber of his being who he is, what he wants. It’s you. Your light always shining on him, filling him up, no room left for doubt or guilt.
He still doesn’t know how you manage to come over so often. Doesn’t know what you said to your old man that explains your delayed departure. Sometimes he wonders whether you simply don’t tell Daniel where you go at night, or maybe he doesn’t even notice.
Tonight’s another one of those nights, this time you greet him at the door, wrapping your arms around him within seconds of crossing the threshold into the safety of his house. The weight of you almost knocks him over, Joel having to counteract it by taking a step back, balancing you both. You nuzzle into his neck, and already he can feel your warmth sinking into him — easing the tension from his weary body. Joel can’t help the sigh that falls from his lips as he breathes you in, nuzzling his head into your hair.
His eyes fall shut and for the first time in the day he finally feels like he can breathe. Each muscle in his body slowly unwinding. You let go, rocking back on your heels to your normal height, eyes level with his sternum.
“What was that for?” He huffs out, rubbing his neck.
“Nothing really. Just a long day” You look down, toeing his boot with your sock clad foot. He laughs at that, the idea of you being the one of them to have a long day is amusing. Joel lifts his eyebrows, but doesn’t pry. He knows if you want to share you will, and lord knows he’s got more than enough on his mind as is.
He runs his hand down your arm as he passes, moving to set his toolbag down. You follow close on his heels, like his shadow, and for a moment it reminds him of Sarah. When she was young she used to follow Joel around like a puppy, always asking questions about what he was doing and telling him whatever popped in her mind. Joel shakes the thought from his head violently with a crack of his neck, the comparison of you to his own daughter is too much.
Too real. Just another reminder of the exact things he tries his hardest to forget about.
But there’s moments, fragments interlaced with glimpses of her — that girl he once knew. No matter how much he tries to ignore them, avert his gaze, clear his mind, she’s always there in the room with the two of you.
You’ll smile, and he’ll see her, the tooth you lost in third grade, knocked loose when you’d fallen out of a tree. You’d been so worried about whether or not it’d actually grow back.
Or you’ll laugh, the two of you watching a movie, and he’ll hear her. The kind of uninhibited laugh, straight from the belly, and she’s beside him again. When he’d have to babysit you because Daniel was out on patrol; you and Sarah huddled up on the couch, watching some braindead kids show.
It makes guilt rise in his throat like bile — the acidic taste of shame that he has to swallow down.
It always passes though, as soon as she’s there she’ll be gone again — you sitting in her place. It takes his breath away each time. It never gets easier.
Joel walks over to the couch, sinking into it with a groan, and starts unlacing his boots. You plop down beside him, snaking your legs onto his lap. He’s coming to learn these new mannerisms of you, the need for contact — to be grounded by him. Whether it’s your feet touching his under the table, your legs draped over his lap, or your side pressed against his. Joel doesn’t mind though, it’s comforting to him. A balm to his guilt, physical reminders that you want this.
No matter how many times he’s heard you say it over the past two weeks, he’s always grateful for the reminder.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I really wasn’t in the mood to cook. Do you mind if we just order something?” Joel’s working on his boots, but he can see you in his peripheral, watching his expression. He turns to meet your gaze, and there’s something hidden behind your eyes, like you’re worried he’ll be upset with you. He hates it, his jaw ticking.
He smiles warmly at you, tossing his boots onto the ground, “That sounds great, baby”.
You brighten at his words, a small smile curling your lips, and you snuggle a bit closer into him. He’s learned you love the pet name. The first few times it ever slipped out were in moments of weakness, a subconscious association. But now he uses it more often than not, noticing how you blush every time.
“Can we get Chinese though? Last time we got that other stuff I had heartburn for days.” Joel rubs at his sternum from the memory. Some spicy stuff you’d sworn was good and he’d made the mistake of trusting you.
You laugh, shaking your head, “Okay, okay. No more Indian, got it.”
Joel leans forward to grab the remote, having to hold onto your knees to stop your legs from slipping off his lap. He flips through the channels until he finally lands on what looks to be a horror movie if the person screaming bloody murder has anything to say for it.
You perk up beside him, scootching closer, “Ooooh! I love this movie!”
Joel squints at the screen, trying to figure out what the hell is going on as a group of people huddle around a screaming little boy. He flinches at the sound, face twisting, “I don’t get how you like this shit. What’s this about anyway?”
“Y’know The Shining? Well it’s like a sequel. It’s about the little boy Danny, but he’s grown up now. He meets this little girl who has the same powers as him and basically he’s trying to save her from these immortal people who live off of the energy of their psychic abilities. It’s a whole thing, but I promise it’s good!” Joel’s not so sure as the people start violently stabbing the little boy, but he’s willing to take your word for it.
He grabs your phone from your hands, your attention focused on the movie now, and he distracts himself with ordering food.
By the time the food comes, Joel has to admit you were right. The movie is actually really interesting, even if he barely remembers the last time he watched The Shining. More so he enjoys watching you watch it. The way your eyes track the movement on the screen, the small opening of your lips when you notice new things. Joel loves just to watch you, somehow he’s figured out how to do it without just staring. Unlike you, who always looks at him with such intensity, like you’re afraid he’s going to disappear.
When he gets up to grab the food from outside, he doesn’t fail to notice the slight downturn of your lips at the loss of contact. He makes sure to come back quickly, placing the bag on the coffee table before heading back to the kitchen to grab plates and a couple beers.
The moment he sits back down you’re on him again — legs across his lap, and he smiles to himself. He makes plates for the two of you, handing you yours first before serving himself. He relaxes back into the couch, sinking into your warmth at his side. You're close enough that his arm is slightly restricted, but he doesn’t mind.
He’s not sure how the two of you managed to sink into such a comfortable routine. Maybe it’s because you’d already had one before everything happened — your weekly dinners a mold for this newfound thing.
The two of you haven’t really talked about it. Neither Joel nor you much for opening up, and you’ve always read each other so well. Talking about it feels redundant, unnecessary.
Not that Joel wouldn’t like to know, to understand what this means to you. If it means anything really. If it’s just fun or something to cope with your last relationship.
If he means anything in the long run, or if it’s just a fling. Some short lived thing that you’ll grow out of. Leaving him irrevocably changed.
He doesn’t know, and for once he’s more than willing to live in the unknown. This is what you both want at this moment, and if that changes — well he’s a grown man. He’ll live with it. Face it head on, accept it as it comes to him.
Joel’s pulled from his thoughts when you nuzzle into him. He hadn’t even noticed you’d moved, now lying on your side, head resting gently in his jean clad lap. He’s so attuned to you he hadn’t processed it, yet his body naturally molded to you — his arm draped over your side, holding you to him, his other hand running through your hair.
He pauses a moment, coming to like in a dream, and she’s there again. The young girl from before, resting gently on his lap. But he swears you’d never done that, Sarah was always the one to fall asleep during movies, head on his thigh, drool staining his jeans. But he’s looking at you, mousy hair in waves, freckles on your cheeks, small fingers clenching as you dream.
It startles him, he has to close his eyes, a sharp pain stabbing in his ribcage.
When he opens them again, she’s gone — you lying in her place. Eyes half open, barely watching the movie as you begin to doze off. Dark hair still tangled in his fingers from where they’d been running through it. Joel’s breath comes in short succession, he disguises it, clearing his throat.
You don’t seem to notice, your eyes finally drifting shut as your breathing slows, his palm still pressed tightly to your stomach.
