Whirlwind of Emotions

Amelia’s POV

I stumbled to the edge of the park, huge trees enfolding me in their darkness. The cold bit into my skin as the fiery flames inside me raged on. My chest was filled with anger and pain tied together in a tightening knot that expanded and contracted with each heartbeat, but my eyes remained dry, too stubborn for tears to escape. I sank down onto a bench, my legs too weak to carry me any longer, everything spinning around until I could only hear Mum’s voice, sharp and final: “This is your new stepfather. Collins.”

The lines played through my head. Collins wasn’t just some guy Mum had brought home from a bar. He was him — the stranger who’d rescued me months ago, the man who’d ignited something wild and reckless in my soul. His face, his voice, his expression as he had gazed at me that night, had haunted me, feeding dreams I’d clung to as a lifeline. And now he was hers, his arm around her, his lips against her skin. Betrayal cut deeper with every memory of him standing there shirtless, calm, claiming my mother while I didn’t exist.

Groaning, I buried my face in my hands, visions of his well-carved back and shiny-sweat skin, his cock pounding into Mum, reverberating in my mind. That should’ve been me. It was a depraved thought, but it consumed me, never letting me go. “Shit,” I said softly, a whisper that was barely audible in the night.

Why him? Out of all the men in the world, why did Mum have to take my superhero? The way the universe was playing a cruel joke, dangling all I wanted — his strength, his edge, his impossible allure — before, just as quickly, snatching it away. And I couldn’t shake him, no matter how hard I tried. His voice, rich and smooth  reverberated in my ears, forcing, shivering through me. That polite smile he’d given me when he’d greeted me, so calm, had made my skin catch fire. And his body—God, his body. I could still see it: the sharp cut of his jaw, the ripple of the muscles under his tanned skin, the heat in his eyes as he’d looked at my mum. I swallowed hard, pushing the image back, but it stuck, vivid and willful.

Why couldn’t I stop? My nails dug into my palms and anger rushed through me like a tide. I was furious at myself for feeling like this, at Collins for forgetting me, at Mum for taking him away, at everything for being so unfair. Now to go back to that house, to see those two together was simply unthinkable—it made my stomach churned, caused my heart to yell big fat NO! But where else could I go? The park was deserted, the streets outside bereft and foreign, revealing no clues.

I walked around the streets endlessly with stretched hands against the cold, simmering with rage. My feet took me towards the house. The lights shone through the living room window, and there they were — Mum and Collins on the couch, her head on his shoulder, her hand on his thigh, laughing at something he’d said. The vision was a dagger cutting through me, and I longed to storm in, wrench her hands off him, scream until the world made sense again. No, I crept around the side of the house, stepping quietly in my sneakers on the grass, toward the pool.

The glass door into the kitchen was, as always, unlocked. I cracked it open, went through, my feet skinned from the tiles. The house was different at night: silent, all but haunted, the shadows stretching spookily. I worked my way through the kitchen, heart pounding.

There he was, at the fridge, a water bottle in hand, facing away from me. Collins. He tensed his shoulders as he pulled the door shut, muscles dancing under his close fitting shirt, and I was frozen, my breathing faltering, my pulse pounding in my ears.

“Might as well just stand there?” His voice was low and abrupt, a sudden tear in the silence, and he turned slowly, his eyes, pinning me where I was. His stare trapped me, my fingers gripping the counter to steady myself, my knees almost buckling under the weight of his gaze.

"I was… I didn't want to… uh, interrupt," I lost my words, my tone whispered and my face warmed beyond heat.

“You’re not interrupting,” he said, coming closer. “But it’s late. You should be in bed.” His voice was easy, almost fatherly, but when his eyes rested on mine a half second too long, I could feel under my skin in my pulse, I snapped my eyes back to his face.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I said, quieter now, as if my voice would waver with the storm inside me.

He leaned against the counter, his head cocked slightly. “Rough night?” It was an easy question, but his voice held a gravity, as if he could see through my flimsy excuse.

I laughed, the sound bitter, uncooked. “You could say that.” My gaze darted away, did not dare meet his, too intense, too mixed up.

He didn’t say anything, just looked at me, and his gaze peeled away my armor, making my skin prickle. I hated that he could do that — that he could unwind me without even trying, make me feel exposed, raw. "What are you thinking, Amelia?" he inquired, his voice low and probing, as if he really wanted to know.

Everything. Nothing. You. The words scratched at my throat, yet I was unable to say them. Anger, jealousy, desire — they twirled around in a tangle, about to come spilling out. I shrugged, looking at the floor. “Nothing important.”

He arched an eyebrow with a slight smirk playing at the side of his lips, seeing through my sham. “You’re the worst liar,” he said advancing, the heat of his body giving off, his cologne teasing faintly the air. I gasped, every last nerve on end, the space between us charged.

“Amelia,” he said in a hushed tone that made my flesh prick up, shivers running down my spine, “If something’s wrong, you can talk to me about it.” I was disarmed by his sincerity, and for a moment, I felt like telling the truth…the agony, the obsession, the way he lit up my world. But I couldn’t. Not to him. Not now.

“I’m fine,” I said, my voice clipped, stepping back to release the tension. “I should go.” My heart was pounding, and I turned to go but his look followed me, a weight that I continued to feel even as I trekked up the stairs to my room. Those dark eyes seared the back of my head with a glow that would not fade, haunting me. Where could I go from here?