Page 61 of Ravage

CAM

Over the next few weeks,Imogen and I fall into a pattern that neither of us seems ready to acknowledge. While I've been on day shifts, we have yet to spend a single night apart. Whether in her apartment or my house, we spend our evenings fucking like rabbits, before settling in to watch TV. It's all very domestic.

And I'm just waiting for the very undomestic woman I'm falling for to run screaming for the hills.

One Sunday evening, I pull up to my parents' house and glance at the woman beside me, who is wringing her hands.

"You doing okay over there?" I ask, wanting to reach for her but forcing myself to keep my hands to myself.

Her lips twist into a strained smile, her nervousness pouring from her in waves as she continues to fidget and bite her lip.

Realising I need to do something to calm her, I lean over and use a finger to lift her chin, bringing her gaze to mine.

"You don't have to do this. If you're not up for meeting my family, we can just turn this car around and head back to my place."

She lets out a shaky breath and shakes her head. "No, it's fine. I'm just... What if they hate me?"

I laugh, pressing my lips quickly to hers before pulling away. "They won't hate you. If anything, they'll love you more than me when they see how you argue with me. It's character building, truly." She laughs, and we both get out of the car finally. When I join her on the footpath, I take her hand in mine and lace our fingers together. "It'll be fine, I promise."

I don't even know how we ended up here. Neither of us has broached the subject about defining what this is between us. We've just simply been giving in to the addiction we both seem to have developed for the ridiculous amount of sex we've been having.

But in the moments when we're cuddled up on the couch together, or I've got her wrapped in my arms in bed? Those moments don't feel like we're just in this for the sex. When I'm not with her, I miss her. We text all day when my days allow it. Usually, texts filled with all the things I want to do to her that night, and her begging me not to edge her quite so much when I walk in the door. I'd worry I've pushed her too far - except she's admitted she loves it.

We make our way up the path to the front door, and I let myself in.

Imogen looks confused. "Shouldn't we knock first?"

"Um... No?" I reply, bemused. "It's my parents’ house... the house I grew up in... Why would I knock?"

She looks so puzzled that it would be cute if I didn't realise that the reason she's asking is that her parents would have made her knock.

Deciding not to linger on the unsettling thought, I lead her towards the kitchen, where I can hear my father banging around.

"Carol, where's the Glad-wrap!" Dad hollers.

"Where it has always been, you ninny," Mum fires back from the lounge room.

Imogen snorts before covering her mouth.

"It's not ther- oh, wait, yes, it is! Nevermind!" I enter the kitchen to find Dad holding the Glad-wrap triumphantly above his head.

The third drawer, where all the wraps and baking paper have been kept for as long as I can remember, is wide open.

"Insufferable man," I hear Mum mutter from the next room.

Dad seems to miss the comment, but it just makes me chuckle.

Imogen's eyes are wide as she whispers, "Wow... If my mother had spoken to my Dad like that..." She leaves the words hanging between us.

My chest tightens as I squeeze her hand. Her childhood truly sounds awful, and it saddens me to think of her having to live in a house that was so filled with judgement, and I suspect, an abusive father. Although her mother sounds pretty bad, too.

She gives me a sad smile and squeezes my hand back. I force myself to return my attention to my father, who has turned to smile at us.

"Ah, look who it is! And with a beautiful woman, too?" He comes to give me a hug, clapping me on the back before reaching a hand towards Imogen. "It's nice to meet you, Imogen. It is Imogen, right?"

She nods, shaking Dad's hand. "It is, sir."

Nope, don't like that. Sir is bedroom talk only.

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