HUGE X3: A MFMM Menage Stepbrother Romance (27 page)

I put my face in my palms and find they smell of
him. Between my legs, I can feel him as though he was still inside me. My dorm
room feels emptier than it ever has, and in a way, so does my heart.

I feel so terrible for leading him down a path and
then cutting him off.

How will I face him again?

12

ALLYSON

After hours of trying on dresses, my feet protest
making another step. Thankfully the dress shop has a plush bench in front of
the dressing rooms. I plop down and flick off my shoes, sighing with relief as
the pressure eases from my heels and toes. I flex my feet and settle back to
wait for my mom to emerge.

The door to the dressing room opens and my mom
steps through looking stunning in an off-white gown that makes her look at
least five years younger. Her face beams as she walks and turns around for me.
I'm off my feet in a flash, aching arches be damned, and envelop her in a hug.

"You look amazing!" I say. "Jeff
will love it."

She smooths her hands down the front over the
beading. "Do you think so?"

I turn her around and we look at her in the mirror.
"I know so. Look how awesome you look."

"Time to buy it then!"

She smiles and I kiss her cheek before she hurries
into the change room to takes the dress off and comes back out with it slung
over her arm. The woman assisting us suddenly appears, her wide smile revealing
perfectly white teeth.

"How was that for you?" the woman asks,
smiling hopefully.

"I'll take it. Now we need a maid of honor
dress for my daughter," my mom says gesturing to me.

The woman eyes me up and down, presumably assessing
my size, then looks at my mother. "Desired colors?"

"A nice pink perhaps."

Thankful she didn't say red, I smile and with my
arm around her shoulders squeeze one more time. I'm so happy for her. The way
she glows all the time is a testament to how happy Jeff makes her. Thinking
about Jeff makes me think about Cory. How is it possible to feel such a
terrible sinking feeling in your stomach and a flutter in your heart at the
same time?

The clerk returns a few minutes later with an array
of pink dresses draped over her arms. Short ones, long ones, in varying degrees
of pinkness. The hot pink colored one snags my attention first so when she
hangs them up in the dressing room my mom has just used I pull that one off the
hanger first and close the door.

"How does it look?" my mom asks.

I slip on the satiny material, enjoying the caress
of the smooth fabric along my arms. The dress hugs my body in all the right
places and I can still breathe even when I do the zipper up. The clerk has an
eye for sizing a customer up. Literally.

I twirl in front of the mirror. The dress is long
and pretty streamlined. There is no flare of the skirt when I turn. I can tell
it will just tap my heels as I walk but not float around my ankles.

"It's a nice color," I say. "What
color are the bridesmaid’s dresses going to be?"

"If we go with a hot pink for yours I was
thinking a lighter pink for them. Or maybe a nice green."

I open the door so my mom can see the dress.

"What do you think?"

She smiles. "It looks lovely on you. How do
you feel about it?"

"I like it."

"Try on some of the others. I have her looking
for blue just in case the pink doesn't work out."

I retreat back into the change room and take off
the dress. I put it in a pile I mentally label maybe. Next up is another long
dress but this one is a lighter shade of pink. I pull that one on and turn to
see how it looks from the back. It looks nice too but I'm not sure about the
style. Of course, it's my mom's wedding so I'll wear whatever she tells me to
wear.

"How is the next one?" she asks through
the change room door.

"It's nice too."

"Come out so I can see. Your phone keeps
buzzing in your purse, sweetie."

"Like ringing buzzing?" I ask.

"No, just every once in a while it will
buzz."

Notifications. Not sure what the notifications
would be for since I haven't posted to social media in a while. I decide to
check the phone in a minute. First, I need to finish off the pink dresses
before she changes to another color scheme.

I come out of the dressing room again and twirl.

"That one is nice," she says but her brow
furrows.

"You hate it," I say.

"I don't hate it. I don't think it looks as
good on you as the last one."

"You're the bride. No one will be paying
attention to me."

"Of course, they will. And I want you to be
happy with the dress you're wearing. I'm your mother. I'm not going to have you
wear something hideous."

I grin and hurry back into the change room. We go
through the rest of the dresses and so far the first one is winning.

The clerk hangs up a bunch of blue gowns and takes
the discards of the pink pile away. I try on a bunch of the blue dresses,
parading in front of mom to see which one she likes best. She frowns.

"I still like the first pink one you tried
on," she says.

I agree but everyone knows you don't buy the first
thing you try on until you've exhausted every other option available. No dress
will be left untried, at least not one in my size.

"I do too but we need to be sure. Do you want
me to try any other ones on before I go back to that one?"

"A few more. She's going to find some in
yellow."

Because I'm waiting in the lounge area with my mom
I hear the buzz of my phone this time. A couple in quick succession. Weird. I
put the phone out of my mind and smile when the clerk comes back, her arms
piled high with yellow dresses.

Another clerk walks up to my mom and offers her
sparkling apple juice. My mom takes a flute of juice and sits on the bench to
wait for me.

I duck into the room and try on all the dresses,
coming out only for the ones that don't look horrible. Yellow really isn't my
color. I know she won't choose any of these ones.

"What do you think?" I ask wearing the
final yellow dress.

"Well, I think the first one is the winner. It
looks the best on you and there are so many lighter shades of the pink it will
be easy to find one for the bridesmaids."

"Great! I do really like the first one."

I snag a sparkling apple juice when the clerk walks
by again then dig into my purse on the bench to pull out my phone. Before I can
swipe the screen the phone rings. Well, vibrates in my hand. Rachel's name
comes up on the screen.

I hit the answer button.

"Hey, Rach."

"Allyson, have you seen the pictures that are
going around?"

My heart beats faster. My hand trembles in my lap
and the sinking feeling I’ve pushed aside since Cory left without saying
goodbye is back, churning the juice I just drank.

"What are you talking about?" I ask,
trying to sound calm. It could be something else; maybe pictures from a night
out last week or a new meme of a hot actor or something. Not the pictures I've
been dreading will be revealed.

"It's pictures of you and Drew," Rachel
says. She's whispering like she doesn't want anyone around her to hear what
she's saying.

I suck in a deep breath, my hand still shaking. I
worry the flute of the sparkling juice will fall but I manage to hold onto it.
On trembling legs, I walk over to the bench and sit down. My mom has noticed my
actions and walks over to me, looking so concerned it breaks my heart. I don’t
want her special day to be tainted in any way.

"Allison, what's wrong?"

I don't know what to tell her. I cling on to a
glimmer of hope that maybe he hasn't sent them to everyone. Rachel's voice on
the other end begs me to tell her what's going on.

"Rach, I can't really talk right now. Where
did you see them?”

“They’re all over, sweetie. Facebook, email.”

Oh god, I want to die from shame.

“I'll call you back," I say, gripping onto the
phone like it’s the only thing holding me together.

"I'm worried about you," Rachel says.

"I promise I'll call you back." I
disconnect the call and sit gazing at my phone in a daze. I know my mom is
looking at me, waiting for me to say something, but I can’t seem to process the
words or the responses. Is now the time to lie? Should I try to protect her and
hope that no one tells her? Should I wait for a better moment to confess the
truth?

"Sweetie, what's going on?" my mom asks,
placing her hand on my knee and giving it a reassuring squeeze. I’m sure she
can feel my leg trembling. My chest feels tight and I can’t seem to catch my
breath. There’s no burying my head in the sand anymore. Any glimmer of hope
that I was holding onto has faded to nothing.

With the call ended, messages flash on my screen
now. I flick through them, dozens of them, catching a few words from each text.
I cringe at some of the comments. Things like ‘whore’ and ‘slut’ and ‘I want
some of that’ make my skin crawl. All the vile suggestions come from numbers I
don't recognize. And there are a few messages from people I know, guys I know,
concerned about me.

There are a few concerned messages from girls I
know too. The shock and horror in those messages and the vow to be there for me
if I need them make me feel little better. But not much.

I still haven't looked up at my mother. I can feel
her unease pouring into me and I resist the urge to look up because I don't
know what I'm going to say.

"Allyson please tell me what's going on.
Whatever it is, I can help you."

Her support cracks the last of my fragile resolve
to hold it together. I sag in defeat and suck in a breath, half sobbing.
"I can't tell you, mom."

"You can tell me anything, you know that.
Whatever it is. How can I help you if you don't tell me?"

I take hold of her hand, gripping so tightly I know
I’m probably hurting her but she squeezes back and uses her other hand to
stroke my hair. It’s been so long since she did that, but it feels so good to
be taken back to how things were when I was a child; a time when problems were
simple and could be soothed away by some reassuring words and a hug.

I can’t look her in the eye when I tell her, so I
keep them closed. Through the whole terrible story, she keeps hold of my hand
and strokes my hair. I think about how much it must be hurting her to see me
like this. I know her mind will be thinking through the long-term implications
because that’s what moms do.

When I’ve finished she says, “Show me the photos.”

I shake my head because describing them in sparse
detail is one thing, but actually displaying them for her is another.

“Show me,” she says again, this time more firmly.
“How can I help you if I don’t know what exactly what we're dealing with?”

Tears roll down my cheeks as I fumble with the
password on my phone. I tab through the worst, settling on one that’s bad but
the least explicit. When I hand it to her, she doesn’t react. I watch and marvel
as she takes one very deep breath and exhales. She sits up straighter. I can
feel the anger seething inside her. She rests my phone on her knee and digs
around in her purse. For a second, I think she’s searching for a packet of
tissues but then she pulls out her phone.

Panic slices through me when I realize who she's
going to call, but it's too late to turn back now. I can't
untell
her. She can't
unsee
the
picture.

I sit and wait as she talks to Jeff, her voice
getting increasingly loud. Her gaze darts around the shop when people start
looking at her. I nudge her to tell her to lower her voice. She whispers as she
continues filling Jeff in on the same story I just told her.

I can't listen to it over again so I reach out and
take my phone, then stand up and pace. My phone buzzes again startling me.
Almost afraid to look at the screen, I peek at it, relief and dread warring
with each other when I see Cory's name flash on the screen. I think about not
answering, but that will just make things worse.

I swipe to answer and breathe a soft ‘hello’ into
the phone.

I don’t know what I’m expecting him to say.
 
‘I’m sorry for walking out without saying
goodbye’, or ‘I’m sorry for doing all the things we did’. I don’t expect for
him to know already, but he does.

"Allyson, I know this is hard for you but you
need to come into the station.” Cory’s voice is tight and cold, the same voice
he used when he was questioning me by the side of the road. He’s back to using
cop voice on me and that makes me sad. I guess it shouldn’t. We had sex, that
was all. Amazing, mind-blowing sex admittedly. Why then do I feel so much loss?

Sadness aside, I know he's right. Now that the
cat's out of the bag, I have no other choice but the prospect of facing him and
Jeff, the prospect of my mom finding out all the gory details is just too
horrific to bear.

"I know I should,” I say, still clinging to
the remotest possibility that all of this will just be a horrible dream that
I’m moments from waking from. “I'll think about it," I say.