Dead Girl Ch. 07

"Is Richie your..." He couldn't bring himself to say 'brother'.

"Step-brother," Flora spat.

"And when he talked about dad then, he meant..."

"My step-dad," Flora said quietly.

Don paused. "And they both..." Again, he couldn't say it.

"Yep," Flora said, staring at her plate.

Don fell back in his chair. His head reeled. He'd considered the possibility, of course, even thought it was more likely than not. But that was an intellectual exercise, to have it confirmed, by her, hit him in the gut. "Where was your mother? How could she let that happen?"

"She's either too drunk or high to notice or care," she said flatly. Don noticed a twinge of emotion in her voice. He felt it more than heard it.

He looked at her and thought of her being taken advantage of by her own family, ignored, neglected, abused. He tried to imagine her four or five years younger. He felt sick. He shook the image out of his head with disgust. "Oh my God."

Flora looked up at Don. She looked back down quickly, not bearing to see the disgust on his face. "Do I gross you out now?"

"No!" Don said emphatically. "No, no, no, Flora. Never. It's them. What they did was so wrong. It's criminal. You know that, right?"

Flora didn't look up, but just shrugged a little.

Don reached across the table and took one of Flora's hands in his. "You did nothing wrong. None of that is your fault. Do you understand that?"

She didn't answer. Don knew that platitudes weren't going to move the needle with Flora. He looked at her for a moment, holding her hand, thinking about how to get through her thick skin. He moved his chair around to the end of the table, closer to her and took her hand between his.

"I'm sorry, Flora, that all that happened to you. Nobody deserves that. Nobody. Look." He pointed at the two raven tattoos on her thighs. "Thought and memory, right?" You know their names, but do you understand their significance? Why they sit on the shoulders of Odin himself?"

Flora looked at Don but didn't say anything. Her face was full of pain and hopeful expectation. She wanted him to rescue her again, to take her away from all her shame and pain.

"Thought and memory tell us who we are. They write the story of our lives, the story that defines us. And that's a very powerful thing, because that tells us what we can do, and what we're capable of." Don became increasingly animated as he spoke. "But definitions also set boundaries, so that story also tells us what we can't do."

"But there's a huge problem with this story." Don paused and put Flora's hand back on the table. "It's based on a lie. That's where Loki comes in, you see?"

Flora didn't answer. She just watched Don's face as he became more spirited.

"The lie sits at the very heart of our story and distorts it. It's the fact that life has at its core a truth that human beings can't accept: That control is an illusion. That sometimes shit just happens that you have no control over. And sometimes that shit can make or break our lives in irreversible ways. And because we can't accept that, we have to change our story so that somehow we're responsible for everything that happened to us." Don put his hand lightly on Flora's knee. "And you end up with rich investment bankers, and neglected and abused girls convincing themselves they deserve everything that they got."

Flora remained silent as she continued looking at Don. She turned her hand over under his and squeezed it. Her eyes became dewy and he thought she was going to cry again, but she didn't.

Don went on. "Because you've been telling yourself that's your story, you've been reinforcing it, by acting in ways, and putting yourself in situations, that 'prove' your story is correct. Right?"

Flora kind of nodded.

"Now," Don said, sitting up straight. He tried to gently pull his hand from Flora's, but she didn't let go. "That story is not your fault, but that doesn't absolve you of all responsibility for the decisions you've made since then. You still need to own up to them, and do what you can to fix them and any damage you may have done. And that includes to yourself too. You understand?"

Flora nodded more visibly this time.

"And that also doesn't mean that hard work and perseverance are a waste of time. They're not, they do help, especially when you're trying to break out of the roles that your story has confined you to. And that's also where individuation comes in, right? If you are a more complete person, then you have more bases from which to build a new story for yourself. You have more easily accessible possibilities. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah," Flora said softly.

"There are lots of pretty, sexy girls who are good at fucking. That's not to say you're a dime a dozen. You're not. You're unique. I've never met anyone like you. And I've never seen anyone do what you did last night. I'm just saying..." What was he saying? He thought for a second about where he was going. "The porn industry is built on girls like that. But the early death rate--from suicide, physical violence, drug overdose, whatever--for those girls is staggering. Because that's all they are and eventually it's just not enough. One thing is eventually never enough."

"You seem to know a lot about the porn industry, Don." Flora remained placid, even as she tried to be playful.

"I saw a documentary on Netflix," he explained quickly. "You are capable of being so much more than that, Flora. I'm not going to tell you stop fucking or try to stop you. Clearly, it's a...gift you have. But you have other gifts too, maybe even more than most people. You're intelligent, empathetic, beautiful, and sexy. Those are all things you can make use of in other ways. And last night I saw diligence, concentration, multi-tasking, planning, organization. I manage 30 people, Flora, and I don't think I have one who can do all that. If you could harness those gifts and skills, and apply them to other things, you could literally do or be anything you want.

Don't squander all of that potential talent because bad luck has burdened you with a shitty story. Tell fate to fuck off. Expand yourself and your world. Write your own story, Flora. Don't let your story write you."

Don stopped and waited for Flora to say something. She looked at him for a second and then, in a flash, was on his lap, her arms wrapped around him, her face buried against his neck. "Don," was all she said, but it sounded to him like another 'thank you'.

She felt so light on his lap, so warm against him, so right. He knew he could take her then, if he wanted to, and she'd let him. He could pick her up and lay her on the table they'd just shared, tear her clothes off, eat her pussy, fuck her hard among the remnants of breakfast, and then ask her to suck their mingled cums off his cock. She would let him do anything he wanted to do to her, and she'd do anything he asked her to do.

He so badly wanted to. But then he'd be no better than her pig step-dad, making a young girl vulnerable, then taking advantage of that vulnerability. And worst of all, he'd be hurting her, and he couldn't live with himself if he did that. Besides it wouldn't mean the same thing to her that it would mean to him. Reluctantly, he put his arms around her. One hand rubbed her back in big circles, the other rested on her thigh.

Flora pulled her head back and looked at Don. He waited for her to say something. Instead she leaned in and pressed her lips against his. He didn't resist. Her lips parted, taking his bottom lip between them. He felt her tongue glide along it. She pushed harder against him taking his lip between her teeth, nibbling softly.

Don sat still, not wanting to reciprocate or stop her. His brain reeled with a flood of sensation and information. The world slowed down as he proceeded every detail of this singular moment: her ass against his thigh, her leg against his hard dick, his hand on her thigh only inches from her pussy, her breast against his side, his hand on her back, her lips, her tongue, her hair brushing his face, her hand on his chest, her warm breath on his lips as she sighed, the smell of her breath, of her skin, her hair.

Don used all of his strength to pull himself away. He shook her out of his head and cleared his throat. "Flora, I...". He didn't know what came next. He was scared about what he might say.

"It's OK, Don," she said smiling warmly. She brushed a hair from his forehead and ran her hand gently down his cheek. "You're not ready yet. I can wait." She hopped off his lap with a little grunt.

Wait. Did she just reverse roles on him? That sounded like something he should be saying to her. Except, he wouldn't because she was talking about sex again. Wasn't she? Don was confused.

Flora got to the entryway to the kitchen and stopped. She turned her body slightly towards him as she looked back over her shoulder. "I tell you what, Don." Flora's voice was low and still. "I'll let up on you, if you think about what your story is saying about what you deserve."

He watched her butt wiggle as she walked away.