CADEN

"You sure, man?" Paxton asked as we both emerged from his small apartment.

Lost in thought and unable to find my car, I pondered deeply over where I could've left it. "Yes," I simply muttered.

"Either way, I have to drive you to your car," he responded to my unspoken concern, moving toward his vehicle, a not-so-aged Ford truck.

Son of a bitch! I left my baby at a fraternity house.

Terrified, I rubbed my hands over my face, gaping at the empty street.

Paxton halted by his vehicle, one hand on the open door, the other over the roof of the car. "Do not panic, Jake has it parked in a safe place," he reassured me.

"He better," I grumbled, rushing to the passenger side.

During the ride, I didn't initiate a conversation, and I was grateful when Paxton respected the silence too.

I spent most of the time consumed by different thoughts, from Kane Esteban's trial, which is unreasonable, to how his daughter lives ten minutes away from me yet is so difficult to reach, and then back to Mad.

My stepsister, whom I shouldn't feel any emotions for. Yet, she affects me in ways I cannot help myself, flooding my mind.

I slowly began to acknowledge that Mad is the only human I couldn't get disgusted by, even when I dared myself. She's the only human I crave. She's the cure to my long-time agony. She's immune to all the defenses I've built inside and resists all the crises I've used for defense. With her, I sleep peacefully. With her, I don't have to fret. She's what I need to survive, but she's also what I can't have. Society is too fierce to let us be together.

She knows that quite clearly, yet she keeps dragging us into a quandary. For what?

I understand that I hurt her, and I might still be hurting her, but using my emotions to win the battle isn't fair game.

Lately, I used to think about Cara and vengeance, but these past few days, I've been dwelling on one matter and one only. MAD.

She's all I think about all day, every day. The memories of her skin on mine, her tongue rolling on the silver fork, her eyes blinking when I'm inside her, and that perfect 'O' her lips form every time she reaches climax. All those images inhabit me, leaving me yearning for more experiences with her yet angry at myself for wanting what is forbidden.

What did I ever do wrong? Okay, I did a lot; you don't have to go on about it. But among all the girls in the world, the universe chooses to use my stepsister as my punishment.

I stared blankly through the windshield, lost in these deep thoughts until a nudge snapped me out of them.

"Here we go."

My eyes followed Paxton's, and they met my car safely parked around the frat house driveway. Two frat boys reclined by the porch. "I have a date with some sorority girl, but this dude here insisted on keeping an eye on the Porsche," the shorter one said, throwing his arm over Paxton's shoulders.

"I have my reasons. I know obsession when I see one, and my boy here would rather marry this iron than a human," Paxton stated mockingly.

Knowing he's right, I didn't argue; instead, I pressed the key and unlocked my car. "Thanks for looking after her," I told the two boys, nodding in acknowledgment.

"If that car hits and kills anyone, he'll be more worried about the car's health than those she killed," Paxton teased me, as I suffered from a severe hangover.

I hesitated, sitting behind the wheel and taking calming breaths.

"Are you sure you can drive?" He sounded worried when I delayed pressing the start button.

I nodded and gave a thumbs-up, igniting the engine, which brought me joy but also harmed my brain.

After winding down the window, I took off.

I drove through the streets cautiously and attentively, wincing every time I had to press the horn or anytime a taxi honked.

When I arrived home, I also hesitated in the car, just sitting here and enjoying the last moments of stillness. I even considered sleeping in here with the air conditioning on. But the sound of the tires grinding against the asphalt wasn't healthy for my mental state, so I pulled myself out and headed towards the building.

During my elevator ride, with my phone and car key in one hand, I could barely open my eyes; the brightness of the day was affecting me. This is why I don't drink.

All I could think was, 'Ignore her,' 'Don't look at her,' 'Ignore her,' 'Don't speak to her.'

Those thoughts were all that roamed around my head when I turned the doorknob.

But as soon as I walked into the living room, my heart fell impotently hard to the floor, for I knew there was nothing that could ever lift it up again.

My eyes widened, instinctively burning with what could be tears.

No! No! No!

I stood rigid, unable to breathe or move, no matter how hard I willed myself.

The terrible sensation caused by the visible alarming result right in front of me was a feeling of fear and anxiety.

It was exactly the same feeling as when I stood before my ten-year-old twin, dead in the middle of the street.

It was the feeling from the day I watched my own mother abandon me.

It was that same feeling when Martha and Mad walked into my home and stole every memory Mom and Cara had left in the house.

"What happened?" Through a pounding heart, I mumbled the question to the person sitting on the recliner; my voice was barely audible.

"She had an accident," the man next to her said.

Not her! Not Mad.

I am tainted by sins. God, let not Mad pay for any of them.

Those four words of the man were enough to tear apart all of me.