Under Her Control Ch. 02

Well, this is the conclusion. It's a bit of a slower burn than the first part but there are feelings and stuff to deal with first. Enjoy, and don't be shy with the voting button, and the favorite button, and the...

I've made everything exponentially worse.

The thought ran through Aria Evanstone's head at least once every fifteen minutes for the next few weeks; it just would not leave her alone. Though she might admittedly have a pessimistic personality, it wasn't her defeatist nature which supplied her with such morbid thoughts. The cold, hard fact was that things were much worse than they had been before she'd temporarily gone crazy and fucked the entire situation.

She'd left her father's room and run straight for the shower as he'd instructed. She'd done everything as he'd instructed, staying in her room until she heard Laurel come home, followed his lead at the dinner table as he turned their sex act into an embarrassing episode of a 'don't ask, just pull one hand and get out of here' scenario. And when, after the dust had settled on the disastrous evening, he'd had no more instructions to give, she'd shut off like a mars rover past its prime.

He wasn't speaking to her. The two days she'd spent before that evening moping about how awkward their situation had been were nothing compared to the great divide between them now. Before embarrassment had kept him at a distance but space could not dampen the antipathy she felt coming from him now. The blowback from her mistake of kissing him that night would have passed its expiration date with time, but what she had done days later...

It was hard for her not to feel sorry for herself in such a situation. She felt a bit like the anti-Midas, everything she touched was turning to shit. She tried focusing on her studies. She was in her second year at UC Berkeley; the time for fluctuating grades was over. But her Astro 10 lecturer had already picked her out for censure twice because of the distracted look she couldn't help.

It had been her proximity to their home on Panoramic Hill which had made Laurel call her that day. Laurel practiced in San Francisco, and had opted to drive Mrs. Oderbelle to the hospital associated with her office. She had known Aria had no classes that day; she was only on campus to use the library facilities, so she had been able to leave for home and get there within a matter of minutes.

She had already known what to expect by what Laurel had said. Her mouth had tightened as the older woman had sheepishly explained how she'd left her father, pleading for Aria to do her this 'huge one' and promising to lay off about her dress for the renewal. She'd accepted without need for duress though, but it hadn't been because she'd felt it was an opportunity for... things. She'd merely wanted to help her father. But when she'd come up to his bedroom door and seen him, chest bare and rippling unavoidably because of his position, the knowledge of what had been happening in that room, the kinkiness of it all, had seduced her into some sort of a trance where the incantation 'take him, take him' had played in her head like a subliminal message on a broken record.

"You've been distracted all week. Mr. Hayes isn't the first to have noticed, just the first to say something about it. What's up with you?" Alex, her closest friend at school, had pushed herself into the lunch line before Aria. She squelched her face up at the bottle of water and yogurt Aria had on her tray. "Is that all you're having?"

"I'm not very hungry today," she explained, hoping that by answering the last question first she could deflect.

"Something is definitely wrong with you," Alex concluded then, making up her mind and going for the slice of pizza she'd been making goo-goo eyes at.

Aria shook her head in wonder. Only Alex could have got at her answer in such a way. She would have to deflect some more. "Is that a fat joke?" She asked, insecurely picking up a bag of crisps and hoping her friend wouldn't notice if she crushed them in favor of eating them.

Alex rolled her eyes. She was the least likely person to make such a joke. A journalism major, she made it her business to advocate for the rights of everything from pins to anchors. Also, weighing in at nearly two hundred pounds and fine with it, she thought little Aria with her 'two ounces' of baby fat was practically anorexic. "Isthata fat joke?" she quipped back, putting a smile on Aria's face.

Aria felt her spirits lift a little around her friend. She needed this. This was good. She could handle this. In her classes, where no one was looking at her, where no one was really seeing her she could get lost between the words being thrown around. Whenever that happened she would be drowning in a sea of sorrow. Alex talking to her one on one was like a lifeline. With her Dad's malice, her regular avoidance of all things Laurel, and Claire being too young – and too like her mother – for Aria to want her company, she had found out that a man could indeed make himself an island.

