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No Way Home	By : Flagg1991 Category: +G through L > The Loud House Views: 2161 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Loud House nor will I profit in any way from this story

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
For a long time before getting in the shower, Leia stood before the mirror over the sink and stared at her reflection; her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders and hung in her face, and her exotic eyes were pooled with anxious murk. She was naked, her body firm and toned from thrice weekly visits to Curves with Mom, her pert breasts full and her hips just wide enough to suggest the purpose of her sex. Her toes and French tipped fingernails were pained translucent pink, and her pouty lips glimmered in the light like sun struck silver. She resembled an exquisite Grecian sculpture, and she knew it. Her body was a work of art - women wanted it and men wanted to have it. The hungry stares she drew from the latter and the envious scowls from the former pleased her, and she never missed a chance to accentuate her natural, ahem, assets. When she went out, her hair and makeup done and her body clad in the finest, most expensive clothes she could afford, she felt like a goddess.
Right now, though, she felt something else.
Shame.
And need.
She tried to meet her own gaze, to impose her will and assert control, but she found that she could not, and that both scared and angered her. She knew this would happen the moment Dad told her Lemy was coming home, but she told herself she wouldn't let it. She was strong, her will was indomable, she was in charge...of everything, including her heart and body.
Then she saw him and she knew that it was all an illusion. She was not sovereign, she was not independent - Lemy held sway over her just as he had when she was twenty, and when she was fifteen, and when she was eleven. No man made her feel the things he did; she tried her damnedest to find one who did, but none of them came close.
Because none of them were Lemy. She couldn't explain the fire he woke in her though she had been trying for over a decade. He was attractive enough, but she'd been with handsomer; he was fun and witty, but she fucked better; he wasn't buff, his dick wasn't huge (nor was it small either), and he never had money to buy her nice things like some of her other boyfriends...yet the mere mention of his name was enough to set her heart racing, and his simple presence stirred her loins like a brass poker prodding a bed of embers. The sound of his voice made her weak in the knees, his face made her stomach flutter, and his hands caressing her bare skin, running over her tender breasts and down her hips, always brought her dangerously close to the edge. No man other than Lemy could make her cum in less than ten minutes - sometimes all it took was one or two good thrusts from him, just as long as he touched and kissed her in all the right places first.
She gave up trying to account for it long ago; he drew her like a magnet, and that was all she could say for certain. It started, as near as she could recall, when she was eleven, her mind and body both beginning that strange and awkward journey into womanhood; she'd always felt a special kind of affection for her only brother, but steeped in hormones, its character changed, her desire to be around him sharpening, her love for teasing him turning into love for a different kind of teasing. Coming out of the bathroom in just a towel and parading in front of him; wearing nothing but her pink underwear and a white T-shirt with no bra underneath, and finding every excuse to be near him, next to, touching him, brushing her budding breasts against him.
Oh, and it worked wonderfully. His cute blushes and stammering voice when she did these things and more were like catnip, and she couldn't stay away. Some nights, she slipped into bed with him because Lemy, I had a nightmare, I need you, and he would hold her in his arms, his warmth, scent, and touch soothing her even as burning passion consumed her. She loved those nights, and the way he would "accidentally" touch her breast, steal whiffs of her hair, and try to wiggle away when she "innocently" rubbed her butt against his crotch. He didn't want her to feel his erection because he thought she wouldn't like it, and he was right, she didn't; she loved it.
In fact, it was a night like that when he really touched her for the first time. It was storming out, and Leia was oh so scared of the thunder and lightning, so she had to bunk with her big brother for protection. It was warm under the blankets, and he gave up trying to scoot away from her; she followed wherever he went. Le-emy, come back. His bulge pressed into the back of her thigh and her heart slammed a throbbing tempo in her chest. They were both in only their underwear, and she could feel his shape, his thickness, his dizzying heat; she had to bite her bottom lip and summon every ounce of self-control she had not to reach behind her, slip her hand into his boxers, and explore him with her fingers.
At one point, he laid one shaky hand on the swell of her hip, and the scrape of his flesh against hers made her gasp. "Sorry," he said and started to take it away.
"No," she said quickly, barely able to hear the sound of her own voice over the beating of her heart. She couldn't take it anymore - she thought she was teasing him, but she was actually teasing herself. "I like it. Y-You can touch me again. If you want."
He hesitated, then splayed his fingers on her leg, the tips curling into her soft flesh and shooting sparks into her aching center. Thunder crashed and lighting filled the night, giving him enough cover to move his hand across her thigh. When he stopped, she drew a shuddery breath. "That feels really good," she said, "keep going."
That was all the encouragement he needed. He kept going, alright, rubbing her leg and hips, then placing trembling kisses on the back of her neck, then kneading her breasts through her shirt, his hips rocking and his bulge grinding in the dip between her butt cheeks. She broke, turned in his arms, and fused their lips; she jammed her tongue hungrily into his mouth and cupped his rigid member in her hand...he kissed he back and slid his fingers under the waistband of her panties, between her legs, into her quivering folds. Kissing and stroking each other with white hot ferocity, they came together in a flash of lightning like a bad omen, and from that point forward, neither looked back.
Remembering the warm, tingling sensation that bubbled up inside of her after that first orgasm with her brother, starting in her toes and flooding her like carbonated fizz, she sighed nostalgically and looked at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were a rosy shade of pink and her eyes were muddled with lust; her chest rapidly expanded and contracted and her core pooled with wet fire that nothing would be able to dispel.
Nothing except for Lemy.
She sighed and bunched her lips to one side. She didn't want this to happen, but at the same time she did. What's that saying about having your cake and eating it too? She wasn't sure that applied to this situation, but it sounded like it did. For the past two years, she wavered between missing Lemy with an aching loss that was keen enough to almost make her double over, and hoping she never saw his stubborn, selfish ass face ever again. There was a photo album crammed with pictures of them from the time they were kids to just before Lemy left, and sometimes, especially after drinking too much wine, she took it out and paged through it, a strange mixture of love and hate twisting through her like a two tone snake. If the love was stronger, she laid it on the pillow next to her and fell asleep with her hand resting on the cover as though it were him; it the hate won out, the threw it across the room and hoped it dropped into a wormhole where she would never have to see it again.