Joel reaches for his beer, careful not to wake you. He finishes it off, needing the cool liquid to calm his mind, to bring some clarity, or maybe just enough of a haze to dull the noise. He finishes the movie, listening more to the sound of your breath than the words, and tries not to notice the cold sweat that is drying on the back of his neck.
Joel wakes up with a start, the same as every other morning, heavy breaths through his nose, rapid rise and fall of his chest. Joel’s always been tormented with bad dreams, his mind coming up with some of the worst possible realities in his sleep.
Sometimes he dreams of losing Sarah, the feel of her blood on his hands so real. Other times his dreams are more abstract — more feelings than anything else. Feelings of dread, of unimaginable rage, of loss.
Lately, he dreams of you. Your face twisted in disgust, looking at him like a stranger. Words he knows you’d never say falling from your lips like venom.
When he regains control of his body, muscles loosening, he turns his head sharply, and feels relief flooding his system to find you sleeping form next to him. The gentle rise and fall of your bare back a reminder. You don’t always spend the night, more often than not heading back home late; doing your part to avoid suspicion.
But last night you’d chosen to stay, something clearly roiling behind your eyes and Joel never was able to deny you.
He catches his breath as he watches you, trying to match with the steady rhythm of your own breathing. Once his heart slows, he turns his head, checking his watch on the bedside table. As usual, he wakes up just on time. Joel hasn’t used an actual alarm in years, his body instinctively knowing when it’s time to start the day after years of the same routine.
He sits up gently, careful not to wake you as he rises from the bed. He grabs a change of clothes, and heads into his bathroom. He makes the mistake of catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and already the weight is settling back. The knowledge of who exactly is lying in his bed sinking into his skin like hooks.
When he steps out of the bathroom, hair damp and work clothes on, you’re awake. Though you’re pretending not to be, eyes still closed. But like a sixth sense he knows you’re not sleeping, your breathing and body language different. It brings a smile to his face.
He walks over softly, stopping at the edge of the bed. He kneels down next to you, placing a gentle kiss to your temple, and he doesn’t miss the way your body responds to the touch. You open your eyes then, slowly still feigning sleep, a soft smile on your face. He strokes a stray hair behind your ear as you watch one another.
“I’ve gotta get going, lock up when y’ leave?” You nod your head gently, leaning into his touch where his hand still rests in your hair.
Joel takes one last lingering look at you, eyes roaming your face, trying to make it last. Needing your warmth, hoping maybe this time it won’t leave him the moment he walks out the door.
But by the time he’s in his truck, music humming low, his limbs are heavy again — the only warmth is from the burn of coffee down his throat.
“Come on, brother! It’s been a shit fucking day, one beer’ll do you good!” Tommy hollars over his shoulder as he heads for his truck.
“Since when was it one beer with you?” Joel scoffs, but the look on his younger brother's face says he won’t hear the end of it if he doesn’t tag along. He’ll be hearing how he’s getting old for weeks. Joel rolls his eyes, heaving out a heavy sigh, and Tommy laughs in response — knowing he’s won. He pats the side of his truck door, “Come on then! We’ll ride together, I’ll give ya’ ride in the mornin’”.
Joel doesn’t love the idea, but Tommy’s got that expression that says I’m not gonna listen to a word you say, so he just grumbles as he walks around to the passenger side — shit eating grin plastered to Tommy’s features. A mile down the road and Tommy’s still looking like he won an argument so Joel punches him in the arm, but his brother just rubs his arm and laughs it off.
They pull into the parking lot, and Joel is immediately reminded of the last time he was here. The familiar gravel dust hiding the evening sun outside Dark Skies.
He swallows down the memory, giving his brother a raised brow, “Really?”
“What? They got cheap beer, since when were you too good for a dive?” Tommy pats his brother on the shoulder before hopping out, not noticing the discomfort on Joel’s face.
He cracks his neck, trying to right himself, and follows his brother out of the truck. Joel knows he’s been off lately, but being here is disorienting. Things are good with you, or as good as they can be given the circumstances. But this place reminds him of you in a way that’s uncomfortable. The vision of your falling apart just from the sight of him.
Guilt sinks its teeth into him, drawing blood. You seem happy with him, happier and lighter than you’ve been since coming home. But he can’t shake the feeling that he’s tainting you. Doing something forbid and sick, something he’ll regret. Moments like that night remind him of your fragility. No matter how much you do your best to hide it, Joel can see the cracks in your armor. He hates to think that he might be the one who put them there, and that maybe now, he’s only adding more.
When this inevitably ends, likely blowing up in your faces— Joel can’t think about what it might do.
The strong smell of cigarettes and beer permeates the air of the bar, distracting Joel from his mind for a moment. It’s then he hears Tommy’s voice, it finally piercing through as a whistles, “Earth to Joel, god damn. What’s up with you lately?”
Joel bristles as he sits down next to his brother, his voice coming out rougher than he means for it to, “I don’t know what you mean”.
“You’re in another world, that’s what. Y’seem out of it, orderin’ the wrong lumber, telling guys to go work on shit we finished Tuesday, not listenin’ when I talk to you. Is everythin’ alright?” Tommy’s tone is scolding but behind it Joel can hear the genuine concern.
“‘M fine, alright. Will you just lay off it?” Joel knows he shouldn’t snap at him, knows he just cares. But the air in here is thick, lying on his skin in a way that makes it crawl. He can’t stop picturing you in here, in this place. It’s dark, dirty, sleazy — not a place you should be. Your a grown woman, he knows that, but imagining you in a place like this… A beautiful young woman in a bar filled with pervy men and drunks, it makes him feel sick. It also doesn’t pass his notice that if you were here right now, he’d be lumped into the category of the latter, and that makes his head throb.
Joel rubs at his temples, even as he can hear Tommy’s voice distant beside him, “Damn, god forbid y’worry about a guy”, he mumbles into his beer. Joel grabs his roughly, needing the feel of the cool glass on his lips. He can feel his body temperature rising, discomfort and anger pooling in his gut.
He really should leave. This isn’t a good combination, alcohol and unruly emotions. Tommy’s always been as hotheaded as him, and at this rate things are adding up to a very uncomfortable drive home if he doesn’t get himself under control.
He can hear Tommy talking beside him, he can’t quite make out what he’s saying over the roar of his blood, so he just hums every once in a while. Tommy used to Joel’s nonverbal habits.
Joel can’t stop his eyes from wandering, looking at the bartender, the customers, the dirty floor, and the dollar bills on the walls. Wondering where you sat, who talked to you, if anyone touched you. His skin is crawling and he’s finished his beer in record time, already motioning the bartender for another. He’s pulled violently back into the moment at the mention of your name. He turns his head sharply, looking at Tommy with a furrowed brow.
“What’d you say?”
Tommy rubs at his eyes, clearly annoyed at talking to a brick wall, “I asked ‘bout Wren. If Dan’s said anythin’ about her goin’ home. I knew he’d mentioned it ‘while back but from what I heard she’s still here.”
Joel bristles at the mention of you, his eyes flickering, trying to swallow down the words in his throat, “Why would’ya think I’d know anythin’ about that?” His voice comes out sounding off even to his own ears, and Joel knocks his boot into the bar, scolding himself internally.
Luckily, if Tommy notices he doesn’t say anything, just giving Joel a strange look, “Well, I know she’d come over to yours for dinner sometimes, just wonderin’ if she’d mentioned anything.”
Joel still doesn’t understand where this line of questioning is going, and he can feel the muscle in his temple flexing over and over, tension tightening the lines of his body, “Why are you askin’?”
Tommy looks his brother over before turning to take another sip of beer. He waits a moment to respond, and Joel feels like he’s going to crawl out of his skin. He can hear it now, his brother asking — accusing him, telling him he’s making a mistake. That he’s sick. His fist tightens around his glass, his breath coming heavy out of his nose.
“The Fourth’s coming up soon, my cookout ‘nd all, just wanted to know if she’d be coming along, damn. What’s the matter with you anyway? You don’t need to bite my head off every time I ask you somethin’. When’s the last time you got laid, Jesus”. Tommy huffs a breath into his beer as he takes another sip, and eyes meeting Joel reflection in the mirror at the back of the bar.
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Joel’s voice comes out clipped and sharp, staring daggers into his brother's profile.
“Jesus, Joel. It don’t mean nothin’ other than you’re wound tight as hell, ‘nd you’re takin’ it out on me.” Joel knows’ he’s right, knows he needs to calm down. To stop acting so god damn insane, but he can’t shake it. His whole body is off, his mind dislocated, rattling around in his skull making it hard for him to focus on anything than the feel of it.
He cracks his neck, downing what’s left of his beer. He really needs to get home, to get out of this fucking place. To take a freezing shower and try his best to fall into a dreamless sleep. He finishes off his beer, standing up slowly as his joints crack at the movement.
“Where are you goin’ now?”
Joel’s already half way to the door, pushing it open with more force than necessary, slamming it a bit too hard off the wall. He fumbles in his cargo pocket, searching for the smashed pack of cigarettes. He walks until he finds himself next to Tommy’s truck, propping a boot up on the tire as he leans back against it, the metal still warm from the sun.
He lights the cigarette, relishing in the sweet burn of the tobacco as he inhales. He closes his eyes, lets it sink in. Images of you flash in his mind — at the lake, hair dripping water on your shoulders, or sitting on the log behind your house, golden light of the sun illuminating your eyes. He can still feel the air of that place clinging to him, making him restless. He wants to be home, to be with you. Your arms wrapped around him, your lips on his skin. Sometimes you run your fingers through his hair, stroking gentle circles, and he refuses to admit to himself how much he loves it.
He’s pulled from his reverie by the sound of gravel crunching under boots, he opens his eyes to find his brother’s irritated face looking back at him. “Don’t worry, I got your tab”. When Joel doesn’t say anything — not thanks or acknowledgement — Tommy curses under his breath and heads to the other side of the truck, wrenching the door open.
Joel takes one more long drag before stomping the cigarette out with his boot. He climbs in beside his brother, and the drive home is quiet. Tension radiating in the cabin. Joel knows he’s being an dick. Taking things out on Tommy that his brother doesn’t even know about. He should talk to him, try and explain in vagaries. But Joel knows he can’t.
If he opens his mouth everything will spill out. Confessions like vomit will come pouring out, a mess on the ground between them. It almost happened once already; the first time he’d run into Daniel since things changed with you.
He’d been at the store, picking up a new shipment for the site when he’d heard the all too familiar sound of your Dad’s voice booming from behind him. Joel immediately tensed up, his whole body solidifying into stone, nausea roiling in his gut. He’d done his best to act normal, turning around, an impression of a smile on his face.
Luckily for Joel, your Dad has always been painfully oblivious. Never one to be able to read people, their emotions and mannerisms always seemingly foreign to him. It’s a miracle really, because Joel was practically falling apart at the seams. Sweat beading on his temples, fists clenching and flexing by his sides, eyes looking everywhere but in the eyes of the man whose daughter he’d defiled. He hadn’t heard a word Daniel had said, suddenly grateful for his best friend's ability to fill any silence with noise. Luckily, the worker had come back with Joel’s shipment, cutting the conversation short. Joel doesn’t think he managed to say a single sentence to Daniel before taking the cart of lumber back to his truck, a mangled excuse for a goodbye vomited on the floor.
It’d taken him almost twenty minutes in his truck before he’d been able to see straight. Flurries in his vision keeping him from driving back to work as he’d tried not to throw up outside the window.
“What’s she doin’ here this late?” Tommy’s voice is loud in the cabin, pulling Joel’s attention to what he’s looking at.
Your car is parked in the driveway. It’s only barely night, but still he knows how odd it must look for you to be at his house. Especially without him there. The implications of you having a key, of you feeling comfortable enough in his home. Tommy’s still looking at your car lit up by the headlights as Joel frantically tries to think of something to say.
His mind is racing and his skin feels too tight and the air too thick. Finally Joel just opens the door, hoping out without acknowledging Tommy’s comment. Hoping maybe if he just doesn’t say anything it won’t seem as strange as he knows it to be. “Thank for the beers, I’ll see you in the mornin’”.
Before Tommy can respond, mouth hanging slightly open, a question on his face, Joel closes the door with a slam. Walking up to the house in a few long strides, before practically falling into the safety of its walls.
Joel almost has to lean on the door once he’s inside, needing desperately to catch his breath. But he doesn’t have a chance, you're sitting on the couch, book laid across your lap when you look up startled by his sudden entrance.
“Hey, are you—”
“What are you doing here?” Joel’s voice comes out harsh, like sandpaper even to his own ears. He sees you tense up instantly, back going rigid at his tone. He watches as a number of expressions flash across your face, eyebrows flinching.
“I just… I don’t know, I was bored and—” Joel cuts you off again, hand rubbing painfully at his eyes, “You can’t just drop by whenever you feel like it. Tommy just dropped me off ‘nd was wonderin’ why the hell you’re here, ‘nd without me”.
He sees it instantly, the wound opening up, your eyes flickering, clearly taken aback by his anger. He expects you to get defensive, to bare your teeth, fight back like you usually do. But you just seem to shrink, knees pulling tighter to your chest, “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t think about it…”.
Joel hands come up to rub his face, trying desperately to ground himself, to soothe the panic and anger filling his blood. He knows he’s being cruel, that he’s hurting you. He can see it, but every time he opens his mouth his words come out sharp.
“Look, you just— it looks bad, ‘kay? I couldn’t even explain it, and I can only imagine what the hell he’s thinkin’. I mean what if he says somethin’ to your Dad or Maria?” Joel sighs heavily, grinding his palms into his eyes, “You can’t just come whenever you feel like it, you need to tell me”.
When Joel drops his hands, his stomach lurches, a whole new wave of guilt gripping him. You’ve pulled entirely into yourself, your book having slipped onto the floor, your arms wrapped tight around your knees. You look so small all of a sudden, and she’s there again. The girl who won’t leave Joel alone. Eyes glassy, nose red, looking everywhere but at him because she’d broken a glass rough housing with Sarah. Cowering like a dog waiting for the boot, so used to her Dad’s anger.
Just like that she’s gone, and with her Joel’s anger, his fear. You’re you again, but your eyes are still glassy, trying desperately not to cry. Your arms still wrapped tightly around yourself as protection against the anger in his voice. Joel hates himself.
For taking this out on you. For making you feel like you needed to make yourself small again.
With heavy feet he drags himself over to you, noticing how you don’t move, like a deer on the highway. Once he’s standing in front of you, he pauses a moment, waiting. You don’t unfurl, a slight tremor to the tense lines of your body, and Joel feels sick. He hates seeing you like this, hates causing it. He’s always been the good one. The good man in your life, the one who’s calm, collected. The one you could count on.
He drops to one knee. The other. Until he’s kneeling in front of you, resting back on the heels of his boots. You still won’t look at him, eyes trained down at your forearms, shining even in the low light. He lifts his hands slowly, gentle not to spook you, and rests them gently on your knees.
He presses down gently, trying to get you to open up. After a second you give, your legs unfolding from against your chest, sliding down to rest on the couch in front of him, his hands now on your knees. Your arms are still tight around your stomach, holding everything in. He hates it, seeing you protect yourself from him.
Joel can’t stand it — hurting you. He leans forward, slow enough to give you a chance to pull away. When you don’t he leans down until his head is resting gently on your lap; nose pressed against your thighs. He takes a deep breath, inhaling you — vanilla and something he can’t quite place, something distinctly you. It grounds him. He can feel it, the weight, sloughing off his back.
His muscles relax just so, even if his grip on you tightens. He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping he can convey to you everything that feels impossible for him to say.
After what feels like eternity, he feels your arms unwrap slowly, one coming to drape across his shoulders, holding him closer. Then deft fingers running through his hair, pulling at the curls at the nape of his neck, making him shiver. He listens to you breath, feels the faint beat of your heart against his cheek where your femoral artery pumps beneath your skin.
Somehow, entwined with you, Joel finds the strength. Your hands on him, grounding him, holding him together, making sure he won’t slip through the cracks. He tilts his head to the side, ear resting against your thigh. He closes his eyes, it’ll be easier to do this if he can’t see. Less senses, easier to digest.
“I’m sorry, baby.” It comes out quiet, a whisper.
When you don’t respond, just gentle strokes on the back of his neck, he continues, “This whole thing it’s just— it feels wrong,” He pauses again, trying to find his words. Trying to figure out how to explain to you, to untangle the mess of rot that’s eating away at him.
“It feels wrong because it feels right. I feel like… I know you’ve said you want this. We both do. That this is your decision but… I can’t shake the feelin’ that I’m corruptin’ you. Ruining you. That I’m some sick old man, takin’ advantage of you because you’ve been hurtin’. ‘Cause you trust me. It makes me feel fuckin’ sick, I can’t— I can’t shake it”. Joel shakes his head, grinding it against your leg, pressing into your skin. Wishing he could sink into you, or pull you inside of him. Let you see first hand, let you feel the weight that’s eating at him. His grip on your legs tightens further, and he thinks for a moment he’ll leave bruises, your skin always so tender.
He feels nauseous at the warmth that grows inside of him at the thought. Of marking you this way. “Fuck”, he bites through his teeth, a burn building at the back of his eyes.
Your hand stops its ministrations in his hair, coming to lay underneath his jaw. You lift his face towards you, and when Joel opens his eyes he has to bite down on his tongue to stop the tears that threaten him at the sight of you. You look beautiful, wide eyes filled with something that looks painfully like love. But it can’t be, Joel knows that.
You care for him, in the way you always have, but in the end this will be a phase for you. A fling, a fleeting relationship that will teach you things you’ll carry into your future. He’s merely a story for you, one you’ll probably tell to your friends back in the city. A crazy adventure you had back home with your Dad’s best friend.
Joel knows it’s true. Can feel it in every fiber of his being, sitting right here at your feet. In the end this will only make you stronger; even if it leaves Joel in ruins.
What scares Joel the most about that thought, is that he’s fine with it — almost comforted by it. Once again the man you need him to be.
Your eyes roam his face, and gently you lean down, pressing a kiss to his lips. Joel melts into you, his grip on your thighs must be painful because your mouth falls open a bit, a gasp escaping. He just presses further, deepening the kiss, needing the reprieve you give him.
Only with you does it get easier — your touch, your kiss, your body taking his — only then does he feel solid again. Everything aligning, perfectly placed.
Joel breaks away, a trail of spit still connecting you both. He hovers just above your lips, thinking, deciding. His grip on you loosen just so as his hands slide up to your hips, fingers dipping beneath the band of your sweatpants. Gently he pulls them, sliding them down your thighs, you lift up off the couch to help him — one hand perched on his shoulder.
Joel has to lean back slightly to free your ankles, but as soon as they’re tossed to the floor he’s back, kneeling before you. His eyes roam over your bare legs, hands tracing lines across your smooth skin, relishing in the effect he seems to have on you. The goosebumps with every pass of his finger tips, the slight tremor to your legs in anticipation, the shallow breaths falling on his neck.
In these moments, Joel’s body works outside of itself. He’s a man possessed, watching from the sidelines as he does things usually reserved for his darkest moments. These moments with you — he never thought would become reality, and he swears they aren’t. They exist in some other world, somewhere distant, faraway. Somewhere that you’re not you, and he’s not him. Sometimes he thinks you can tell the disconnect that happens inside his body, the only way his mind can seem to cope with what he’s doing.
A look will cross your face, like you see him, see how far away he is, and you pull him back. A hand firm on his face, grounding him, forcing him back into his body. It’s violent, it’s jarring, but Joel lets you. Every time.
He watches as his hands slide up, fingers dipping beneath the waste band of your underwear, your stomach sucking in a breath. Joel pulls them down painfully slow, repeating the process, watching the lift of your hips as you help him, exposing your perfect cunt to him. He drops them on the floor, noticing the wetness already staining the cotton; but even then his eyes never leave the sight of you before him.
You try to close your thighs, a reflex reaction to being so on display, but Joel’s hands stop you, holding you firm in place. He knows his grip is harsh, that he should be gentler with you, but he can’t control himself. You pull something out of him, something dark and possessive, something that eats away at his control.
His hands slide around to the back of your thighs, falling just above your knees, and with one swift movement he pulls you down the sofa, relishing in the small gasp that falls from your lips.
A grin twists Joel’s features as he gently places your right leg over his shoulder, forcing you closer to him. Loves the way your knee presses against his head, still trying to shield yourself from being so exposed. But he knows you can’t, knows deep down you don’t want to. He can see the evidence of your arousal before him, your cunt dripping beautifully, flushed and perfect. The patch of fine hair above your mound begging for him to stroke it like he does your head so many times.
Joel leans his head against your thigh, breaths deeply, the scent of you filling him up, making his cock ache inside his jeans. He hasn’t even touched you — not really — and yet already his cock is half hard, Joel having to adjust his position to stop the painful press of it against his jeans.
He wants to make it up to you, the vision of your tears still so fresh in his mind. A gentle press of his lips to your inner thigh, and already your gasping. Without turning his head, he flicks his eyes over to you, and the sight of you is almost too much.
Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, the pressure of them painting it scarlet. Your cheeks are flushed the most beautiful pink, the color of a soft sunrise. Your eyes, usually beautiful globes of caramel, are half hidden by thick lashes, watching him intently. A grin curls Joel’s features, his grip tightening just so on your thigh, and he watches as your brow twists at the pressure.
Ebony locked on amber, he trails closer to your cunt, his beard scratching against the tender flesh of your leg, making you jolt with every touch.
When he reaches the dip of your thigh, he places a gentle kiss before baring his teeth, canines sinking into the sensitive skin there, forcing your mouth open as you gasp. Joel flicks his eyes up to you, and sees the way your mouth falls open, brows twisting in pain, the curve of your breasts rising rapidly. He’s figured out you like it, the mix of pleasure and pain. The roughness of his edges fitting so perfectly with the softness of your curves.
He drags himself to your core, to where he knows you want him — need him. His nose just barely grazes your hair and already you’re flinching, aching with anticipation. Joel can’t help the rush that goes to his head at the knowledge of his effect on you.
Joel’s been with women, many in his life, but no one has ever been as reactive to him as you. The slightest brush of skin, even a glance, and you’re melting into him. He doesn’t know what the hell he ever did to deserve it — but in these moments he’s grateful. Down right fucking blessed.
He nudges you lightly with his nose, toying with you, devouring the whimper that falls from your lips. You lift your hips towards him, trying to force yourself closer, and Joel puts a stop to that quickly. He drapes his left arm across the bottom of your stomach, pressing your hips firmly into the cushion. He feels you squirm against his grip, though you know there’s no use.
He watches you through his lashes as he does it again, his mustache scraping against the sensitive bud making your hips jolt underneath his forearm, bringing a smile to his face. He blows on it gently, bringing a whine to your lips, “J-Joel…”.
“Yeah, baby?” He drawls, voice soft, accent thick like honey, “Wha’s the matter?”
Your eyes are wide, pupils swallowing the warmth in your eyes. Your bottom lip almost trembles, looking so similar to your face earlier. “P-Please Joel”, you whine.
Joel lifts an eyebrow, clicking his tongue, “Now darlin’, you gotta use your words. I ain’t a mind reader, now am I?” He knows he’s being cruel, but he can’t help himself. The way your body is trembling beneath him, your thigh pressed tight against his head, it brings something out of him he’s never felt. The whine that falls from your lips is downright pathetic, and he swallows it up.
He almost feels bad — almost.
Your voice comes out small and shaky, not at all the woman who had told him to fuck her that night. “Joel, p–please, I need… need your mouth”.
Joel makes an expression of mock concern even as his fingers stroke gentle circles on the skin of your hip, your thigh. “Hmm, whatdy’a mean sweetheart? Ya’ mean like this?” And he opens his mouth placing a gentle bite to the dip of your thigh, a sob falling from your throat.
“N-N-No, Joel please, please you know— my cunt, please”. Your voice is desperate, breathy and wavering.
Joel smiles against your skin, soaking up every second. “Ohhhhh, I see. You want me to kiss her? Yeah?” He watches as you nod your head, lip tucked between your teeth again, fingers gripping into the leather of the couch.
Joel hums, repositioning himself over your dripping core. His eyes never leave yours, even as his grip on your stomach tightens, leaning close, his breath against your cunt having you practically shaking.
“Mmm, like this?” Joel opens his mouth, placing a gentle kiss right on top of your clit, his tongue flicking the slightest bit, making you buck.
He watches as your eyes flutter, a choked sob escaping between your parted lips. He feels as you squirm underneath his touch, and he knows you’re past speaking. He hums again, deciding to stop toying with you.
“Or maybe sumthin’ more like this?” Eyes still locked on yours, with the flat of his tongue Joel licks a long swipe through your slick folds, the tip dipping inside of you, tasting the delicious taste of your arousal. He can’t help the groan that falls from deep in his throat, and he doesn’t miss the way your eyes roll back in your head, plush lips falling into a silent o.
He repeats the movement again, taking his time with each swipe of his tongue, and he watches as you fall apart beneath him. Your body is partially limp, your leg draped loosely over his shoulder, the other dangling off the couch next to him. He stops a moment, needing desperately to reposition his now painfully hard cock inside his jeans. The whine that you make at the loss sets off something inside of him.
His mouth returns to you with a new intensity. The kisses he places on you are downright filthy, practically making out with your cunt. He sucks on your swollen clit, pulling it into his mouth before he flicks his tongue against the bundle of nerves. Suddenly your hand is gripped painfully into his hair, yanking him closer, making tears sting the edges of his eyes. He hisses between his teeth, but it only encourages him.
He can tell by the rigidity in your body, your muscles tense and straining against him that you won’t last much longer. Your knee rests at the back of his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to you. His nose is shoved against your pelvis, not giving him much air to breath but fuck he couldn’t care one bit. Joel thinks he could die right now on his knees, face pressed against your core, and he’d die happy.
He finally loosens his grip on your thigh, sliding his hand up between your legs and instantly pushing two fingers deep inside of you. The slick warmth of your cunt makes him groan against you, your legs falling open for him, feet propped on the edge of the couch as you slide closer to him. He pumps his fingers in and out, the feel of your muscles sucking his fingers back in every time, so desperate to be filled by him again.
Joel can feel his cock leaking against his stomach, and he knows if he had the slightest bit of friction — a few thrusts against the couch would have him over the edge like a fucking teenager. He doesn’t know how you do this to him, again and again. Turning him into a mess like he’s not a grown man.
He slips in a third finger, stretching you further, and curves his fingers, pressing against that sweet spot he’d found inside you that first time — so perfectly placed for his long fingers, and that’s all it takes. Your body locks up, mouth falling open, brow twisting in pain, his name falling from your lips in a hoarse scream. He feels your muscles clench tightly around his fingers, a flood of arousal soaking him, running down his palm, his wrist. He keeps pumping them, stroking that spot, devouring your clit as your legs tremble around him. Your thighs pressed tightly to either side of his head, holding him in place so he couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to.
The moment he feels your body relaxing, the wave of your orgasm receding, he pulls away. Joel stands up so fast he can see you barely processing his movements, your eyes glassy and distant. He sits down on the couch, the leather groaning beneath the weight of him. Instantly he’s freeing his cock, it practically springing from the confines of his clothing. It aches against his hand, and he runs his hand up and down the length of it, trying to relieve some of the ache, His balls feel painfully heavy, and he knows he won’t last long but he needs you now.
He leans over, gripping your waist, and with a simple tug he’s pulling you over to him. You're still blissed out, your body pliable and moving at the slightest of guidance. He settles you onto his lap, and luckily you’re able to find enough wherewithal to position yourself comfortably over him. Hovering over his leaking cock, he guides down on to him.
You’re soaked from your climax, and he’s able to bottom out inside of you in one thrust. Joel’s head falls back against the couch, a hiss between his teeth at the warm tightness of you. He doesn’t know how you do it, even after just having his fingers stretch you, your cunt practically chokes his cock, the pressure so much Joel genuinely thinks he could come without you even moving.
His head is still thrown back, breathing deeply through his nose hoping he can last long enough to not make this fucking embarassing, so he doesn’t notice your movements. He feels your fingers against his waist, making him jump — he’s always been ticklish. He lifts his head, and sees you looking at his body, sliding his shirt up, eyes clearer now.
He lifts his arms, helping you to strip him, and the moment you throw the fabric away, your hands are on him. You grip at his chest, his biceps, and Joel can’t help but feel his head grow the size of fucking Jupiter. The way your eyes roam over him, like you’re taking him apart at the seams, it makes him feel attractive in a way he hasn’t since he was young.
Joel’s not an idiot, he knows he’s not bad looking — he never had a problem getting women when he was younger. His hair still dark, skin tanned from days spent in the sun. But over the years it’d just lost importance to him. With work and Sarah to focus on, it rarely crossed his mind whether or not women still wanted him, still looked. But underneath your gaze, Joel remembers what it felt like to be wanted.
He’s pulled violently from his thoughts when you start to move, a gentle rock of your hips, grinding down on to him. His hands fly to your hips, gripping on to you tight enough to bruise. You place your hands on his shoulders for purchase before you start moving — up and down, thrusting yourself again again onto his cock.
“Fuuuuck,” Joel groans from deep in his chest, voice rough with arousal. He bucks his hips up, matching your movements, and his lip twitches at the yelp that he knocks out of you. He knows he’s hitting that spot inside of you — the two of you have fucked enough times that’s he’s learned just how to do it, no matter what position, to turn you into a trembling mess. He repeats the movement every time you thrust down onto his cock, and watches as your eyes start to glaze over again.
“‘S that feel good? Huh, babygirl?” The pet name falls from his lips before he can think better of it, but his mind is ruined by a lust filled haze so he can’t find it in himself to care. All he can process is the rapid nodding of your head in response. The way your tits are bouncing with each of your movements, drawing his attention away from your face for only a moment. Ever since you’d forced him to look at you — to watch as he fucked you — he’s felt like an addict. He can’t get enough of your expressions, your sounds, every minute detail of when he’s inside of you.
Joel feels his control slipping, he can’t last much longer like this. He stops his own movements, wanting to watch you, to see how you fuck yourself on top of him. His left hand slides up your body until it’s resting gently on your neck, fingers spread wide across your sternum and all the way to the other side of your throat. His right hand moves from its home on your hip to grip the soft flesh of your ass as you bounce on his lap.
He leans back against the couch, eyes trained on every detail of your face. The sweat that’s beading at your temples, the way your hair bounces behind your back, your lip tucked back between your teeth in that face that drives him fucking wild. Your grip on his shoulders begins to tighten painfully, and he knows you won’t last much longer either.
He sits up then, wrapping his arms tightly around you, pulling you flush against his chest. You gasp at the contact, arms snaking around his neck. He leans forward, scooting you both to the edge of the couch, giving him room to thrust deeper inside of you. He bucks his hips, slamming into your cunt. With each thrust he hits that spot, your mouth pressed tight against his ear, teeth grazing the skin there — singing for him.
Within a minute he feels the walls of your cunt clench around his cock making him gasp. His movements stutter, pace erratic as he feels the tension in his balls finally release. Joel’s orgasm floods his system like a tidal wave, drowning him in you. Every squeeze of your cunt furthering his own pleasure. You’d assured him of your birth control, and yet still there’s a split second that something like fear darkens the edges of his mind as he spills deep inside of you.
Slowly, you come down, your body going limp against his, Joel’s own blood beginning to cool. He leans back, arm wrapped tightly against your back, holding him to you. He groans as he sinks into the couch, the cold of the leather refreshing against his sweat slick skin.
Your head is tucked into the side of his neck, the feel of your panting breaths sending shivers down his arms. The two of you sit like that a moment as Joel catches his breath, his stamina not as good as it once was.
Joel starts stroking gently across the skin of your back, feeling as your own breathing begins to steady. His hand traces circles between your shoulder blades, the repetitive motion soothing you. He can tell by the heaviness of your limbs, your arms still wrapped around his neck.
Suddenly, his hand stills in its menstruations — his blood running cold. He tries to swallow, his throat suddenly painfully dry. He shuts his eyes hard, opening them after a few seconds. He repeats it once. Twice.
He can feel it, the difference. Your hair suddenly smells not of vanilla but citrus. Your arms frailer around him. His stomach flips, bile rising in his throat.
He hadn’t even realized he’d been doing it — a simple reaction, muscle memory. She’d been sick once, the flu, and Daniel had been out, unable to take the time off. Joel had looked after her instead, she’d slept on the couch — this couch. He’d come out in the middle of the night for some water, and found her hunched over the trashcan, gentle sobs around gags echoing in the room. He’d gone to her instantly, sitting next to her, pulling her to him. It didn’t matter in that moment that she was probably too grown for this, he’d known it had soothed Sarah when she was sick and his father instincts had kicked in. She’d melted into him, cold sweat soaking her shirt. He’d lifted the back of it and started stroking gentle circles between her shoulder blades. They had sat like that for a long time until the nausea had passed, sleep finally taking her.
Joel pushes you away then, hands firm on your shoulders, the air between you cold. Your eyes open wide, startled by his sudden movement. His eyes roam over you — your features, right again; hair darker, skin lighter, eyes duller. His breath comes in heavy pants through his nose, and he hopes to god you don’t notice the shake of his arms against your skin.
“Joel? What’s wrong?” Your voice groggy with sleep but filled with concern, brown eyes roaming over his face. He feels like he’s going to be sick. Joel swallows down the vomit, the bitter taste of guilt.
When his voice comes it’s surer than he feels, “N-Nothin’. Sorry, I– Must’ve dozed off. Got spooked ‘sall”.
You don’t look convinced, worry etched into the lines of your face, but you don’t pry. You slowly pull yourself from his grasp, a slight downturn of your lips at how easily he’s willing to let you go. You extend your hand to him, fingers long and elegant again, “Come on, let’s go to bed.”
Joel nods his head, eyes not quite meeting yours. He takes your hand, letting you guide him. When you curl up together, your head tucked beneath his chin, his chest is tight, breath restricted — crushed beneath the weight.
Joel wakes with his breath caught in his throat, chest heaving. His muscles are locked in place, like he can feel his tendons wrapped around bone, taught as a bow string. He has to close his eyes again, open, and close, open again. Deep breaths through his nose. Slowly sensation returns to him — a twitch of his finger, a warmth at his side.
He turns his head stiffly, and finds you still sleeping, curled up under his arm. He has to consciously relax his hand, his grip tight against your back — his fingers ache from the tension.
His sleep is never good, his dreams either endless nothing or wrought with misery. Another series of deep breaths as his body returns to the realm of the living, and he’s able to move. He extricates himself gently from your grasp, careful not to wake you.
Resting at the edge of the bed, Joel looks down at your sleeping face — all the lines you’ve gained over the years gone, wiped clean. Restored back to your former self. Your lips are slightly parted, the soft rise and fall of your back puts a rock in Joel’s stomach. He cracks his neck, looking away, memories of last night already flooding his system.
He stands with a groan, his weary body aching under a new day. When he reaches the door, he leaves it slightly ajar, an invitation for you to follow when you wake. He’s learned your habits already, the anxiety you feel first thing in the morning, especially when he leaves before you. Even a gesture as simple as the door puts your heart at ease.
Joel reaches the top step when he smells it — the scent of coffee already permeating the air. He pauses, foot half on the next step. For a moment he wonders if he’s finally lost it, maybe a stroke, or maybe he’s still dreaming. He continues his path to the kitchen wearily, worried of what may meet him.
He rounds the corner, and freezes in place, the ground unstable beneath his feet. The rock from earlier is now lodged painfully in his throat, restricting his breathing.
Sarah turns around, holding two steaming coffee mugs, a smile splitting her face, “Surprise!!” she beams. Joel’s blood feels like it’s stopped circulating in his body, his head going fuzzy, vision blurred. He vaguely feels a smile split his features, his body working on autopilot.
Sarah laughs, always the intuitive one, clearly reading Joel’s shock. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you first thing in the morning. Made coffee!” She walks over to him, placing his usual mug into his grasp.
“H-Hey babygirl, sorry ‘m not quite awake yet… I didn’t know you were coming”, even to his own ears Joel sounds off. He kicks himself internally, trying to regain some semblance of normalcy. He takes the mug from her, sipping the scalding liquid, using the burn to ground himself.
“Yeah, well, hence the surprise” she drawls sarcastically. “The clinic said I’ve been doin’ well, so they let me take off for the Fourth.” Joel nods his head, taking another sip of coffee as he leans against the counter. He looks at Sarah from the top of the mug, eyeing her, “You cut your hair”.
She smiles then, a bit awkwardly, rubbing her hand across her close shorn scalp. “Yeah, needed a change. I donated it if it makes you feel any better — I know how much you loved it”. She averts her eyes, and instantly she’s a kid again, nervous for having done something she knew would upset him. He reaches out, placing his hand against her neck, stroking the small curls there, “It looks great, baby. Just makes you look grown, you tryin’ to make me feel old?”
