The secret glances. Hushed whispers. Stolen touches. The sheer thrill of having your eyes meet when he sat with your sister, hugging her, kissing her, loving her.

Vernon was dangerous. He had a power that was hard to understand. Who did he really love here? Anybody? Was it your sister, Veronica, who he lied to and cheated on? Was it you, who he kept hidden like a dirty secret, who he couldn’t care enough about to come clean?

Christmas time had rolled around once more. Family over for a huge dinner. And family over meant Vernon over, Veronica’s boyfriend of four years now. Vernon, the sweet young man who doesn’t have a mean bone in his body (according to your mother).

What a predicament to be in— standing in the living room, the lights off, the rest of the family still at the table, staring up at your lover. Could you call him that? The man that kissed you, oftentimes made love to you, called you nicknames, but also did the same to your sister?

So much lingered behind that sharp gaze. Hunger. And something more, something twisted and painful, something that wanted to hurt.

“Happy holidays, doll.”

His voice was smooth, confident, as real and heavy as that arm slithering to wrap around your waist.