Presently, she studied her conflicted eyes in the looking glass and forced herself to remember the bad times they had. Lemy was bullheaded, pure and simple. He didn't like structure and he didn't like being told what to do or how to do it; he thought she was bossy for telling him what to do...well, someone has to be the boss, and it couldn't be him with the way he drank. She knew she could be just a little difficult and high maintenance, but she liked things done a certain way, to a certain standard, in a certain amount of time. Was that really so much to ask? He needed someone to be his boss because when he didn't have that, he'd regress to a drunken, emaciated mess swarming with flies and looking like the world's most pathetic wino. Did he think that was easy for her to see? Did he think she liked coming home from work to find him face down on the bathroom floor in a puddle of his own vomit? Did he think she actually enjoyed having to mother him like he was a child?
She didn't, and right now, as those memories flooded her, she leaned heavily toward ignore him until he goes away. It wouldn't be easy, but the right thing rarely is. She turned her head slowly from side to side, a strand of gold falling across her cheek and tickling the corner of her mouth.
I like what you did with your hair.
A stupid smile ran across her lips and she bowed her head. Such a simple compliment, generic even...why did it make her feel so good?
It had something to do with the way he looked at her, she thought as she crossed to the tub and turned the hot water on; it fell from the faucet in a hissing rush, and she added cold, thrusting her hand under the flow to check the temperature. When his eyes fell upon her, she could clearly see the lust and appreciation...she felt beautiful and wanted...felt as though she were the only woman in the world.
Other men looked at her like that, but she didn't give a shit about other men.
She loved Lemy and no one else.
When the water was just right, she climbed in, closed the curtain, and pulled the diverter up; water sprayed from the showerhead and sluiced down her taut body. She wetted her hair, squeezed a measure of shampoo into her palm, and massaged it into her scalp as the water beat down on her breasts, her nipples hardening. If she closed her eyes and concentrated really hard, she could almost imagine Lemy was holding them, rolling her nipples under his thumbs and pressing them flat against her chest, sending ripples of desire through her pussy. She brushed her teeth across her bottom lip and purred in the back of her throat.
Fuck it, she wanted him. They might mix as well as oil and water, but she didn't care; he might bring her low but he also took her higher than anything else she'd ever known, and that was worth it, right?
In that moment, her center slick with arousal and her body ripe for the picking, it certainly was; he could sleep in her bed and it would be just like old times...could he still go three times in one night?
Only one way to find out, she thought.
She was very turned on now, so turned on that she doubted she'd last very long at all even with no foreplay. She cut the spray, dried off, and got out, wrapping the towel around her body and grabbing her clothes from the floor. He really liked it when she wore dresses, so she'd wear one of those, but which? Her closet was brimming with possibilities. Something short, of course, to show off her legs, and tight so that the fabric clung to her body like a second skin; the thought of him seeing her every dip, ridge, and curve like a naughty suggestion made her stomach crinkle. Dresses are easy to slip off; she could do it for him or let him do it himself...
At the door, she paused, a revelation striking her like a bullet to the head.
She was making a huge mistake; she was letting herself get thoughtlessly carried away on a tide of passion like a common gutter slut and throwing every shred of logic and rationale out the window. Lemy was no good for her, and she was no good for him. The only thing they could create together was chaos.
The things he made her feel were not worth going back to the way things were before - she wasn't happy, and for a long time after he left, she hated his fucking guts. There were times, and she hated herself for that, that she could hardly look at her own daughter because she reminded her of him.
She was an unstoppable force and he an immovable object - nothing good could come from their meeting.
Intense and bitter disappointment filled her chest, and she sighed. If she was smart, she'd stay away.
Now she was conflicted again.
She'd have to think on it. To jump into the fire or not not jump into the fire. Kind of strange to have to think about whether or not to do something like that, but even though she put on a tough facade, she was weak when it came to her brother.
She opened the door, and started at the sight of Lizy, disheveled and bleary-eyed; her shoulder length blonde hair was matted, strands sticking out here and there, and dark bags hung under her eyes. She wore black sweatpants and an oversized red and blue plaid shirt creased and wrinkled.
Leia frowned. "What are you doing up?"
Her shift at the truck stop didn't start until eleven, and she usually slept between noon and seven. If Lucas let her, that is. Leia swore sometimes that boy had ADHD or something; he was always so hyper and fidgety, and his favorite pastime, aside from playing dumb pirate games with Meagan, was annoying the shit out of his mother.
"I can't sleep knowing that prick's here," Lizy grumbled.
When she first got with Lemy, Leia was under the impression that she would be his only, then he started fucking with Lupa. Since their father had his own harem of women, Leia accepted it, but she didn't like it. When Lupa got pregnant with Luya, she broke up with him in a fit of jealousy, which hurt him deeply (good). One day, while she was at the mall with Mom, she later learned, he came over to the house looking for her, but found Lizy instead. He broke down or something and she did her best to comfort him...which lead to sex. Leia didn't know details and didn't want to, but during the year and a half she and Lemy were broken up (save for the occasional one night stand), he and Lizy got fairly serious.
Something he didn't tell her when she took him back after Lupa kicked him out the first time. In fact, she didn't find out until she was already pregnant with Meagan.
So dumped his ass again, and for most of the pregnancy, he bounced between Lizy and Lupa like a headband wearing ping pong ball. She finally swallowed her pride in the third trimester and took him back. Lizy was fine when it was just her and Lupa, but not with the addition of Leia. See, Lupa lived on her own while Leia and Lizy both still lived at home, which meant that Lemy couldn't really be with one without being with the other. He was like catnip, and Leia was the playful kitten who couldn't stay away, even if he was cuddling their little sister on the couch or laying in bed with her.