She spent the rest of her lunch with Alex and then resumed classes as well as her regular funk. When her day ended at two-thirty, as it did every Wednesday, she drove herself to the Cineplex and bought a ticket for their classic film series. They were showing A Place in the Sun, and at a running time of 122 minutes, it was the ticket surest to keep her away from home the longest. Inside the dark, almost empty cocoon of the amphitheatre she'd realized her mistake in picking a film with a lead whose cheekbones were structured much like her daddy's. From then on she'd faced just over two hours of pure hell.

The movie finished and it was just after five. She was still flustered from the direction her thoughts had turned after the epic failure watching that movie had been. She'd been wet the entire time remembering how she'd kissed his chin, licked his cheek, and bitten his shoulder. So, she went to the bathroom, emptied her bladder, and refilled her slush before walking into another amphitheatre boasting some new Pixar flick. The brilliancy of her idea lay in the fact that the room was swarming with tiny tots who giggled at every cute talking animal; the lunacy was in how she'd neglected to see how little tykes watching movies with their fathers would correlate to her and her own sorry life.

*****

Matthew Evanstone frowned over his last paragraph. He was writing complete shit; had been for days. He shut his laptop lid and yawned, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. He rolled his head to one side and then the next; slowly trying to work through the kinks he'd developed in his neck after being tied up for so long. He sighed in frustration for having, yet again, reminded himself of that evening. Still, it wasn't likely that he would ever forget.

He checked his watch, it was nearly seven. He had a few minutes before Laurel would come with the announcement of dinner. He decided to spend that time washing away some of the excrement he'd been spewing out all morning. Most of it had been on paper, but he felt that if he sniffed hard enough...

He switched the light off and shut the door of his study behind him. Detouring to the kitchen he stole a kiss on the back of Laurel's neck before she realized he was behind her. Claire giggled, having been co-conspirator to his sneak attacked as Laurel jumped from surprise.

"Matt!" she scolded playfully. But she turned to give him a proper kiss and they lost their audience of one with a disgusted 'ugh' and an entreaty for them to find a room.

He loved Laurel. She was so close to perfection he'd known on their first date he'd probably ask her to marry him if he ever asked anyone again. She was smart, beautiful, supportive, and kinky almost to a fault. He'd thought the last couple of months had been heaven incarnate. He had a hefty commission from his publishers, his girls had seemed to be, if not coming along spiffily, at least making a concerted effort.

He'd realized soon that Aria had been the bent spoke in their wheel. Laurel wasn't blameless, what with her ornery insistence on everything being just so she was almost the natural enemy of a free spirit like Aria. But Aria had met Laurel's attempts, which, though intrusive and sometimes obnoxious, had come from a good place, with Aria-like malevolence. His daughter had never been mean, but when she chose to shut you out, you were shut out.

Frosty politeness had been almost twice as caustic as straightforward dislike might have been. Laurel had tried, with her pushy 'I need to fix things' attitude which only ever served to drive the wedge deeper between her and Aria. He'd tried, many times, talking to them both separately and together. He tried to make them see that they just had different personalities, and while they might never be the best of friends, compromising could go a long way to ameliorating many of their problems with each other. But, such a cool, level calculation of the battles between his daughter and his wife had become indecipherable after what had happened the day Laurel had left him tied.

"Dinner's almost done," she said as she relinquished his lips. "I was just about to come call you."

He dipped his finger into the hot sauté pot and came away with sauce to taste and a clunk from a wooden spoon to nurse. He smiled at her; she'd caught him this time. "You're getting quicker," he teased.

"No, you're getting more predictable." She threw her head back and laughed as she caught him on the knuckles again, making for the pot. The front door opened and closed and the two stopped short of their play, looking towards the hallway where any newcomers would invariably have to pass by.

Aria came into view and, though he'd known it had to be her, had prepared himself for seeing her, his breath stuck in an upswing. She said a barely audible 'hello' from the doorway, stopping only as briefly as decency allowed and started off up the stairs.

"Dinner's in ten minutes, Aria!" Laurel shouted after her. They exchanged a look, Laurel's plainly expressed frustration at the continued strain between her and her stepdaughter.

Matthew tried his best to not convey any kind of expression. Laurel resumed her cooking but she had the general air of someone who hadn't done talking so he stuck around until she was ready to speak.

