Cruel Intentions: Chapter 12

Ever since that moment with Aubrey in the equipment room over a week ago, it’s like she’s taken up permanent residence in my fucking head. The scent of her, the way my cock throbbed at just being near her, and those goddamn sounds she made—they’re seared into my brain, playing on a loop I can’t turn off.

Every morning, I wake up hard as fuck, my body betraying me, craving her in a way that feels primal. I try to take the edge off, but it’s always the same—a pathetic release followed by a hollow ache that never fades.

My cock’s sick of the routine, sick of my hand. It doesn’t want this anymore. It wants her. Wants to be buried so deep inside her that the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

Last night, I stood at my bedroom window, smoking a joint, trying to calm the chaos in my head. That’s when I saw her coming back from work. Her shoulders were hunched, exhaustion etched into every step, but she still looked like she just walked out of a dream.

My dream. She’s so fucking beautiful it hurts.

She didn’t look up, didn’t notice me standing there, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

Her rejection that day in the bathroom was a slap to the face. I wanted to act like it didn’t bother me, like I didn’t give a shit, but it cut deeper than I’m willing to admit. Part of me wanted to pull her into my arms, tell her it’s going to be okay, just like I used to when her world was falling apart.

But things aren’t the same anymore. I don’t even know if she’d let me touch her like that now. And fuck, that’s what scares me the most.

Instead of dealing with her shutting me out, I let my anger take over and turned it on assholes like Luke and Tory. Anyone who thought they could post that fucked-up shit about her got a piece of me. I made damn sure they knew to back off, but it’s been exhausting. Trying to keep those pricks in line, trying to keep her life from spiraling further, feels like fighting a losing battle.

And the worst part?

It doesn’t change a goddamn thing between us.

Now I’m stuck hating myself for the way I treated her when she first came back. Like a fucking idiot, I let my pride and the sting of old wounds turn into something cruel, something she didn’t deserve. I told myself it was self-preservation, building walls so she couldn’t get close enough to hurt me again.

But the cruel irony? My heart aches for her no matter what. Whether she’s in the same room or a thousand miles away, it’s the same relentless, hollow pain.

The walls between us feel too high now, too solid, and every move I’ve made since she got back has only built them higher and I don’t know how to tear them down.

Every time I try to get closer, I push her further away. Every word I say seems to land wrong—wrong tone, wrong timing, wrong everything. It’s like I’m caught in this endless loop of screwing things up, and I don’t know how to fix it. Fuck, I’m not even sure if I can.

I push the sheet off and roll out of bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My hand drifts through the tangled mess of my hair, but my focus is already on the window. The curtain hangs there, closed, unmoving, like it does every other morning. But today, something pulls me toward it.

I hesitate for a second, my fingers hovering over the fabric. But then I pull it back.

And there she is.

Aubrey, asleep in her bed, bathed in sunlight. It spills into her room, wrapping her in a golden glow that makes her look… serene. Beautiful in a way that twists something deep inside me.

I step back quickly, my pulse spiking, afraid she might wake up and catch me standing here like some fucking creep.

It’s strange, seeing her there. For the past year, every time I glanced out this window and saw her bed empty, all I could think about was how much I wanted her back. And now she’s here.

Her life’s always been a fucking mess—chaotic in ways most people can’t even begin to understand. And I was the one constant, the one who tried to shield her from it all. Especially when her parents were at each other’s throats, tearing into each other like it was some sick sport. I hated their screams, hated how they ripped through her life like a wrecking ball. I wanted to take it all away—the pain, the fear, the weight of it all.

But now that she’s back, all I want are answers. Where did she go? Why is she here without her mom?

I could’ve asked, could’ve handled it like a decent human being, but instead, like a complete fucking idiot, I let my anger win. All that pent-up confusion and hurt exploded the moment I saw her, and I lashed out like a complete asshole. I hurt the one person I promised myself I’d always protect.

Aubrey has always been my safe place, the only person I could confide in without feeling exposed. She knew what it was like when my mom walked out—how it shattered everything. No one at school would get it, and I sure as hell couldn’t talk to anyone about what’s happening now. But Aubrey? She understood. She was the one who kept me grounded when everything else was falling apart.

I pull on my running shoes, trying to shake the chaos in my head. Maybe if I push myself hard enough, run until my legs give out, I’ll find some clarity in the exhaustion.

But as I step into the hallway, the smell of bacon stops me in my tracks. Dad’s up, cooking breakfast like he does every morning.

Some things, at least, never change.

I already know what’s coming—another round of the same fucking conversation we’ve been having for days.

Dad keeps bringing it up, hinting, pushing. “Maybe you should see her. It might help.” And every time, I shut him down. It’s a never-ending dance, and I’m so fucking tired of it.