Lizy was the same way, though, and while she could dish it out, she couldn't take it, and one day they got into a huge fight. Long story short, Leia knocked one of the younger girl's teeth out and Lizy, in turn, gave Leia the biggest, ugliest, nastiest black eye in history.
Their relationship only began to recover after Dad kicked Lemy out when Lucas was two; Lizy struggled to care for him on her own and even though Leia was still sore at the little bitch, she felt bad for her.
Of everyone in the family, Lizy took Lemy leaving the hardest. She never said, but Leia suspected she thought she and Lemy were going to have some kind of fairytale romance and play house with their baby while Leia and Lupa took their kids and fucked off. Unfortunately for her, it didn't happen that way, and she hated Lemy for it. Or maybe she hated him for something else. Who knew? Either way, she did hate him, or at least pretended to. "Cut him some slack, will you?" Leia asked, a defensive edge creeping into her voice. She had her moments of hating Lemy too, but it was kind of a it's okay when I do it thing.
"Fuck him," Lizy said, "he got us all pregnant and ran away like a bitch. He can suck it." She brushed roughly past Leia, and Leia shrugged. What are you gonna do?
In her room, a large space with pink walls and dominated by a four poster bed with a canopy, she went to the vanity and sat, her elbows propped on the edge and her face resting in her upturned palms. Her reflection stared back at her, its eyes brooding, lips arranged in a downward pouting frown. Why is it that the best things in life are often never good for you? Chocolate, alcohol, Lemy - it was as though God was playing a cruel and merciless joke on humanity.
Why couldn't she forget the son of a bitch? Why was she so attracted to him?
Why did she love him?
A sharp burst of childish giggling drew her attention to the window. She got up, crossed to it, and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward to see through the pane. The yard stood empty, then Lemy ran by, one of Meagan's foam swords in his hand. Lucas and Meagan chased after, both laughing hysterically. Lemy threw a glance over his shoulder and beamed at his kids, his face glowing with a warm, lovely radiance that stopped Leia's heart and made her smile despite herself.
Lucas darted ahead of Meagan and drew his sword back, but Lemy shot out his arms, scooped the little boy up, and spun him so that his head pointed at the ground. Lucas laughed and kicked his legs while Meagan caught up and started whacking Lemy across the back with her sword.
Deep inside Leia's depths, something stirred, and she let out a dreamy sigh, her chin landing in her hand. Lemy was a lot of things...and one of them was a good father.
Watching him play with his children, she made up her mind.
She did want him.
Consequences be damned.
Lincoln Loud passed most of the afternoon at the jobsite watching Lana, Charlie, and Chris finishing the final wall of the house, Lana on the staging taking measurements and calling them down to Chris, who cut siding panels on the table saw accordingly, and Charlie running the gutter machine from the back of a trailer. The machine was so simple to use that even Lincoln could operate it: You wound a coil of metal around a spindle, flipped a switch, and out came a custom, seamless gutter like a dollar from a slot. You had to punch a spout hole and add bracket clamps, but that was easy too. In fact, gutters were the only part of the job Lincoln had ever actively participated in, and today he did it again; he stood on one ladder while Charlie stood on another thirty feet across, holding the gutter in place while Charlie drilled the clamps in.
It was cold and windy, especially in the foothills, and by three, it began to drizzle; within an hour, it was a steady, drenching rain that normally would have sent the crew home, but they were so close to being done that Lana refused to call it a day. There was one half-wall left, and the job would be finished. Any other day, Lincoln would have pulled rank on her and ordered the guys to wrap up, but they needed the final payment; they accepted pay from the customer in increments, the first being before the job was even started and the last after it was completed. Since this one took longer than it should have (thanks to Chris and, to a lesser extent, Charlie), they were behind and needed money.
Chris and Charlie disassembled the brake and the saw table, then put them in the bed of Charlie's Dodge and covered them with a tarp to keep them from getting wet; poor little Chris has to cut the last dozen panels with snips, which is a pain the ass...but he deserved it, so Lincoln felt no sympathy for him.
Charlie broke down what he could and cleaned up, and Lincoln let him go around five. Lana nailed the last panel in at 5:10, and that was that. They'd have to come back and take down the staging (or rather, Chris and Charlie would), but that could wait until morning.
In the truck, Lana took her cap off and tossed it into the back - her hair was dry, but everything else was soaked, her T-shirt clinging to her breasts and stomach and her jeans dark with dampness. Lincoln was sopping too, and not particularly happy about it. "Sometimes I wish I opened a hardware store instead," she mused as she started the engine.
"Sometimes I do too," Lincoln said. She drove around the house in a U then started down the hill, the wipers scraping a clunking rhythm against the windshield. "Less work."
Lana turned right onto the highway. "I know, that's why I chose this."
Neither one spoke for a while after that. When Lana finally did, her tone was sober and flat. "Is Lemy at the house?"
"Yeah," Lincoln said. Leni texted him around 2:30. Gott lemee and hes hear. Those words dropped into Lincoln's stomach like a stone into a mill pond, and ever since, vague, maglinent dread nestled in his chest, seething and growing as cancer. He was worried about how Lemy would act, and how Lola and Lana would act, how Leia would act, and, most of all, how he would act. "Please don't start anything with him," he said beseechingly.
Lana stared into the rain, her face hard. "I won't," she replied solemnly, "I just don't want you to do something stupid like let him move back in."
Lincoln's heart skipped. He was thinking of doing exactly that. Raising nine kids, some of them hard to handle like Lemy and Lupa, his heart hardened, but he still loved his children; yes, even Lemy. He wanted the boy to straighten up and get his life on track, wanted it more than anything else in the world, but he wouldn't allow himself to hope, couldn't. People can change, of course, but some of them just are what they are, and he feared that Lemy was what he was, check and mate.
Turning one of his kids away wouldn't be easy, but in this case, it might be right.
He chafed when Lana gave him a suspicious sidelong glance. "Don't tell me you're thinking about letting him back, Lincoln." Her tone was firm, commanding, and from it, Lincoln knew that there would be a fight if he said that he was.
"He's my son, Lana," he said without turning. "I'm not going to abandon him if he wants to change. If he chooses his current path, that's on him, but if he chooses to change, I'm going to support him."
They came to a rolling stop at a red light. The rain began to slacken, and the wipers slowed. He was aware of Lana openly glaring at him, but ignored her. His mind was made up and there was no changing it; he was unshakable and his will steadfast, a trait developed over the years by first having ten sisters, then ten wives. In a situation such as that, outnumbered and surrounded, you either man up or you die. Lincoln Loud manned up.
The light turned green and Lana turned back to the road, pushing the gas and guiding the truck through the intersection. "He's not going to change, Linc, you know that," Lana said.
"Maybe he will, maybe he won't. We'll see."
"He's a drunk and a deadbeat. Those don't change."
Anger squeezed Lincoln's chest and he took a deep breath through his nose. He knew what Lemy was, but that didn't mean he liked hearing it out loud, especially from someone who didn't give a rat's ass about him. After Lemy left, Lizy developed a nasty hatred of him, and Lana, being the overprotective mama she was, caught it as well. Lola didn't like him, Leia was back and forth like a schizophrenic, and everyone else was largely indifferent save for Leni - he'd been given chance after chance and fucked them up every time, what else could you feel after a while but numb? Lizy and Lana were the only ones who outright hated him, and if Lincoln dwelled on it too long, it pissed him off. Lizy, okay, he could understand her stance, but Lana?
"We'll see," he said.
Lana snorted. "Yeah, we'll see when he-"
Lincoln leaned over and turned the radio on as high as it would go to drown her out. Classic county with a steady backbeat blared from the speakers.
Lana shot him a withering look, her eyes half-lidding and her lips twisting hatefully. Lincoln didn't look at her, but did his best to communicate with his body language that her opinion on this matter didn't mean shit to him.
She turned away and didn't speak to him again, the atmosphere in the cab dark and oppressive. When they pulled into the driveway, she cut the engine, ripped the keys out of the ignition, and got out, slamming the door behind her. She stalked across the yard and went inside, slamming that door too. Lincoln watched her go, then slipped out himself. He went around the front end and crossed the lawn, the wet, overgrown grass caressing the cuffs of his pants. He looked up at he house as he approached; it seemed darker somehow, ominous, like a haunted derelict on a backwoods road, its door a wide, grinning mouth and its eyes evil, twinkling eyes.
He chided himself for being so dramatic, and went up the steps. It was only his son...only a man who made mistakes…
...mistakes that hurt his entire family, especially his children. Especially Luya.
With a deep, steadying breath, Lincoln opened the door and went in.
"This is favorite movie of all time," Meagan said happily. She sat next to Lemy, his arm around her shoulders and her hands in her lap, her feet dangling inches off the floor. Lucas sat on Lemy's other side, wedged between him and the arm.
Onscreen, Jack Sparrow did battle with a zombie or something on the deck of a pirate ship, their swords hitting with a crisp metallic clink. "I like Magic Island better," Lucas said.
Meagan rolled her eyes. "That's not a real pirate movie, though."
Lucas whipped his head around and leaned forward to see past Lemy. "It has pirates," he said in a tone that settled the matter.
"Yeah, but they weren't real. It was a fantasy world."
"Nu-uh."
Meagan nodded. "Yeah-huh."
Lucas opened his mouth to retort, but Lemy cut him off. "Come on, guys, I wanna see the movie." He laid his hand on Lucas's head and ruffled his brown hair. "We can watch Magic Island next."
The little boy shrugged. "Okay. Then you'll see it is a real pirate movie."
Meagan stuck her tongue out, and Lemy snorted. These two were a trip - they were each other's best friend and each other's worst enemy: One minute they were metaphorically hugging and kissing, and the next they were bickering like an old married couple.
He suddenly found himself wondering if maybe, when they got older…
That thought disturbed him, so he shoved it away.
For a long time they watched the movie in silence, rapture and wonderment on Meagan's face and curious interest on Lucas's. The drunk from the bus was completely gone, and the cold fingers of clear-headed consciousness began to creep in like a damp chill when the fire dies. When he was sober, the knowledge that he was a piece of scum insistently clawed at his mind, and right now, it was stronger, more incessant, than ever. Here he was, at his parents' house, where he was universally hated, and playing Daddy to two kids he didn't really know while a third he absolutely didn't sulked somewhere in the shadows. He had no job, no place to live...he was so focused on getting here and dealing with meeting his family again that he didn't take the time to consider the fact that he was homeless and had virtually no money. Everything he touched failed, he hurt the people closest to him again and again, and he wanted a drink so bad he was beginning to shake.
The half bottle of Canadian Mist in his jacket pocket sang sweetly out to him, and he turned his head. The coat hung from the back of a chair in the dining room, and he imagined he could see the outline of the bottle within. He licked his dry lips and concentrated on the movie. He loved his daughter and all, but pirates? Pirates suck. Playing pirate was fun, but sitting in front of a TV and watching Johnny Depp fag his way through 150 minutes of lameness was mind-numbingly boring.
"This is my favorite part," Meagan said excitedly. "Watch. It's really cool."
Lemy patted her arm. "I'm watching."
He glanced at the jacket. So close, yet so far away. He scraped his teeth across his bottom lip and wished he was drunk. He'd enjoy himself so much more if he was.
Meagan cheered. "Pretty cool, huh?" she asked. Lemy turned, and she looked up at him with a frown. "Were you watching?"
"I sure was," Lemy lied, hoping she wouldn't ask him any questions about it that he wouldn't be able to answer, "it was cool."
She stared at him uncertainly, then smiled. He saw something in her eyes that scared him and made him feel like a monster.
