𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕜𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕥 ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕖𝕤 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕃𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 ➀

29 INTRODUCTIONS

"Sean, we don't have to do this." Monica is looking at me nervously, fidgeting with her hands in her lap. "Really, you look like you're going to throw up."

That's because I'm on the verge of it. But she doesn't need to know that. "No, I'm fine." Far from it, actually.

She continues to fidget nervously as we sit in the cab of my truck. "Seriously, if you're not ready we can just go home. I can just call them and cancel."

"We are parked in front of the fucking house, Monica. We can't just drive away now." Even though that's very much what I'd like to do right about now because I really do feel like I'm going to throw up; all over the fucking place. My anxiety is ramped up to level one-hundred fucking thousand and my fight or flight has me wanting to run for the hills.

I can feel her eyes on me, watching me. "Sean, let's just forget it."

"Just give me a minute, Mon." I fish around in my glove compartment, pulling out a pint of whiskey.

I can feel her stare harden on me. "You've got to be kidding me. Really?" She's shaking her head in disbelief.

I don't answer as I unscrew the cap and guzzle half the bottle. I take a breath of air before draining the rest of the liquid. I toss the empty bottle behind my seat, staring out the windshield for a moment longer. I wait until I feel a bit of the haze come over me before I open my door and hop out of the truck.

Nothing like a bit of liquid courage...

I make my way around the truck to open Monica's door. I hold her hand as Monica jumps down. She keeps her hand in mine, giving me a reassuring look. Even though she does that, there's a large part of me that wants to rip my hand out of hers and fucking sprint in the opposite direction.

I feel like this because here we are, a month later, going to Monica's father's house for a family dinner. Family. I don't even believe in the word and yet here I am on her father's doorstep.

Things between Monica and I have never been better. After our fight and my stupid fuck up we haven't let anything like that get between us again. Monica and I learned how to communicate effectively, well, as effectively as someone like me can communicate.  

"Jesus, Sean. For Christ's sake, breathe."

"It's fine. I'm fine." I let out a deep breath. "Just... Uh... fuck. Let's fucking get this over with."

"Not so many fucks. Dad doesn't like swearing."

Ah fuck. I have to remember to watch my mouth. I run my hands through my hair for what feels like the millionth time. I want to fucking hyperventilate. The alcohol in my system isn't even nearly enough to help me cope through what is about to be an extremely uncomfortable situation for me.

Fuck this entire situation right now.

I have no more time to think as Monica rings the doorbell. I look around debating whether I can still make a run for it. Maybe, just maybe...

The door swings open, "Monica bear!" an elderly gentleman, who looks like a much, much older male version of Monica says.

"Daddy!" She squeals as she releases her grip from my hand and launches herself at her father.

Just watching them happily embrace each other has my skin crawling. He holds her tightly for another moment before looking at me. He regards me seriously as he lets go of Monica. "So, this is the man making my daughter so happy?"

You mean the man who has her thoroughly dicked down every night? Because, yes, that'd be me. I cough to keep myself from laughing out loud at my internal thought.