Page 54 of Unwrapped

“So what are you saying?” My voice is shaking now. I can’t stop it. “You don’t want me anymore?”

He looks miserable. “Sophie.” He pauses, searching for the words. “I care about you. You know I do. But I can’t keep ignoring what this means for both of us.”

I shake my head. I still can’t quite believe he’s saying this.

“We have to stop,” he continues. “We have to go back to the way things were before Christmas. You’re my stepdaughter. I need to start acting like someone who understands what that responsibility means.”

I look away. He’s talking about going back as though it’s something we can simply decide to do.

“I’ll always care for you,” he says more gently. “You can still depend on me. For anything. Always. That hasn’t changed.”

I want to laugh. I want to scream. I want to tell him that going back is impossible, that you can’t un-know what someone’s body feels like against yours, you can’t un-hear the sounds they make when they come, you can’t pretend you don’t remember the exact way his hands feel.

But I don’t say any of that. The words are stuck in my throat, and if I try to push them out I’m going to start crying, and I refuse to cry in front of him right now. I refuse. So I stand there with my arms crossed tight over my chest, staring at a point on the wall somewhere past his left shoulder, and I’m not crying. I’m not.

“Okay,” I say. It’s the only thing I can manage.

Vince looks at me for a long moment. I can feel his eyes on my face, and I keep mine fixed on the wall. “Sophie⁠—”

“Don’t.” I shake my head. “Just—don’t, okay? I heard you.”

He’s quiet. Then he says, “I’m sorry.”

I nod, once, mouth tight.

He picks up his glass from the windowsill and walks past me into the kitchen. I hear the faucet run. The glass clinks in the sink.

I stay where I am for another minute, looking out at the lake. Then I turn away from the window and head upstairs.

I close my bedroom door and lean against it. For a second, I just stand there with my eyes shut, trying to hold myself together.

Just a few hours ago, we were walking along the lake path holding hands, talking about how happy we were. We were tangled up in his bedroom, and he was making me come. We were in our own perfect little bubble, and now, just like that, it’s popped?

Elena doesn’t know her daughter spent Christmas Eve with her ex-husband’s mouth between her legs, or that the next morning I gave him my virginity wrapped in a red ribbon. Yet she still managed to destroy everything.

I understand what Vince is saying. I do. The age difference. The step-thing. The fact that if anyone found out, my life would basically be over before it started. People would call me names. They’d call him worse. Elena would take him for everything he has and then some, and she’d make sure I never saw a cent of it. I get it. I’m not stupid.

But understanding doesn’t make it stop hurting. If anything, it makes it worse, because I can’t even tell myself he’s wrong. He’s right. That’s what kills me. He’s right, and I still want him so badly it feels like somebody reached into my chest and ripped something out.

I put my face in my hands and cry. By the time I finally stop, my head hurts and my nose is completely stuffed up. I get up to find some tissues, blow my nose, and crawl back onto the bed.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. I can’t stay in my room forever, but the thought of going downstairs and sitting across from Vince at dinner makes me want to start crying all over again.

I wish I had someone to talk to. I could call Maddie, but she’s been having a miserable Christmas of her own, and I don’t even know how I’d begin explaining what’s happened. Especially when I’m not sure I understand it myself.

I pick up my phone and scroll through my messages without really looking for anything. Then I see Tyler’s name.

We’d talked a few days before Christmas about maybe getting together over the holidays. I stare at our last exchange for a while. Maybe we’re not especially close anymore, but he’s known me long enough to understand how difficult things can be with my family. And right now, I’d really like to hear from someone who isn’t in this house.

I type:

Had the worst day. Huge fight with my stepdad. Just needed to tell someone.

I hit send before I can talk myself out of it.

The dots appear almost immediately. Tyler’s always on his phone. It’s one of the things I used to find annoying about him, and right now it’s the most comforting thing in the world.

He writes: