Gail His Gail

Disclaimer: Any resemblance to actual persons, names and places, purely coincidental.

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"Oh chimes set high on the sunny tower / Ring on, ring on unendingly, / Make all the hours a single hour / For when the dusk begins to flower, / The man I love will come to me!"

Sara Teasdale "Over the roofs", 1914.

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PART ONE. FEBRUARY 9. CRAVING.

Throwing me in the air; me flying, thrilled; catching me, landed on his arms. My shrieks and shouts of joy filled the salty air. And again, this time even higher. And catching me again. And me screaming of joy even louder. Our game. Our ritual. Me six, seven, eight, nine years old. That's how I learned what trust is: I wouldn't fall; he would catch me with his almighty power no matter how high I would fly.

Our summers in the Keys.

"Hellooooo!! Hello there!!! Earth to Norman. Come in Norman."

The sudden intrusion of Professor Aldberg's voice jolted me back to the present. His words dripped with sarcasm as he trailed off, gesturing vaguely towards the board.

"Yes, Professor Aldberg?" I mumbled, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"Ms. Norman," professor's voice was cold and sharp, like a scalpel slicing through my already fragile confidence. "Do you have any thoughts on the matter at hand? Or are you simply here for the ambiance?"

My heart pounded in my chest; a frantic hummingbird trapped in a cage of ribs. "I... I'm sorry, Professor. I wasn't..."

Alberg raised an eyebrow, his gaze unwavering, like a hawk eyeing its prey. "You weren't what, Ms. Norman? Not listening? Not paying attention? Not interested?"

"No, sir," I stammered, "I mean, sorry, terribly sorry, it won't happen again."

"We can only hope" he replied dryly. "Meanwhile, let's return to the mundane topic of the neurological system..."

I could care less about Professor Aldberg and his neurological system. The clock ticked towards 8 PM. Class dismissed. Sonia's party invitation met with a half-hearted excuse. I slid into my car. Taylor Swift's voice filled the car - 'In a getaway car.' Yeah, right.

I drove and drove. Why the fuck couldn't he see me? The question ripped from my throat in a primal scream: "WHY THE FUCK CAN'T YOU SEE ME?" The driver next to me flinched, probably assuming I was having a breakdown or something. I forced myself to breathe, to focus.

Where the hell was I? Glancing at my watch, I realized I'd been driving for two and a half hours. Merritt Island. Sounded like a plan: drive to Cape Canaveral, steal a spaceship, blast off into the cosmos. Never have to face him again.

I took the exit, the ridiculousness of my plan growing with each mile. I looked at my face in the rearview mirror: pathetic.

I turned back towards home, dreading the possibility of him being awake. No pleasantries, no small talk about my day. A complete fucked-up mess, that was my day; just like any other day for the past months, even before Alice died.

What could I say to him? That I wanted him? In a way that went beyond daughterly affection? That I ached for him to look at me in a different way?

The gravel crunched under my tires, a familiar sound that did nothing to soothe the turmoil within me. Rob looked up as I entered the living room.

"Abigail," his voice was deep, as always, but laced with concern. "You're back."

"Just a drive," I muttered, tossing my keys onto the table. The lie hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the raw truth clawing at my throat. A forced smile, a mask to hide the turmoil within. "Needed some air."

"How was your day?"

Bite me. "Sorry, Rob, tired. Going upstairs." The words grated against my raw nerves. I wanted to scream, to hurl the nearest object, to shatter the illusion of normalcy that hung between us like a suffocating veil.

He stood up, looking worried and ready to step in front of me; typical Rob, a steamroller ready to flatten anything on the mere idea that something had happened to me, that somebody had hurt me. "Abigail, is everything okay?"

"Sure, Rob. Good night." My voice dripped with venom, even I was surprised by the bitterness that laced my tone.