“Yeah well, hate to break it to you Dad but—” she sucks her teeth, “Ain’t gettin’ any younger”. Joel rolls his eyes, but pulls her to him, wrapping his arm around her as he places a soft kiss to her forehead. “Missed you, babygirl”. Sarah wraps her arms around his waist, squeezing him like she used to when she was small. Joel smiles against her head, before saying lower, voice sarcastic, “Didn’t miss the sass though”, and Sarah gasps over dramatically as she moves away, shoving his shoulder playfully.
“It’s your fault for raising such a witty daughter” she says, sticking her tongue out at him. She picks up her own coffee mug, resting against the counter opposite him. Father and daughter fall into comfortable banter, Sarah telling him about her internship, Joel listening quietly.
The conversation reaches a lull, Sarah toeing the ground with her shoe. Joel knows that look. Knows there’s something she wants to say, and suddenly all the lightness of the past moment is gone.
She looks up at him, setting her coffee mug on the counter as she crosses her arms. When she finally speaks her voice is slow, drawn out, like she’s nervous to ask. “So… who is she?”
Joel practically chokes on his coffee, trying his best to disguise it by clearing his throat, but by the lift of Sarah’s brows she knows she’s got him. She can’t hide the smirk that twists her features as she watches him blunder. “W-Who’s — I– I don’t, Whatdya mean?”
She gives him the same look he knows he’s given her a hundred times when she would spew bullshit out of her mouth. “Come on Dad, I saw her car outside. I know that’s why you were all weird when you came downstairs, I didn’t mean to intrude but also, like, this is my house”.
Joel can’t hide the grimace on his face, he lifts his hand, rubbing his face roughly, hoping maybe he can find a way out of this. He curses under his breath, but before he can even try to respond, Sarah's talking again — clearly finding this all very amusing.
“Or… I guess I shouldn’t assume, his car?” Joel’s hand drops from his face so fast he slams it against the cupboard behind him. His eyes are like saucers as he stares at her, “What? N-No, what the fuck? ‘M not gay, Sarah, Jesus."
She lifts her hands defensively, “Okay! Okay, sorry it’s not like we ever talked about it or anything!” Her voice is light, breath shaking with laughter.
Joel glares at her before clearing his throat, rubbing the sting from his hand.
“Look, Dad, I’m not weirded out or anything if that’s what you’re worried about. I think it’s great, god knows you’ve been alone long enough—” Her voice cuts off abruptly, smile falling from her face. Her whole body tenses up as she stands a bit straighter. Sarah’s eyes go wide, recognition seeping into them as she looks just over Joel’s shoulder.
His blood runs cold, nausea roiling in his gut. He feels you, your presence, and for the first time he hates it. He can’t even get himself to turn around, to look at you, but he knows you must have come downstairs. Must have seen the open door, accepted the invitation, come looking for him. Probably heard his voice, smelled the coffee, came to investigate. All completely rational things to do, things he knows he shouldn’t be upset with you for. And yet he doesn’t want to turn around. Doesn’t want to see your face.
Sarah’s still gaping, mouth open almost comically, her eyes flicking back and forth between her childhood friend and her father — puzzle pieces slotting together.
Joel hears you move, and finally he turns, his neck aching from the effort. You’re a mirror of Sarah, frozen in place, one foot still on the bottom step, arm holding on to the wall as you had rounded the corner. Your eyes are wide and full of guilt, mouth shut around excuses he knows you want to say. But from the mess of your hair, Joel’s shirt draped around your frame, bare legs peaking out from underneath, there’s nothing that can be said to fix this. The evidence of the crime so clearly laid out, Sarah doesn’t even have to think — simply witness.
Joel’s hand balls into a fist against the counter, anger flooding his system — anger at himself, anger at you. Your eyes shift from their hold on Sarah to look at him, and the fear there makes his heart ache, simmering the anger in his blood for a moment. Joel’s mind is reeling, an endless mantra of regrets making the silence of the room deafening — he should have kept the door shut, should have made you park down the street, should have made you go home last night, should have never done this.
Somehow, you break the silence first. He doesn’t know how you manage to find the strength to speak, but even when you do your voice is choked — forced around the knot in your throat, “I should go…”.
The spell lifted, Sarah comes back to life, like hearing your voice returned her to the painful reality of the situation. She lifts away from the counter instantly, body rigid. She turns sharply, walking to grab her bag from its spot next to the counter, “No, please, I don’t want to interrupt. I’m gonna— gonna go see some of my friends. Haven’t told them I’m in town, I’ll go there, yeah.” She sounds more like she’s talking to herself than them, the dissociation in her voice like a blade in Joel’s heart. There’s pain hidden beneath her nonchalance — betrayal — and Joel feels like he’s going to be sick. He wants to stop her, to fall to his knees, apologize, flog himself, anything to have her look at him but she won’t. Her eyes carefully trained on her things, looking anywhere but at the other two bodies in the room. She grabs her keys, slinging her backpack over her shoulder before heading for the door, “I’ll be back later”. With that Sarah’s gone, the door shut, the sound reverberating through the room even though she shut it gently.
If it weren’t for the counter solid beneath him, Joel is certain he would have collapsed under the weight of this moment. He wasn’t sure whether he ever would have told Sarah about this, about you. In all honesty, he was hoping things would end before it ever got to that point. That you would move on, grow bored, leave, before it ever got close to Sarah finding out. She need never know. But that’s been stolen from him. Ripped from his grasp by a simple invitation — a mistake.
Joel’s ripped from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. He jumps, the violence of his movement startling you as well, your hand instantly lifting from its place. Your eyes are wide and glassy, likely mirroring his own, and Joel feels sick. You open your mouth as tears begin to well at the corner of your eyes, “Joel… I’m sorry—”. He steps away, needing the distance, and he almost feels bad when he sees the way your face crumbles at the movement.
He wants to say something, knows he should, but nothing is working. His mouth, his muscles, his brain, his heart, it’s all wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. It’s unreality, everything offkilter, nothing is right. He’s hurting you but he’s not because this isn’t happening. He’s hurting Sarah but he’s not because it didn’t happen. He’s hurting himself but he’s not because there’s no way this is happening. He could pick up a knife and plunge it into himself and it wouldn’t hurt because this. isn’t. happening.
Joel vaguely registers you saying something, but he can’t hear it — not that it matters anyway because you’re not really here. You’re still upstairs in bed, sleeping soundly next to him. He hears the door open and shut again, but still he doesn’t move from his spot. He’s pretty sure he’s planted to the floor. If he looked down, his feet would be merged with the wood, splinters underneath his skin — the kind of strange things only in dreams. A laugh bubbles in his throat at the thought — that’s what this is! A dream! A horrible, awful, painfully realistic dream. That’s all. He’ll close his eyes, take a few deep breaths, and open them to find himself back in bed — you pressed against his side, Sarah two hours away. Yes.
Except he does all of those things, and he’s still here. Still in the kitchen. Coffee mug still on the counter, the pair of it sitting across from him — the painful reminder of what’s just happened.
Joel Miller’s life has just fallen apart. In an instant, he’s lost everything that’s ever mattered to him. All because he was selfish. Because he was weak.
Joel’s body comes to life in a flash, he moves quickly to the sink, leaning over it just in time to spill his guts onto the steel.
It’s dark by the time Sarah comes back home, late enough that Joel had convinced himself she may never return. His mind has been reeling all day since she left, images of her with her friends telling them how disgusting her father is. How he’s a perverted old man fucking her childhood best friend. The same girl who’d played with her in her room, who’d babysat her in middle school, the girl who's only six years her senior. His mind was relentless, never giving him a moment of peace.
