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She can hear them. Charlie knows they think they are being quiet, her mother and Miles, but she can hear them screwing in the room next door. She always can.

Charlie learns the different rhythms and cadences of their passion, fitting each with a mental picture. When they fuck against the wall, that one is the most obvious: the thumping of contact of her mom’s back against the plaster and the muffled cries of lips on one another, or the more subtle creaking when her hands are against the wall with Miles behind her, her voice coming out high and sharp. Fuck. Miles. Don’t stop.

Her mother’s voice is lower with Miles’ mouth between her legs, deep and languid. It took Charlie a while to figure out exactly what those sounds were for, but when she finally realized that she never heard Miles when her mother made them, not even a grunt, it became obvious. Not as obvious as the string of profanities that always escape Miles when her mother returns the favor, but more obvious than the difference between when she’s on top (loud wordless cries) and when he is (more whimpers).

Charlie tries not to listen, but she can’t help it. She can’t help it any more than she can help grinding her hips against the mattress, arching up supported by her elbows as she stares down at her heaving breasts, framed perfectly by her bra. Someone should be fucking me. she thinks bitterly. Not someone: Miles.

She imagines Miles behind her, imagines Miles yanking her legs apart, Miles grabbing her ass and fucking her hard down into the bed, one hand on the back of her neck as he holds her in place and all she can do is writhe, trying desperately to get more contact on her clit, praying he doesn’t stop.

Charlie’s tools are limited (she once found an old magazine with a full page spread about electronic toys for pleasure but such things no longer exist) and no matter how many times she uses her own hands or rubs against the furniture, Charlie can’t seem to rid herself of the burning desire and the fantasies where Miles fucks her instead.

Eventually she slips out of the house, stalking the town for a boy or man with dark hair and eyes. When she’s done riding him with her eyes closed or getting pounded from behind, she comes back, reeking of sex and daring them to call her on it. They don’t. Her mother just tightens her mouth into a thin line and Charlie watches Miles’ nostrils flare but he says nothing.

Until one day. Miles is waiting in her room when she returns.

“Who is he, Charlie?” Miles demands: like he’s her dad, like he has the right. The thought makes her angrier, sickened by herself but unrepentant.

“Who is who.” she snaps, trying to move past him but her grabs her shoulder, pushes her roughly against the wall.

“Whoever you are screwing. You aren’t exactly being subtle.”

“Neither are you!” she spits back, fighting the tears that want to spring from her eyes. Her pulse races, being pressed against something like this by him, so close and yet so far from what she craves.

“What?” he asks, face screwing up in confusion.

“You… and mom. You aren’t being subtle at all.”

He looks taken aback, like he didn’t expect her answer.

“Charlie, just because…”

“That’s why I do it, Miles.” the words flow out of her mouth, “I hear you two fucking and it drives me to go out there and screw strangers, in some sick attempt to get you out of my mind. It doesn’t work though. I always imagine it is you anyway. So it doesn’t matter who I fucked today; because he was just some stand it.”

For a moment he just stands there, and Charlie thinks she might finally have scandalized the great Miles Matheson, but then he reaches out and moves both hands to the top of her tank top literally ripping it open down the front. He grabs her waist and pulls her hard against him,

“Is this what you want?” he growls, moving to yank her jeans open and shoving his hand down her underwear, thrusting his fingers into her with no preamble. Yes. she thinks but she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

He fingers her harder though, roughly shoving his fingers in an out of her cunt and she can’t help groaning and hissing “yes”. He pulls one of the cups of her bra down and grabs her breast, flicking her nipple mercilessly.

“Tell me, Charlie.” he insists, curving his fingers inside her, “Tell me exactly what you imagine us doing when you are with them.”

She whimpers in response and she can see his eyes darken, that look on his face he tries to hide from her but never can.

“What do you want, Charlie? What dirty little secrets are you harboring?”

He pinches her nipple, hard.
“I want. I want you to fuck me, Miles.”

It is like they both feel compelled to say each other’s name, to reaffirm that yes they know what they are doing, know how fucked up it is.

Miles lets go of her breast, pulls his fingers out of her, turns her around and shoves her backwards towards the bed. She shrugs her jeans off and the underwear with them, watching his hands move to open his.

“No. We do this I don’t want you to be able to pretend it’s something else.”