I turned on my heel and stomped up the stairs, slamming my bedroom door behind me. What was I thinking? Expecting him to sweep me into his arms and say, 'Hey my little princess, how 'bout being my queen from now on and forever; hey honey, I just realized how attractive your legs are'? It was a ludicrous fantasy, a childish dream.

In my bed. Praying to fall asleep. Memories again. Me, six years old, just after their marriage: "Mum, can I sleep with you?". They would put me in the middle, causing me to burst out laughing with tickling, until I would be exhausted and fall asleep. It worked back them. Nowadays I run out of tricks to be in his bed, or to make him come to mine; at least in the way I wanted.

And then there were the kisses, again in the summers, again in the Keys. Rob and Alice, entwined, their bodies pressed together in the sand, the way they looked at each other. 'No one ever kissed me the way you do,' Alice would say, and they would laugh like crazy. It was only years later that I realized they were recreating a scene from 'From Here to Eternity', only Rob was more handsome than Burt Lancaster, and Alice was far prettier than Deborah Kerr.

"Where does that leave me?", I wondered. "Why this constant ache, this desperate longing? Why should I suffer so much?". I hadn't any answer.

3:17 AM. The witching hour, they call it. The time when the veil between worlds thins, when ghosts roam and desires run wild. Wild desires, hey? Oh boy, do I have... His arms squeezing me tight, hands roaming, igniting sparks everywhere they touched. There... and there... and... oh my... definitely inside there. His scent, intoxicating, filling my senses. My mouth on his...

I bolted upright, a gasp escaping my lips. Cold water. That's what I needed. Heading downstairs, that's when I saw it: the flickering blue and white light reflecting off the wall opposite my room. The TV was on. And in front of it... was he Rob? Was he watching...oh my god...porn? I stayed absolutely quiet as a ghost, stepping two stairs down to watch him better. Oh my... he... his hand... he was... yes... his pants were bunched around his ankles. I could see the pale flesh of his thighs, his hand wrapped around himself. Rob was masturbating.

My throat tightened. He moaned, head back, eyes closed. The sight both captivated and unsettled me. Heat pooled between my legs. My breath hitched as his hand moved faster, more urgently. I was desperate to go downstairs, only I wouldn't dare. Suddenly, his body tensed. My breath hitched as his hand moved faster, more urgently. A guttural cry escaped his lips, and then he went still. His hand fell away, and he slumped forward, his breathing ragged. I saw the white fluid glistening, dripping from his curled fingers onto the floor. I wanted so bad to swallow it. I opened my mouth. I was literally drooling. I backed away slowly, returned to my room.

As closing the door, removed the pants, still standing. His image. Craving for him. I started pressing, squeezing, stroking. "Fuck me daddy", one finger inside...two fingers "Fill me Rob".... twenty seconds. I came. I collapsed to the bed.

PART TWO. MAY 17. HUMAN TOUCH.

I woke up. I was on his bed. So, it was true: we slept together. We made love. Every inch of my body could tell. I got out of the bed. I glanced at myself in the mirror, seeing the dried evidence of what we'd done. I didn't want to wash it off, didn't want to erase the proof that it wasn't just a dream. For me, it meant the world. For him? Would he regret it?

I wouldn't leave for college. I would stay, waiting for him to come. It wasn't just about what happened last night, about us making love—it was about everything that led up to it, all the complicated feelings I'd tried so hard to ignore. I stayed because I needed to face it, to understand what it all meant.

As I sat there my mind started to piece together our story, all the hidden parts that I'd kept buried deep inside. This wasn't just about desire; it was about something darker, something that had been growing between us for years, in the shadows of our lives.

I thought about the way I'd always wanted him, even when I was too young to understand what that meant. It was like he was this forbidden fruit, something I could never have but always craved. And then there was Mom—how she fit into all of this, how my feelings for him twisted around my relationship with her. I couldn't help but wonder if my longing for him was tied to my need to replace her, to step into her shoes, to be seen as the woman she was in his eyes.