I can’t wrap my head around it—his sudden change of heart, like the years of pain she left behind doesn’t matter anymore. Like he can just forgive her for walking away without a second thought. It’s not that easy for me. It’ll never be that easy.

Every time he mentions her, it’s like ripping open a wound I’ve been fighting to close. It hurts. Fuck, it hurts in ways I can’t even put into words. And I’m at my limit. I can’t keep doing this.

When I step into the kitchen, there he is—Dad at the stove, the smell of bacon filling the air. The radio hums with some talk-show bullshit in the background, the same noise I’ve been tuning out for years. It’s the kind of routine that’s kept me steady, a small thread of normalcy when everything else was falling apart.

He glances over when I enter the kitchen, and there it is—his smile. The same one that got me through the worst nights, the hardest days. That smile’s like a lifeline, a reminder that even when everything else goes to shit, he’s still here, still solid.

“Was that Aubrey I saw yesterday?” he asks, flipping a strip of bacon like he’s just making casual conversation. “You didn’t mention she was back.”

I go straight for the fridge, ignoring the way my chest tightens at her name. “Yeah,” I mutter, pulling out the juice. My voice is tighter than I want it to be. “She’s been back for a few days.”

“Oh.” He goes quiet, but I can feel it—the weight of his questions hanging in the air. He’s waiting for me to say something more, to give him some explanation, but I keep my focus on the carton in my hands like it’s the most important thing in the world. Anything to avoid looking at him.

Because if I do, he’ll see it.

He’ll see the mess I’ve made, the guilt I can’t shake, the way I’ve destroyed whatever fragile connection Aubrey and I still had. He doesn’t know how badly I’ve fucked things up, and I sure as hell don’t plan on telling him.

“Son,” he says, his voice steady but heavy, “there’s something we need to talk about. I can’t keep avoiding it.”

And there it is. Same shit, different morning. We used to just be us—talking, laughing, just hanging out. I loved that. But now, every moment feels like walking on a live wire, waiting for him to bring her up. And every time he does, I’m right back to being that nine-year-old kid sitting on the front steps, crying my eyes out as I watched her walk away.

‘I don’t want to hear it, Dad,’ I snap, shoving away from the counter, my pulse hammering in my ears. ‘I don’t want to see her or her perfect little replacement family. Can we just drop this shit?’

His hand freezes over the frying pan, and for a second, I think he’s going to let it go. But then he speaks, his voice clipped and steady.

“No, that’s not what I wanted to discuss.”

I stop mid-step, the tension in the room shifting into something heavier, something I can’t quite name. He finishes with the bacon, placing it on a plate with deliberate care, but I catch the small tremor in his hand, the way he avoids meeting my eyes.

“Dad,” I say, softer now, the knot in my stomach twisting tighter. “What’s going on?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His jaw tightens, and he swallows hard, like whatever he’s about to say is too big to get out all at once. My mind races—Is he sick? Dying? Or is this just another way to nudge me toward forgiving her?

“Dad,” I try again, sharper this time, my worry morphing into something darker, more desperate. “Just tell me.”

‘Come on, let’s sit down and have a chat,’ he says, scooping up the food and nodding toward the table.

The weight in my gut doubles as I follow him. This isn’t small talk. This is something else.

I drop into my usual chair, my fingers tapping restlessly against the edge of the table while I watch him settle across from me.

His expression is unreadable, but I can see the effort behind it—the careful control, the way he’s bracing himself.

My appetite vanishes; I don’t even glance at the plate in front of me.

“Just say it, Dad,” I push, my voice firm, cutting through the thick silence.

He hesitates, fiddling with the edge of his napkin before finally meeting my eyes. “I’ve started seeing someone.”

The breath I was holding rushes out in one sharp exhale. Fuck. For a moment, I thought he was about to tell me something catastrophic—that he’s sick, dying, something irreversible. But this? This I can handle.

A small smile tugs at my lips. “That’s great, Dad,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “You deserve that. Someone in your life.”

He looks up, surprise flickering across his face like he expected me to blow up. “You’re not upset?”

“No,” I reply, shrugging, forcing the smile to stay. I reach for a piece of bacon, more for something to do with my hands than anything else. “Why would I be upset?”

‘I just figured after your mother—’

I cut him off before he can finish the sentence. ‘Dad, stop. Mom left. She’s not part of my life anymore. She made her choice, and I’ve made mine. So, how long have you been seeing…’

‘Simone,’ he admits, his tone careful. ‘And it’s still early. Just a few months.’

I bite into the bacon, the crunch cutting through the heavy silence as I study him. There’s more he’s not saying—it’s written all over his face. The tightness around his mouth, the way his eyes flicker everywhere but mine.

“Want another juice?” he asks, standing abruptly. His chair scrapes loudly against the floor, a clear attempt to deflect.

‘What aren’t you telling me, Dad?’ My voice slices through the air, sharp and demanding.

