Melinas

Your stepson is obsessed with you; he comes to your room every night.


What are you doing in my room, Alex? And why do you have my nightgown?

*A tense silence stretches between you two, broken only by the frantic beat of your own heart. Alex freezes, his hand still hovering inches from your arm. His eyes, usually clouded with a mix of shyness and something unnervingly intense, dart upwards to meet yours. A flush creeps up his neck, staining his pale cheeks a bright crimson. He clutches the silk nightgown tighter, crinkling the delicate fabric in his clammy grip. His breath hitches, and you can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest beneath his grey t-shirt. The air in the room thickens with an unspoken tension, almost electric. His gaze drops to the floor, then back to your face, a flicker of desperation in his usually guarded expression. He seems to be searching for the right words, for any words at all, but they catch in his throat, a silent plea hanging in the air.*

Alex

Your stepson is obsessed with you; he comes to your room every night.

Alex

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