There was a dark thrill in that thought, something that made me feel both powerful and ashamed. Had I been waiting for her to be gone so I could finally have him? Had my desires somehow played a part in her illness, in the way she wasted away, leaving a space for me to fill? I knew it was crazy, but the guilt gnawed at me, made me question everything.

It wasn't just about wanting him; it was about wanting to be the only one he wanted, to be the center of his world, like Mom had been. The thought of her with him, the intimacy they shared, made me feel like I was suffocating, and yet, I couldn't stop imagining it, couldn't stop wondering if I could ever be what she was to him. And then there was the jealousy—the ugly, consuming jealousy that gnawed at me every time I imagined him with another woman since Alice died. In the two years she'd been gone, there must have been others, countless others, I mean, his looks... The thought of him touching them the way I wanted him to touch me... it twisted my insides with a bitterness I hated myself for.

Maybe last night was about more than just desire. Maybe it was about claiming something I'd always felt was mine, something that was taken from me before I even understood it. But now that it had happened, I wasn't sure if I felt liberated or more trapped than ever.

I heard the car pull into the driveway, the familiar sound sending a jolt of anxiety through me. What if he wished it had never happened? What if he saw me differently now, in a way that I couldn't take back?

But as much as the fear and guilt gnawed at me, there was something else, too. A sense of inevitability, like this had been building for so long that there was no other outcome. We were bound together by something deeper than either of us had acknowledged before. Something that went beyond love, into the realms of power, control, and the need to be seen, to be wanted.

So, I waited. In the end, it didn't matter what he felt, or what he would say. I was in love with him; I was committed to this path, wherever it might lead, and there was no going back. Not now. Not ever.

He walked in. I wanted to reach out, to touch him, to reassure myself that last night wasn't just a dream. But I couldn't. I was too afraid of what his reaction might be. He sat beside me; the air thick with unspoken words. I wanted to touch him, but I was too scared.

"Abigail, I have to..."

Shit. SHIT. I show in his eyes exactly what I was afraid of: he regretted. I cut him off, my voice shaking. "No. Don't. Please. I know what you're going to say. That it was a mistake, that it's wrong." I took a deep breath. "But it wasn't. It was real. It was beautiful. And it meant something to me." My voice gained strength. "I know it's complicated. But I can't pretend it didn't happen."

He reached out, but I held up a hand. "Please, just tell me you don't regret it."

He searched my eyes. "Abigail, Alice was my..."

"I know what Alice was to you and you know what she was to me, Rob.", I cut him with all my force. "I loved Mom so much, you know that. I love her and I miss her every day, every hour, every second. And then you came into our lives. It wasn't easy for her to take this decision, since her priority was always me. For Mom, trust wasn't something you just threw around. You had to earn it. And you did, not just with her, but with me too. You were like... the ultimate dad, you know? Always strong, caring...And even when things got tough, you never wavered, no questions asked, not much of words, just this hug, these broad shoulders, always steady. You know, I never told you or Mom, but I was always so jealous of the other girls who had dads. But then you came along, and I felt so proud. None of the other kids had a father like you."

"Abigail, I..."

"Please Rob, just let me say it all. Even though I knew you weren't my

real

dad, it didn't matter, 'cause you were always there for me and for Mom. I can't count the nights I prayed that it would stay like this forever. It was so... I don't know the words... so amazing. And the summers in the Keys... I mean, you two were...oh, my God, do you remember those two Harley guys when I was sixteen? You totally wrecked them for saying what they wanted to do to my... well, you know." A choked laugh bubbled up, despite the tears.

He chuckled: "And I spent the night in the police cell...."

