Page 9 of Stepbrother Obsessed

No reply.Then a few hours later.

Please call me,Nick. I love you. Don’t give up on us. We deserve another chance.

Still,no reply, even though my cell indicated “read.” My heart curdled as I texted him again and again. I called too, but my calls were directed straight to voicemail, and my cell remained hauntingly silent. I cried that night, as well as the night after that, and for an entire week. I shed so many tears that my eyes felt hot and dry, and my chest hurt from the violent sobs.

But my phone never rang, and Nick never came home. I didn’t know where he lived in the city either, and was too humiliated to beg for the information from Milly, Steve, or one of my stepbrother’s friends. Obviously, catching usen flagrantehad driven Nick away, and that combined with the mindless gossip of the Austin crowd, cemented his decision. My stepbrother and I were over before we really ever began.

With pain wrenching through my chest, I made a new decision. I called Busby Modeling Agency, my fingers trembling and myvoice hesitant. But my agent was only too happy to hear the news.

“So you’ve decided to sign!” Cameron crowed with joy. “That’s wonderful, Kristie! When can we expect you in Vegas?”

“In the next week,” I said in low voice. “I’ll be moving asap.”

“Perfect!” he crowed again, almost mindless with glee. “Don’t worry about a thing! We’ll set you up with a model apartment, and front you some cash for the first few months. It’s standard procedure in our industry. New models always have a “start-up phase,” so to say, where the agency advances funds as you attend your first castings. But your look is exactly what everyone wants. You’ll be making money hand over fist in no time!”

Cameron’s predictions came true, for the most part. I moved to Vegas, and despite my listless and moody behavior, casting directors loved it. I was booked for a couple catalogs almost immediately, and we began to shoot. It was fine, I suppose. I was detached and quiet, but models don’t need to provide verbal input. I smiled when they said smile, I posed when they directed me to pose, and I acted happy if that’s what the brand wanted. In short, I was the perfect mannequin. I’m a walking, talking coat-hanger, modeling outfits according to the style and preferences of the brand. I deliver what clients are looking for, and my bank account began to fill as a result.

The experience been okay, I suppose. My first year in Vegas was horrific mentally, even if professionally, I was labeled a success at every level. As my face was featured in commercials and magazines, my mind was twisted and despairing. I saw Nick everywhere. When I closed my eyes at night, the last thing I saw were images of his handsome visage, as well as that mighty male physique. I’d dream of his relentless lovemaking, coupledwith the gentleness of his touch. When I woke, I could almost pretend that Nick was beside me in bed – only to be fully roused by the coolness of my sheets, and the dampness of tears on the pillowcase.

Fortunately, my second year in Vegas was better. I’d made a few friends by then, male and female, and their energy and chatter lifted me from my stupor. Yet I refused to go home, even when Milly begged me to visit for a day or two during Christmas. Steve got on the phone too, entreating me, but I made my excuses, claiming that I’d booked jobs over the holidays that were too lucrative to miss.

“Sweetheart, this isn’t about money, is it?” Steve growled into the phone. “I can pay for an airline ticket, and you’ll stay in your old bedroom.”

“Oh no,” I said quickly. “Thanks, Steve, but I make plenty. I just have a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity over the holidays to work with an A-list photographer, and I need to stay in town.”

Still, the older man was silent on the line.

“Well, it’s not about ... ah, what happened that day, is it?” my stepfather asked in a hesitant tone. “From two years ago?”

“Oh no,” I lied. “Not at all.”

Steve let out an exhale of relief.

“Good, because it was nothing, Kristie. I even talked to Nick about it—”

“You didn’t!” I gasped. “No no no!”

My stepfather appeared confused.

“Of course I did. No man should think such devious things about his father and sister. I don’t even know why Nick would believe such spurious lies—”

But I’d heard enough and cut him off.

“I’m sorry, Steve, but I can’t come home for Christmas. I know it’s the second holiday season I’ve missed, but I just can’t. I’m making a lot of money here in Vegas, and you know that a model’s career is short. Ihaveto stay in town for these jobs.”

That was that, and I didn’t return to Austin for Christmas, New Year’s, Father’s Day, or Thanksgiving. Instead, for two years, I stayed in my adopted city of Las Vegas, acculturating to the sun and sand. It’s been okay. I put thoughts of Nick out of my mind because I’m on a different path now – one that doesn’t include him.

But a development has occurred. Milly’s getting married, and my baby sister’s begged me to return for the wedding. As a result, I’m back in Texas, and my heart squeezes tight as my pulse races because even though it makes me hate myself... I’m dying to see my handsome stepbrother again.

4

Nick

How the fuck does this even happen? What kind of woman sleeps with her stepbrother, only to sleep with her stepdad as well? What the hell? This is such a fucking dumpster fire and I’d wring Kristie’s neck with my bare hands if I could.

Of course, I can’t because homicide, especially the homicide of a sibling, is a crime. I’d be thrown in jail, without the possibility of parole, and it would be a fucking crime in and of itself because I haven’t been able to forget my beautiful blonde stepsister after two years of no contact. It kills me, but I still think of Kristie all the fucking time. When I’m in suturing a patient. When I’m amputating a limb. When I’m assisting a drug user through the pain of withdrawal. Even the distress of another human being can’t fully pull me from thoughts of her.

But what the hell? How can that woman have such a slutty cunt? I couldn’t believe my eyes when I came home unexpectedly. Iwas supposed to stay at my own apartment that night. Hell, I even thought about sleeping at the fucking hospital because the ER was a total hellhole that day. An insane pile up on the interstate caused mass injury, and the hospital staff hardly had time to breathe, much less take a piss or catch up on email.

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