Miles grabs her by the ribcage as she moves to bend herself facedown against the edge of the bed, stopping the movement. His pants are around his ankles, but he doesn’t seem to care, and Charlie reaches out and pulls his boxers down to join them.

“Sure, Miles. Want me to suck your dick too.”

Her words are sharp, cutting. She wants him to know she isn’t scared.

“That would be one way to get you to shut up.” he rolls his eyes, just like this is just another round of family banter.

She grabs his ass, pulls him towards her. He grabs her by the back of her hair, as he leans over her and claims her lips. She can’t think of it as a kiss; it’s nothing that sentimental.

Then suddenly their bodies are pressing together and he’s pushing her knees up as far as they go and he pulls his face back a little so that she can see his face as his dick presses against her.

“Last chance to change your mind, Charlie.” he warns. She meets his stare, refusing to blink or look away.

“Do your worst.” she dares him.

“Oh sweetheart.” He shakes his head and laughs, “You have no idea.”

“Seems to me you’re all ta-al-kk.”

Her voice is suddenly breathless as he holds onto one hip, thrusting into her without hesitation, causing her to moan. She bucks her hips up into him, never losing eye contact as he takes her with unhurried forceful strokes.

“Say my name, Charlie. Tell me who is fucking you.”

“Miles. Shit. Miles. You are fucking me. Keep fucking me, Miles

Miles moves that hand down from her hip to her clit, rubbing fast as hard, relentless as she chokes back a cry, taking her faster now and Charlie can feel herself approaching the edge. She’s so on edge, and Miles’ eyes bore into her and his dick pounds into her relentlessly.

“Like that. Is that what you want, Charlie? What you need.”

“Harder.” she groans, and both his hands grab her thighs, pushing them wider as he leans in closer, “Yes.”

Now his body rubs against her with every thrust and she feels herself clench hard around him, crying out his name as she peaks, shaking and squeezing and she sees his reaction to hers in his eyes. His hands move to her breasts, rough and possessive, as he moves a little more jaggedly, pushing her all the way back onto the bed and staring down at her intently as he pulls own and finishes messily, streaks of cum all over her neck and face.

Then suddenly he shakes and blinks, as if coming to him himself. He backs away from her, dazed, as if what he has done has just occurred to him.

“Oh shit. Charlie…”

Really, Miles? You are going to do this.

Charlie grabs the remnants of her ripped shirt to wipe herself clean.

“What? Worried I’ll tell mom?”

That only causes Miles to look more wide eyed in consideration.

“Oh God. Rachel.”

“Relax. I’m kidding.” Charlie shakes her head in disbelief. Isn’t he supposed to be the mature one here?

“You really shouldn’t be. I… I shouldn’t-” he pulls his clothes back up, buttoning his parts as his eyes dart everywhere like a changed animal, “I’ll leave. Obviously. It’s what everyone expects anyway.”

“Don’t bother.”

She’s halfway dressed, pulling back on her jeans and rummaging around for a intact shirt.

“Christ, Charlie. You’re my niece. Your mom and I…”

“I said don’t worry about it.” Her hands are already on her rucksack, grabbing the few things she will need, “I’ll leave. I need to get out of here anyway.”

It’s the truth. She and her mom have been at each other’s throats. Grandpa’s well intended interference is driving her up the wall. The only thing she wants here is Miles and the memory of him is going to have to do. It’s weird and complicated and maybe somewhere else that wouldn’t matter, but not here in Willoughby where the weird pretense of business as usual in a small town presides.

If she stays, things will only get uglier. She can see them, fucking in in dark corners, his guilt and self loathing and that Matheson masochistic need to dig oneself in deeper warring constantly. Eventually mom will find out, and she will be mad at Miles for a while, but Charlie can’t decide which would be worse: for her to blame her own daughter or for her to see her as the victim and not understand it at all. No. She needs to get out.

She doesn’t belong in Willoughby. This place belongs to another time, to Miles and her mom and all of the old generation with their longing for a world she barely remembers. Maybe, maybe if she gets far enough she will be able to forget, forget the sound her mother makes when Miles sucks on her nipples, forget the way it felt to have him deep inside of her. She will find something new, something her own. She doesn’t need them. She doesn’t need him.

Still, a small part of her still thinks that he will be the one to come after her, even if she never plans on coming back.