Where The Line Ends
Description
He's my mother's husband, but I'd never seen him as a father. He never had the opportunity to view me as a daughter, either; thus, we started out as friends, and we let the years go by as friends, proceeding down a straight line of moral rightness until one drunken kiss rewrote too much to turn back.
Foreword
I met him when I was thirteen.
We moved in together when I was sixteen.
He had me smitten by seventeen.
I learned what desire was when I was eighteen.
We spent our last year in the same house when I was nineteen.
He changed when I was twenty.
He was always something more to me than anyone fathomed.
A friend, a guide, a protector, a heck of a bowling rival, my kitchen-destroying partner, my first love, my stepfather.
And I thought he was an open book. I thought he was someone I could decipher the truth from only his eyes. If nothing else, I thought he was a sweet and blithe man that just had to be the unknowing target of my tumultuous feelings. And perhaps he was that, but there was still something more to him than I fathomed.
There was something more to all of us than we ever fathomed.
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