Trust.
She trusted him and he didn't know what to do. No one trusted him, and, he suspected, no one ever had. Not Leia, not Lupa, not Lizy or Dad or anyone else. Suddenly, he felt the weight of the world bearing down on his shoulders, and he was going to buckle.
"Magic Island's better," Lucas said.
Wrought with nerves and trembling, Lemy looked away from his daughter with a rush of shame and stared at the screen, only glancing up when the door opened and Lana came in. Her shoulders were bunched and her fists balled at her sides, and with a pang of dread, Lemy knew in an instant that it had to do with him. She slammed the door and went straight up the stairs without sparing him so much as a single look.
He figured she'd hate his guts for leaving; hell, she hated him before. One time, she took him aside and straight out told him that Lizy was too good for him. She called him an alcoholic and a piece of shit as she did it, and that hurt...what hurt even more is that deep down, somewhere in his heart, he knew she was right.
A minute later, the door opened again and Dad came in, wearing a tan Members Only jacket over a white button up. Lemy's first instinct was to turn away and will himself invisible, but Meagan chose that moment to pipe up. "Hi, grandpa!"
Dad looked over, and for a fleeting instant, they made eye contact, then both broke it simultaneously. "Hey, honey," he said and shrugged out of his coat, hanging it from the rack. He came over, and Lemy tensed a little. Dad ruffled Lucas's hair, passed behind Lemy, and leaned over the back of the couch to kiss Meagan's cheek. "Watching this one again?"
She nodded proudly. "I'm showing it to Dad."
Lemy pretended to brush his fingers through his hair, in actuality he was shielding his face.
"Hi, Lemy," Dad said.
Damn it. Lemy was halfway hoping the old man would ignore him.
Putting on a strained smile, he glanced at his father. "Hey, Dad."
"I showed him how to play pirate deathmatch too," she said.
Dad chuckled and looked her. "Who won?"
"Lucas and I. Dad's not very good."
For some reason Lemy couldn't name, that statement plunged into his chest like the wickedly sharp point of a dagger. Dad's not very good. She meant at the game...she was teasing him...but even so, he was hurt.
Dad laughing made it worse.
"You two are professionals," he said.
"I know," Meagan preened.
Dad patted her head and stood to his full height; Lemy stared awkwardly at the screen, his father a looming and vaguely threatening black mass in his periphery. "How was the trip?" Dad's voice was stiff and guarded.
"Good," Lemy said simply. "It, uh, it took longer than it should have. I got in a little late."
"Buses for you," Dad said. "I need to get changed."
With that, he went upstairs, and Lemy breathed a sigh of relief. His father inspired many different feelings in him, and since leaving and this talk of adoption came up, inferiority was the strongest. Giving Dad legal custody of his children was the final step in achieving total slimeballhood. It was also the biggest and most spectacular way to admit that his father was a better man than he.
Then again, didn't walking out in the first place prove that? While he was struggling hand-to-mouth in the city, Dad was here financially supporting Meagan, Lucas, and Luya, paying their medical bills, buying their food, letting Lucas and Meagan live under his roof...tucking them in at night and cuddling them and…
Lemy let that thought trail off - he was starting to get angry, and if he got angry, he didn't know what would happen. Drunk, he did, but sober...sober was always a surprise. He could pop off and punch a hole in the wall, or he could break down crying. It was like a Wonder Ball - you never knew what was inside until it cracked open.
It was his fault and his fault alone. He could have held on, but he chose to let go. After Dad kicked him out and he lost his job, he lived in motels rooms, a homeless shelter in Elk Park, and even in town square for a little while, sleeping on a bench at night under a blanket of newspapers. He wasn't allowed at the house, Lupa took pity on him and let him sleep on her couch for one night when it was snowing out, and Leia was the only one who had anything to do with him. He knew he was a fuck up, knew that they hated the things he did, but that doesn't justify throwing someone away like garbage, turning your back on your own fucking child. Him doing that to his kids was different, what other options did he have? Be a bum? He couldn't even see them anyway, Lizy refused to talk to him and wouldn't let him spend time with Lucas, and Leia only brought Meagan with her once or twice because when they got together, they always fucked, and Meagan was a little too old to do that in front of, though they did a few times.
Looking back, he could have sucked it up and done differently, but at the time he felt like an animal backed into a corner: He was sad, lonely, bitter, and full of hate. If he stayed, God only knows what might have happened.
He glanced longingly at his jacket. He really needed that drink.
He couldn't have it, though; everyone would smell it and give him those goddamn judgmental stares he came to hate so much. They were never just condemning, though - they were always tinged with something else, sometimes pity, sometimes loathing, and every once in a while, genuine sadness. Fuck that - he'd rather die than let those assholes degrade him again.
Turning to the TV, he forced himself to concentrate on the screen, realizing for the first time that Meagan was talking. "...I like superheros too. Not many superheroes, though, like Batman. He's cool. I like that he's a real person and not an alien or something. Do you have a favorite book? I really like Treasure Island, but The Three Musketeers is really good too."
Lemy rubbed his temple. Little Miss Motormouth. "I don't read very much," he said and licked his lips. Mind over matter, he told himself. He was stronger than this, he could go without booze if he wanted, he just needed to establish dominance. He took a deep breath and clamped the insides of his cheeks between his teeth.
"You should start," Meagan said, "it's never too late and reading is really cool. A lot of people say it's for nerds but it's not, it's for everyone."
"Reading is fun," he said, "I just really haven't had a chance."
"Well, now that you're here, I can read you bedtime stories like I used to. I have the perfect one for tonight, it's about a guy who turns into a pirate on every full moon."
Lemy's brows knitted in confusion. "What, like he's a werewolf?"
"Yep," Meagan said, her head bobbing up and down. "It's silly, but it's really funny. There's this one part where he's walking down the street and the transformation happens; he falls to his knees and screams, but the scream turns into a hearty pirate laugh." She giggled.
A ball of hot, throbbing pain was forming over his left eye, and his throat was so dry he could barely swallow. The tremors in his hands were worse too. Two years ago, when he first got to the city, he was picked up on a drunk in public and spent a week in jail. He'd been drinking so long by that point that within days, his booze steeped body began to atrophy and metaphorical dry rot set in. Delirium tremens, commonly known as the DTs, happens when a guy like him stops drinking suddenly - three days into his stay in jail, and he was wracked with tremors, shivering, and profuse sweating. General confusion set in on day four, and by day five, phantom bugs scurried across his entire body. He knew damn well that he wasn't going to start that shit right now, not mere hours after his last drink, but dark dread filled his stomach anyway, and restless energy coursed through his veins like acid.
And Meagan just kept on and on and on. Pirates, spaceships, cowgirls, Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, Ray Bradbury, some girl from school she was friends with...talk, talk, talk, talk, talk. And Lucas kept fidgeting, shifting this way and that, rolling his neck, kicking his feet, Jesus, kid, sit still, will you?
He realized his mood was darkening, and cold fear crept into his chest. When he wasn't able to drink, he got grumpy. The kids were getting on his nerves and if he didn't get some good will in his gut, he'd most likely snap off at one of them.
That thought shook him.
Fuck it. Let Dad and his fuck squad look down their noses, they were a pack of assholes anyway. No matter what he did, it would never be good enough, so why try to please them? He knew his own body and mind, and he knew he needed that fucking drink like an emphysema patient needs oxygen.
Before he could go get it, though, Dad came downstairs and sat heavily next to Meagan with a weary sigh. He was in a pair of black pants and a green polo shirt that made him look like a middle class schlub.
Which is exactly what he was.
Crossing his legs like a woman, Dad draped his arm across the back of the couch and stared at the TV; credits rolled over a scene of a steely, sun-dappled ocean. "Can you and your brother give me and your Dad some privacy?" he asked Meagan. "I need to talk to him."
Aw, great.
"Okay," Meagan said and hopped off the couch.
A dark shadow ran across Lucas's face, and he narrowed his eyes. "I wanna watch Magic Island."
"We can watch it later," Meagan said, "I need your help with something." She looked pointedly at Lemy, and he got the vibe that the 'something' had to do with him.
Lucas brightened as though the idea of being helpful to his big sister excited him. "Okay." He slipped out from under Lemy's arm and got to his feet, stumbling a little. He went to Meagan, and together they rounded the couch and disappeared up the stairs, Lucas asking what she wanted him to help her with and her telling him it was a 'surprise.'
Alone with his father, Lemy sat up straighter and braced himself for whatever might come; he wasn't planning on arguing with him, but with his mood the way it was, he couldn't promise anything.
Dad gazed at the TV for a long time before glancing at him with a wistful smile. "She really likes pirates," he commented.
So they were gonna do this...beat around the bush and make small talk. Lemy hated that shit; he'd rather just get to the point and get it over with.
"Yeah," he said with a stiff nod. "Where, uh, where did that come from?"
Dad shrugged. "Who knows. Remember when you were big into bikers?"
When Lemy was nine, he thought outlaw bikers were the coolest guys ever, tearing down the highway on their hogs, living by their own rules, free to come, go, and do as they pleased. He eventually got over it, but for a while, he was obsessed; he'd pretend his bike was a Harley-Davidson and wear a denim jacket his Mom got him that had a big Hell's Angels patch on the back. "I remember," he said fondly - fondly not because of the dumb wannabe biker shit, fondly because that period of his life was the last time he could remember being truly happy and carefree.
"You used to drive me crazy with that stuff," Dad said with a snort. "You made everyone call you Lethal Lemy."
Lemy uttered a harsh laugh that turned into a hacking smoker's cough. He completely forgot about that; Lora and Lupa made fun of him for years. As lethal as a kitten, Lupa liked to say.
Shaking his head, Dad said, "It was kind of cute, though."
Lemy swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and tapped his foot against the floor. He could almost taste the whiskey, cold on his tongue, coating the back of his throat, burning on its way to his stomach. His breathing caught and he licked his lips. "So how are things?" Dad asked, bringing him back.
"They're good," Lemy lied. He wasn't too proud to piss on himself in a drunken haze, wasn't too proud to eat out of a garbage can if he had too, wasn't too proud to share a needle...but he was far, far too proud to admit to his father that he lost both his job and his apartment.
Dad nodded. "That's good. You're cleaning office buildings now, right?"
I was, Lemy thought bitterly. "Yeah, I have two buildings...that I clean every night."
"Hm. How is it? Work wise?"
Lemy thought for a minute. Even on nights that he had to do everything, including dusting, it wasn't hard, just time consuming. Rarely did he break a sweat and never once did he walk out the door stiff, in pain, or sore. "Not bad," he said, "it's pretty easy, actually."
"That's good. Make decent money?"
Obviously not or else he wouldn't have asked for some. "Depends," he said, "sometimes I work extra hours cleaning other buildings. I'm one of the best cleaners they have. In fact, my boss is training me to become a supervisor."
Dad's brows lifted incredulously, and Lemy wondered if he could see through the lie "That's good. I'm glad to hear that." He was silent for a long time, his eyes downcast. "You still drinking?"
The question came hard, like a kidney stone, and made Lemy's cheeks blush. He couldn't outright lie and say no, but he also couldn't tell the truth and say yes, more than ever. Best to choose a happy medium, or as close to a happy medium as he could get. "A little," he said, "I'm trying to quit."
"Really?" Dad asked, a hopeful hilt to his voice.
Lemy nodded. "Yeah, I-I'm sick of...sick of it."
"That's great," Dad said, "alcohol...seems like it helps, but it doesn't. It's...it's bad stuff."
Ha. Dad the dime store philosopher. He acted like he knew everything and like his fumbling attempts at playing Ward Cleaver made him father of the year.