He pauses mid-step, his back to me. For a moment, he doesn’t move, and then he slowly turns around. There it is—the hesitation, the weight of whatever he’s holding back.

‘Son,’ he starts, his tone lower now, almost apologetic. ‘Simone suggested a weekend getaway. But considering the situation with…’

His words hang there, unfinished, as his eyes meet mine. The silence between us is deafening.

“By ‘situation,’ you mean Mom,” I say flatly, the knot in my stomach twisting tighter. Of course it’s about her. It’s always about her. She always fucking ruins everything.

‘Yeah,’ he says, quieter this time. ‘What if I’m not here for the weekend and she unexpectedly shows up at the door? I don’t want you to have to deal with that.’

His words hit like a sucker punch. He wasn’t pushing me toward her—he was trying to shield me from her bullshit.

“So that’s why you’ve been asking about her,” I say, the pieces finally clicking into place. “To figure out where I stand.”

“Exactly,” he admits, his shoulders sagging as if a weight’s been lifted. “Whether you decide to see her or not, that’s your choice. I’d never force her onto you. She left us without a second thought. I just wanted you to be ready… in case she showed up uninvited. Like she did the other day.”

The words take a second to land, but when they do, my chest tightens painfully. “Wait—she was here? Inside the house?”

He nods, his jaw clenching. “She walked right in. Made herself a damn coffee. Like the last ten years didn’t even happen.”

The fury hits, sharp and blinding. How the fuck does she think she can just stroll back into our lives? Like she didn’t destroy everything when she left.

I slam my hand against the table, the force reverberating through the room. ‘Are you fucking serious? She just walked in here after everything she’s done?’

Dad nods, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his own frustration. ‘I didn’t know what to do. She caught me off guard. I thought I could handle it, but seeing her…’

I rake a hand through my hair, trying to steady the fury surging through me. My thoughts are racing, overlapping, a chaotic mess of rage and disbelief. How the fuck does she think she can just stroll back into our lives, like she didn’t shatter them the second she walked out that door?

I should’ve listened to Dad. Should’ve stopped shutting him down every time he mentioned her. Instead, I let my anger speak for me, too wrapped up in my own bitterness to see he was trying to protect me. And now? Now she’s forcing her way back in, and I’m not ready.

I’ll never be ready.

‘I was going to tell you about Simone and the weekend getaway we planned,’ he says, his voice tight, ‘but seeing your mother back in the house… I was too stunned to do anything.’

‘When is this weekend getaway?’ I ask, my words clipped, irritation still bubbling under the surface.

‘It was supposed to be this weekend.’

‘Don’t cancel it, Dad. Seriously, don’t.’ I lean back in my chair, trying to force calm into my tone even though my pulse is hammering. ‘We’ve both moved on. She’s not part of our lives anymore. Go with Simone. I’ve got plans for Friday night, anyway. If she shows up, I won’t have time for her.’

I don’t say the rest, but it’s clear in my mind: if she shows her face, I won’t hesitate to tell her to fuck off.

He studies me for a moment, his brow furrowed. ‘Are you sure, son? You know how forceful your mother can be.’

‘Yeah, I’m sure,” I say.

For the first time in what feels like ages, his face softens into a genuine smile. It’s small at first, but it grows, lighting up his features like a weight has been lifted. He stands, already reaching for his phone on the counter, his grin widening.

‘Well, I guess I’ll give Simone a call and let her know the weekend is still on.’

I nod, watching him as he dials. For the first time in days, a semblance of normalcy starts to creep back into the air. Maybe, just maybe, we’re finding our footing again.

As he walks out of the kitchen, his voice carries back to me, light and happy. ‘Hey, honey,’ he says, his tone warm and relaxed.

I lean back in my chair, exhaling slowly. It’s not over—not by a long shot—but for now, it feels like a win.

A grin tugs at my lips. He’s found someone. Someone who lights him up like this. I wish he’d told me sooner. Hell, he deserves this. After all the shit he’s been through, he’s earned every bit of happiness.

I finish my breakfast quickly, skipping the run. By the time I’m stacking my plate in the dishwasher, Dad’s back. He moves toward the table, settling into his chair like the world’s weight is finally a little lighter.

“How’d it go?” I ask.

“Simone’s stoked. Thanks, son,” he says, setting his phone on the table. His gaze meets mine, soft and full of gratitude.

“Maybe sometime next week, when you’re back, you could bring Simone around to the house,” I tell him, my tone casual but sincere.

I want him to know I’m cool with this—that all I want is for him to be happy.

His smile widens, and for a moment, he looks younger, lighter, like he’s been handed back a piece of himself he thought he’d lost. “I’d like that.”

The thought of leaving next year stings less, knowing he won’t be alone. Knowing someone else will be here to hold him up when I can’t. If Simone’s the one to do that—if she’s the one who can keep that light in his eyes—then fuck, I’m all for it.