After Tommy had come to bring him back to his truck, he’d tried to work around the house. Tried to clean, tried to sleep, anything but of course, his mind is inescapable. Ultimately he’d ended up outside, sitting on the porch nursing a glass of whiskey. He’d stared into the trees behind the house until they didn’t look like trees anymore — the shapes morphing into scenes, images of everything leading up to this moment. Wondering if there was anything he could have done to prevent this.
And of course there was. Countless decisions he could have made, mistakes he could have avoided. He knows it’s useless, thinking like this, what's done is done. But this is his life, his daughter, his heart — damn if he’s not going to mourn it.
By the time he heard the front door open, Joel had gone numb. After hours of nothing, his limbs had melded with the wood of the rocking chair, his head lost in a whiskey haze. The familiar sound of Sarah’s footfalls snaps him back to reality — his body painfully aware again. It’s like he had been floating just outside of it for hours, and now he’s thrust violently back — his skin too tight, his heart too large against his ribcage.
Joel lifts the glass to his lips, probably the first movement he’s made in hours if the ache in his arm is any tell. The screen door opens next to him with a creak, and he sees her out of the corner of his eye. Sarah pauses as the door slams behind her, and still she won’t look at him. Joel avoids the ache in his body to look at her, to reach for her, to beg her for forgiveness.
He gives her space, lets her take the reins of how this is going to go. Everything that’s lead to this exact moment is a direct result of his decisions, so it only feels right to let her decide how it ends. She crosses his line of sight, moving to sit in the chair to his right. Sarah breathes a heavy sigh, and suddenly she sounds so much older than he’s ever thought her to be. In his minds eye, she’s still his little girl — big hair and toothy grin. But he knows she hasn’t been that in years.
No, she’s grown now, a woman in her own right, living a life outside of her father. Old enough to not need him anymore, to be able to cut him off if she needs to. That thought almost breaks him. Joel can feel his chest cave in, the preemptive ache of losing her. He needs her to talk, to say something. He knows he has no right to rush this, but it’s killing him — the waiting.
He turns his head finally, taking in the sight of her, and he feels the back of his eyes burn. She looks so much like his little girl, her knees are tucked up to her chest, arms wrapped around them, brow twisted in thought. She’s chewing her lip, an old nervous habit she never left in childhood. Her long fingers are picking at a fray in her jeans, and he almost feels the urge to reach over and stop her. She must feel him looking, because she turns her head just slightly, but still she won’t meet his gaze. Her eyes instead looking out at the same trees he had lost himself in earlier.
They sit in silence for what feels like eternity, Joel boring holes into the side of her face — now that he’s looked he’s unable to look away. So when she finally speaks it startles him, like a blow to the stomach, the wind knocked from him.
“How long?” Somehow he thought she’d yell, even though it goes against everything she has ever been. But her voice is as soft as ever, the only difference the lack of it’s usual playfulness, instead she just sounds tired.
Joel swallows around the lump in his throat, his voice is hoarse from hours of misuse, “Not long. Few weeks.” He doesn’t elaborate, letting her steer the conversation.
She nods her head, a hum from her bitten lips. She turns and looks at him then, and he thinks he could cry. Her eyes are steady, no hint of anger or disgust in them. They roam over his face, soaking in his features, like she’s trying to see her father.
“Is— is it serious? Like,” she twists her brow, searching for the right words, “Are you two like, together?” There’s no judgment in her tone, but there is a hint of something else under the surface that sets him on edge.
“I— I don’t know. We haven’t… we haven’t really talked ‘bout it.” Joel feels shame flush his features, embarrassed by having this conversation and he can already feel his temper rising. Talking to his daughter about his love life in any capacity feels odd, so unlike them, and with all the other factors it’s downright uncomfortable. His skin itches and he yearns desperately for a cigarette.
Sarah just nods her head at his words, looking away again. She’s quiet for another spell, clearly doing her best to digest this information, and no matter his discomfort, Joel is grateful. Grateful that she is even willing to talk about this with him, to be so much more rational than she has any right to be. He wants to speak, to apologize, to confess, to give her permission to hate him, to be disgusted by him. But the moment he opens his mouth, she starts again.
“Does Uncle Dan know?” A new wave of guilt washes over Joel. Uncle Dan, a title that’s yet another cruel reminder of how fucked this all is. Joel can feel anger taking root in his gut, sweat forming at his temple as his jaw clenches down painfully.
His voice comes out strained, “No. Only you.”
Sarah turns to look at him then, an unreadable expression etched into her features, and for a moment she looks so much older than his baby girl. Her eyes search his face, and he’s not sure if she finds whatever it is she’s looking for, but when she speaks her voice mirrors him — his own temper thrown back at him.
“We’re you two planning on telling him? Or me for that matter?”
Joel doesn’t know why that sets him off, he has no right to be upset especially in this moment. But he’s suddenly defensive — feeling protective of you, of this thing that’s formed between the two of you. The mention of Daniel, that anyone at all should feel they have a right to know, he has to bite his tongue to stop from saying something stupid.
“Look, we didn’t mean for this to happen! It wasn’t— it was never supposed to be anything. I’d hoped—“ Joel stops, he drags a hand across his face, taking a deep, rattling breath in. Trying his best to lower his voice, to temper his anger. “I didn’t think it’d ever get that far. I figured… she’d leave before it did.”
He must look a wreck, because when he looks back at his daughter, her features are softer. Her eyes roam his face, and something like understanding, or maybe pity, takes root there. He can feel the exact moment the anger floods his body, leaving him tired. He flicks his eyes away, worried she sees too much.
“Do you love her?”
Joel’s body tenses painfully, one harsh line as his heart stops — the question knocking the wind from his lungs. His fingers wrap painfully around the glass as muscles constrict, and for a moment he’s afraid he’ll break it. A part of him wishes he would, the pain of it would ground him, blood dripping from his palm. He never expected her to ask that, of all things. Maybe accuse him of using you, of bad intentions — just another gross old man. But no. Somehow she knows the uglier truth inside of him. That which Joel hasn’t even allowed himself to think, let alone feel. Too busy feeling sick from it, throat clenching painfully around the words lodged in his throat.
He knows he’s been quiet for far too long, knows he should say something, anything, but his jaw won’t move — too afraid of what might pour out.
A touch startles him, nearly jumping out of his skin at the sudden contact. He looks down to where Sarah has gently placed her hand on his wrist, encouraging him to loosen his white knuckled grip. His breath finally comes, ragged and betraying. His eyes sting, his throat burns, and god he hates this. Hates being so fucking weak. When did he get to be this fucking weak? A mess of a man. Pathetic and aching.
Sarah speaks softly, pulling him from his thoughts, “Hey… Dad. I meant what I said earlier. You deserve to be happy. And if she is the one who can give you that, then I’ll adjust.” She squeezes his wrist a fraction, causing him to finally meet her gaze. His eyes burn and he knows she must see the sheen to them, because her brow twists slightly as her own reflect the dim light of the porch. “Just… look out for yourself, Dad.”
She smiles, a small thing, and Joel feels a stray tear escape. He nods his head, clearing his throat as he wipes the tear away roughly. She lets go, wiping at her own eyes as she leans back in her chair — kind enough to at least pretend not to see.
Sarah gives his wrist one more squeeze before standing, she presses a gentle kiss to the crown of his head as she passes before going back inside — the sound of the screen door shrill in Joel’s ringing ears. He’s grateful to her. For not making him answer, for not pushing it. For her understanding that he by no means deserves. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve a daughter like her — someone so good, so unlike himself. He leans forward on his knees, hands pressing harshly into his eye sockets as he tries to refortify his walls.