"I know," Lemy said. "I wanna get sober. For the kids."
Dad nodded. "They'd appreciate that. They have their mothers, and they have me...but they really need their father."
Was he being sincere or was condescending? Lemy couldn't tell, but Dad had a way of patronizing you like you were an idiot.
"Yeah," Lemy said, "I wanna be there for them."
"You guys getting along?"
Lemy flashed back to the game of pirate deathmatch or whatever it was called, and an earnest smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah. We played in the backyard. Had a blast." He thought of Luya sitting under the tree, her arms crossed, and his smile faltered a little. "Luya's still...kind of distant."
"Yeah, I figured she would be," Dad said. "She's at the age where...she has an attitude about everything. She missed you, though, and if you keep trying, you'll get through."
If? Like he wasn't going to?
Man, he needed a drink.
By now, the house was abuzz with activity; Lori, in a pink apron over a blue, button up dress with short sleeves, came down and went into the kitchen; Lana went out the front door, and moments later Lola came in (like Clark Kent going into a phone booth and Superman coming out); others came and went, Lemy not sure who because he kept his eyes firmly on the TV. Where were all these people fifteen minutes ago? Or two hours?
Were they hiding?
Oh, Dad's here, it's safe to go downstairs, he'll protect us from Lemy.
That wasn't fair and he knew it, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they really were hiding from him.
"I will," he said, "I just...I don't want to push her. I know she's gotta be...you know...mad at me, and if I try too hard, she might not respond well."
Dad ticked his head from side to side. "It'll probably take some time," he said, "but it's time you should really invest in."
More patronizing. What, did Dad think he didn't know this?
"Yeah," he said and shifted. "I will."
They lapsed into silence, both staring at the screen, where the DVD menu played on an endless loop, the same fifteen seconds of dramatic music cycling over and over again. That was a good analogy for his life - a perpetual and monotonous circle from which he could not break.
From which...deep down...he might not want to break.
He thought of Meagan and Lucas. They need their father. Did they? Did they really need him? They were great kids...too great for him.
Or maybe that was an excuse to not change.
He didn't know, but he did know this:
He really, really, really needed that drink.
Thirty-eight...thirty-nine...forty. Leia's lips moved silently as she glided the brush through her long, blonde hair. Her reflection stared back at her, its eyes lightly shadowed and its mouth a glossy shade of pink that sparkled in the light cast by the bare bulbs lining the top of the mirror. She tried to meet her own gaze but was perturbed to find that she couldn't. She flicked her eyes instead to Meagan, who sat on the middle of Leia's bed with her legs crossed and a book open in her lap. Her chin rested in her upturned palm, and every so often she flipped a page with a crisp snapping sound. Leia watched the little girl with a faint half-smile, wondering, as she frequently did, what she was thinking. Meagan, though her daughter, was an enigma to her - a riddle that she had yet to figure out and was secretly afraid she never would. Every child, Dad said, is different, and though she'd had her problems with him just as surely as Lemy and Lupa, she believed he knew what he was talking about: He had nine of them, after all, and unless you're a complete moron, that's something you learn from. Meagan was her own person and Leia accepted that, but there were times (many more than she cared to admit) that she felt like Meagan was a stranger.
At her age, Leia was popular, well-kempt, and concerned with boys, her looks, and her cell phone. Meagan was the polar opposite: She didn't care whether her hair looked nice or not, she didn't travel in many social circles (though she wasn't a hermit, either), and she always had her nose buried in a book. Leia could not, as a rule, stand inertia - she needed external stimuli, be it music, TV, or a magazine. Meagan, on the other hand, was quite content to lay on the floor or the couch and entertain herself. My imagination is a fun place to be, she said often, and Leia never failed to cock her head in bafflement at that. She knew people like that existed...but how? How could they sit alone in a room and not go stir crazy? How can they stare at a blank document on a computer screen...then breathe life into it?
She didn't know, she just didn't, and it frankly hurt her that she and Meagan were so different. They shared very little in common, liked almost none of the same things, and had next to nothing to talk about. When they did carry a conversation, Meagan sprinkled her sentences with big words that Leia either didn't understand or never thought to use herself...which served only to annoy her. She wanted desperately to connect with the little girl...to do things together like pedicures and spa days...but Meagan just wasn't that kind of person.
Leia loved her dearly, but sometimes, she wished she wasn't her.
Turning her head, Leia brushed the other side. One...two...three…
In the mirror, Meagan beamed down at her book as though something particularly humorous was happening on the page. Her smile was warm and achingly beautiful, just like her, and sharp longing filled Leia's chest. She felt like a woman so close...yet so far away, trapped on the outside looking in, separated from her daughter by an invisible barrier.
A volatile mixture of anger and sadness flared inside of her, and she sighed. This is what happened when she let herself dwell - she picked and picked and picked, as though at a scab, until she was raw and oozing blood.
She needed to think of something else, but the only other thing on her mind was Lemy, and she probably shouldn't think of him either.
Fifteen...sixteen...seventeen…
Screw it. Whether she should or not, she wanted to. She went back to watching him play with Meagan and Lucas in the backyard, and a warm, tingling sensation bubbled up from the pit of her stomach like fizz in soda. She couldn't recall the last time she saw him smile, but it was so long ago, and her memories so strident in obscuring it, that she'd forgotten how beautiful it was. In fact, now that she thought about it, she saw a lot of it in Meagan's smile. He had his problems, but he was a good man at heart...and an amazing lover.
A smutty grin ran across her lips and she glanced instinctively down to hide the girlish blush on her cheeks. She'd also forgotten how handsome he was, with his soft brown eyes, strong, angular chin, and rugged features. As a boy, he was soft and delicate, but he grew into himself very nicely.
Her heartbeat sped up as she remembered the feeling of his big, calloused hands kneading her small, sensitive breasts, the flutter of his lips over the slope of her neck, the hungry passion in his eyes when they furiously coupled. She liked it rough...adored feeling vulnerable and at his mercy...and the best way to bring out the animal in him was by teasing. During their years together, she would either make fun of his dick size until he fucked her like he had something to prove, or tease his cock into a mindless frenzy; wearing dresses that lifted over her bare, creamy buttocks when she raised her arms, kissing him and rubbing him through his jeans...only to walk away before he could cum, letting him have only fleeting kisses and passing touches for days on end. Sometimes, she didn't relent...she watched the pressure steadily build, watched his knees knock and his eyes roll, watched with her own rising arousal as he reached the point of suffering, waiting, biding her time, getting so worked up by how badly he wanted her, needed her, that a single, swift touch in the right spot would make her cum so hard she'd scream.
Finally, when he couldn't take anymore, he'd come into her room, throw her onto the bed, and take her like a caveman. Those were the best encounters they ever shared, but also the shortest: Three deep, urgent thrusts, and both of them exploded. If Leia wasn't mistaken, it was a bout of ten second mind-blasting sex that resulted in Meagan…
She clamped her bottom lip between her teeth and squeezed her thighs together to relieve some of the pressure gathering in her center; a delighted shudder ran through her and tendrils of electricity streaked out from her core like lightning across the summer sky. Her eyes half lidded and her heart beat an unsteady rhythm against her breast, each throb pushing her sensitive nipples against the fabric of her dress, which served only to heighten her arousal. If Lemy was here, he could bend over her shoulder from behind, slip his hand between her legs, and stroke her until she dug her fingers into his forearm and grinded him in her climax.
Another shiver dropped down her spine, and she shook her head like a woman waking from a trace; heated smoke lingered in her brain and her pussy smoldered like a bed of hot coals yearning to be raked. She swallowed with an audible click, her throat dry and tacky, and flicked her eyes to Meagan's reflection: Still smiling at that dumb book and the secrets it held.
Leia didn't realize she was speaking until she heard her voice, shaky with need. "How do you like your dad?" Maybe she was seeking Meagan's approval for what she was going to do, maybe she was looking, at the last minute, for a reason to stop herself, to abandon her hopes for reconciliation with Lemy.
If the latter was the case, she did not find it. Meagan looked up from her lap, and the goofy, happy smile on her face told Leia all she needed to know. "I like him a lot," the little girl said, "he's really cool and fun."
Meagan never said that Lemy not being around was hard on her, but Leia could sense it in her, especially in the way she clung to her grandfather as a surrogate. Every girl (and boy, for that matter), needs a dad, and it did not surprise Leia that Meagan took to Lemy so quickly. Unlike Leia, she had no reservations, no misgivings, no little voice in the back of her head telling her to push him away. Leia did, but she was also in love, and love is the most powerful cloud-er of judgment known to man. A small part of her still held out, still wanted her to turn tail and run. Remember what it was like the last time?
Only her heart - and her body - didn't care about last time. Had Meagan said no...maybe she would have changed her mind...or then again, maybe she wouldn't have.
"You guys looked like you were having a good time," she said, a dreamy quality to her voice. She flashed back to them in the yard, and the warm tingle from before returned, starting in her French tipped toes and flowing upstream to her cheeks. She didn't know why seeing him interacting with his children turned her on so fucking much, but it did, not only physically but emotionally as well.
"Yeah," Meagan piped, "he's not the best at pirates, but he's a quick study." Her brow pinched. "Though I suspect he let us win."
"Maybe," Leia allowed. "He's very strong, so if he hit you as hard as he could, you'd get hurt."
Meagan shook her head. "No, I wouldn't. I can take a hit."
Leia chuckled. "Are you sure about that?"
Meagan nodded. "Umhm. I was built for rough and tumble adventure."
"You were?" Leia asked and lifted her brow.
"Yep," Meagan said. "Well...except for my bad eyesight. And my asthma. And...actually, maybe I was built for something else." The last part came as a hard confession, and Leia frowned at the quick flash of sadness in her daughter's eyes. She didn't understand Meagan's obsession with space and pirates and getting dirty while pretending to be an explorer or whatever it was she did, but she loved the little girl regardless, and seeing that flicker of hurt pinched her heart.
Setting the brush aside, she pushed away from the vanity, got to her feet, and sat on the edge of the bed. She laid her hand on Meagan's knee, and she looked up at her. "Honey, just because you have asthma and bad eyes doesn't mean you can't go on adventures."
"I know," Meagan said quickly...even though she didn't agree, at least not fully. It's just...sometimes she read about all these things in books that looked like sooo much fun, but when she tried to imagine doing them herself, she saw a dork in big glasses bent at the waist and wheezing for air. That depressed her. But it wasn't that bad. She had books and she was more than happy to live through those if she had to. After all, not everyone gets to be a cowboy or a pirate, or an astronaut, or something like that, whether they had bad eyesight and asthma or not.
Leia stroked her daughter's hair and pressed their foreheads together. "Maybe we can go on an adventure soon."
Meagan brightened. "Can Lucas come?"
"If you want him to," Leia said. His coming on an adventure was a foregone conclusion at this point: He and Meagan were inseparable, an odd couple that somehow made their sibling relationship and, indeed, their friendship work despite their differences.
Meagan started to speak, hesitated, then went ahead anyway. "What about Dad?"
"M-Maybe," Leia said because she didn't know what else to say. She wanted Lemy's touch and his kiss...but she also wanted him; his love, his support, his presence. She needed a man in her life and Meagan needed a father. If she could answer he daughter's question the way she desperately wanted to, she would say yes...he could come...on all their adventures. "If he wants to," she added.
For a moment, Meagan considered her mother's words with a thoughtful expression, then, with a wistful, child-like longing that pierced Leia's heart, she said, "I really hope he does."
Again, Leia did not know she was going to speak until she did it. "Me too," she said earnestly and rubbed Meagan's shoulder. "Me too."
And she did.
With everything she had.
- 5
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- 7
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