"Has she bought her dress yet?" she asked, not looking at him.

"She hasn't come to me for the money; I don't think so." How could she, when he'd been avoiding her like she was carrying something bubonic?

"Well I think you should go give it to her." She looked at him over her shoulder though technically he was standing beside her. She always did that. It was a move he saw celebrities do on the red carpet when they took pictures. He figured she'd fixed enough of them for some of their habits to have stuck. "It would be a subtle way of reminding her that getting her dress this time is her responsibility."

He sighed heavily. "I doubt she's forgotten. She fought hard enough for the right." Shit, wrong thing to say alert. He hastened to leave before he dug himself dirt any deeper. "I'm gonna take a quick shower before dinner. I'll give her the money later." It was a trick he used all the time when he had put his foot in his mouth. He capped off the beginning argument by conceding and knew that his concession would mean she wouldn't confront him about whatever unforgiveable thing he had said. If he'd left that last part off they'd have been arguing about it later and his quip that she'd been in the wrong would have come back to bite him where it would hurt.

After his shower he headed back downstairs, passing Aria's locked door on the way. He saw the shadow of her moving around under the door and stopped unthinkingly. He really needed to talk to her. It wasn't healthy, not to mention unwise, to keep up this level of stagnation between them. If she had proved anything to him over the last few days it was that he didn't know her like he'd thought he did. She could be unpredictable, and if he didn't find out what was going on in that head of hers, and soon... The door flew open and Aria, dressed in grey sweatpants and an oversized UC Berkeley sweatshirt froze in the doorway.

He inhaled deeply. She'd showered and washed her hair; had probably hurried to do it because her hair was still night dark from the wet and her clothes seemed particularly attached to her body. What manner of woman could display such a wealth of curves through ordinary, baggy sweats? Unwillingly, his hands recalled the feel of those curves; he clenched his fingers and he remembered how he'd held on to her hips.

"Let's go," was all he could manage. He let her walk past him, counting to five before setting off after her. Downstairs they all sat at the dinner table mostly in silence. For the past couple of days he'd kept up conversation with Claire and Laurel so as to not make it obvious that anything was wrong. Normally, their dinners were like that anyway, with Aria quiet until someone specifically asked her about her day or something else. Tonight though, he couldn't keep up the pretense. The lovely dinner Laurel had prepared was in danger of going to waste because he couldn't force his food to share living quarters with the riotous twists and turns in his belly. His groin felt tight and heavy. Why was it so bad tonight? It was especially hard for him to forget... he'd touched her, kissed her... fucked her.

"Honey, why aren't you eating?" Laurel asked, knitting up her brow with concern.

He looked up, startled, wondering if she'd noticed that his eyes hadn't been focused on his plate but on Aria. She was barely eating too. A strand of still-damp hair had fallen over her shoulder and he'd been watching as she'd absent-mindedly brushed it back behind her ear. She'd turned her face slightly in the opposite direction to do this, and he'd been mesmerized for a second by the cut of her jaw. She'd lost weight, he noted; but then, she'd barely touched anything at dinner since the first night she'd kissed him. She probably didn't eat at school either.

He felt suddenly ashamed of his behavior. All this time he'd been blaming her, and himself too, but he'd failed to think what all this must be doing to her. Did she feel sorry? What was going on in her head? She was so unhappy he should never have let so long pass without addressing their situation. He didn't think that she would do anything to hurt herself, but it certainly wouldn't be a bad idea for him to try to get through to her. He'd been so selfish wallowing in his guilt and his confusing feelings that he'd forgotten to be a parent. It didn't matter that that role had been superseded by other things.

"Matthew?" Laurel called again. She looked really concerned now, and more than a little annoyed; Aria herself looked up this time.

"I'm fine. I just... I don't have an appetite." What was he really apologizing for? He saw Laurel's look of confusion and knew the storm was coming.

"Well, it would be nice for people to tell me when they plan on eating," she complained, rolling her eyes. "I could have just cooked for me and Claire."

Matthew shot her an exasperated look. Aria had gone beet-red and Claire was staring far too intently at her plate. "I'm sorry, Laurel," he gave, hoping it would end there.

"I mean, Aria's barely eaten anything I've prepared this entire week," Laurel continued as though she hadn't heard him.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, her head bent even lower.

Maybe it was the contrition in her bowed head or the tone of her voice but something seemed to cool the fire burning behind Laurel's anger. She sighed heavily, reaching out and touching Aria gently on the shoulder. "It's ok," she decided, pulling her hand away when Aria sat up straight, invariably to avoid the contact. "It would just be nice to know. What are you on a diet?"

Claire perked back up at this. Matthew wondered why Aria's weight was such an issue to everyone in the family except him and her. "You do look skinnier," Claire said. "You're trying to lose weight for a dress aren't you?"

He watched Aria nod in agreement and knew it for what it was, a lie meant to put the issue at rest. But she should have known there was no end with the Stepford Twins.

"That's marvelous," Laurel exclaimed. "Whatever you're doing just keep at it. You'll be surprised what a difference ten pounds can make."

He had a nauseating feeling Laurel wouldn't be so encouraging if she knew what had motivated the weight loss.

"I know what's up," Claire said, grinning teasingly that smile he'd always thought so impish. Now, he could see why it got on Aria's nerves. "Colin Creedy!" She said it as though it explained all.

"Who's that?" Laurel asked, her interest definitely piqued.

"Mr. McGulliver's stepson." She grinned unrepentantly at Aria who was shooting daggers at her across the table. "The boy she kissed at your wedding."

Matthew felt his throat constrict. He looked back at Aria, waiting for her to deny it in a flash of temper. She only shrugged under his gaze.

"Ooh," Laurel chimed in, sounding like all the things that were wrong with the modern world. "I never heard about this."

"Me neither." He caught himself too late. He chomped down on his teeth so hard his jaw ticked. Luckily, he only sounded like an overprotective dad. That's all he was after all.

"They were kissing outside while everyone was inside doing that stupid communal dance all adults seem to love doing at weddings." When Claire got a piece of news between her teeth, heaven help whomever it was about. "I bet she can't wait to kiss him again."

It was the kind of teasing that couldn't be supported by a tenuous relationship like they had. Aria, as he'd expected she would, lost her temper and threw down her fork. "You're right," she agreed, the threat of certain death advertised in the clipped notes. "Ican'twait." She looked between Claire and Laurel. "Is this what you want to hear?" Her eyes settled on him finally and he felt his heart kick up with dread. "I plan on fucking his brains out!" She stormed out of the room and ran noisily up the stairs.

It wasn't at all what he'd expected her to say. He'd been expecting confessions of the damnable sort. But he still didn't like what he'd heard; not one damn bit. So angry he was seeing black he got up with the intention of finding out exactly what she meant by that last statement, but Laurel stopped him.

"Hey, wait a few minutes." When she saw he wasn't prepared to wait seconds she said, "I'm not happy about her using that kind of language around Claire either, but you're too angry to butt heads with her now. One of you will likely have a heart attack and the other will be the cause of it."

Even though she was wrong –so wrong– about the source of his anger, she did make sense. Aria and him arguing in these attitudes, with the secret between them being what it was, there was no telling what could erupt and burn down the entire world. He calmed down with a beer outside on the deck. The night air was unduly frosty for any time of year in California but it did wonders for calming him.

Was he a complete fool; completely depraved and irredeemably changed by having sex with his daughter? He was jealous! She had kissed some snot-nosed punk at his wedding and he was jealous. He started wondering how many other boys she'd kissed. He'd been her first, but had there been others since? He hardly thought so, but one could never tell these days, especially since he had no clue where her head space was. But it really shouldn't matter. She was nineteen fucking years old. She could fuck whomever she wanted. As long as it wasn't him!

He resisted the urge to break the empty beer bottle against the rail of the wooden deck. He took a few deep breaths and went back inside. Laurel was there, but she didn't say anything, just continued washing up. Claire must have gone up to her room because he didn't see her in the living room as he walked by. He marched up the stairs and stopped before Aria's door. He didn't knock, knowing she was expecting him. An outburst like that warranted some parental censure. But who was he to censure her anyway?