"Rob...I miss her so much. Every single day I wake up and feel the emptiness she left behind. I keep thinking about all the times we spent together, the secrets we shared, and the way she always knew what to say to make everything better. It's like a part of me is missing without her. But at the same time... I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm relieved she's not here. And it kills me to even think that. I feel like I'm betraying her, like I'm the worst person in the world for feeling this way, but I can't help it. I envy what she had with you, the love you shared, the way you looked at her. And now that she's gone... I can't help but want to be...to be in her place, to be the one standing beside you."

I tried to hold back the tears. I took a deep breath, the words tangled in my throat.

"I... I've felt so many things for you...especially for almost two years now... I felt...why everything has to be a mess...I felt happy and secure and protected that you and Mom was so in love and such a perfect much, and at the same time so jealous, so very jealous of her...of her loud moanings at nights, jealous that you wanted her so much, that you wouldn't see me as a woman, jealous when..." I blushed deeply, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. "And then Mom was gone, and I felt so ashamed, so very ashamed, I couldn't help but think that her death was my fault, that because of me she had this aggressive cancer...".

"No sweetheart, it wasn't your..."

""Rob, please, just let me get it all out." I took a deep breath, trying to steady my shaking voice. "But yesterday... yesterday I gave you everything, Rob. All of me. I don't know what it meant to you, but for me... it was the most amazing moment of my entire life. I wanted you to see me,

really

see me, not just as Alice's daughter, not as some ghost of her. Yesterday... you made me feel... seen. And I need you, Rob. I need all of you. It was... magical. More than anything I've ever felt. Yesterday, you filled me up in every way possible."

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. I looked down, unable to meet his gaze.

He gently lifted my chin, his thumb brushing away a tear. His own eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Abigail," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "sweetheart, I'm your father; we cannot..."

"You are

not

my father, Rob!" I cut him off, my voice rising with a mix of frustration and desperation. "There is nothing sinister about us being together. I am a woman, with needs, and desires."

"But Abigail, sweetheart...I can't..."

"So, you're telling me that you will never be with a woman again after Alice?" My voice was sharp, disbelief edging into my tone.

"Abigail, I..." He hesitated; his eyes filled with a turmoil I couldn't decipher.

"No, just answer me this: you will never be with someone else, is that you're telling me?" I pressed, needing clarity.

"I'm not telling you that, Abigail," he said softly, his voice laced with a hint of sadness.

"So, it's about

me

. It's that you don't want to be with

me

.". I felt the ground shift beneath me, and suddenly, all the emotions I'd been holding in, all the fear and insecurity, came rushing to the surface.

I exploded. I couldn't stop myself, couldn't hold back the flood of anger and hurt that poured out of me. How could he say that? How could he be with other women, but not with me? Was it because he didn't want me?

"Is that it?" I spat out, my voice shaking with a mix of rage and desperation. "You can be with any other woman, a whole harem if you will, but not me? Is that it? Am I not beautiful enough? Not experienced enough? Maybe I'm just not good at it, right? Not good at... keeping you satisfied?"

The words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered, exposing all the dark places inside me as I was being rejected by the person I wanted more than anything.

"You think I don't know how to keep a man? How to be fucked the way you want?" My voice cracked, tears welling up, but I didn't care. I couldn't stop now. The words just kept spilling out, driven by a wave of pain I'd been carrying for so long. "I know I'm not like those other women Rob, I know that. I'm not experienced, and the experiences I've had were so..." The memories flashed in my mind, sharp and painful. "Maybe I deserve that, to be treated like..." I whispered; the words bitter on my tongue. "Maybe that's all I'm worth."

I hesitated, my thoughts spiraling into the darkest corners of my mind. Nothing mattered. Even with all the attention, the cheering crowds in the tennis courts, the photographers, the way men looked at me... none of it mattered if he wouldn't want me.

"I mean, I don't have those big knockers..." I sensed I crack. "I'm not perfect," I whispered, my voice barely audible now. "I know that. But I...I just wanted to be enough for you, to be the one you chose. But you don't, do you?"

I felt completely exposed, like every flaw, every insecurity was out in the open, and I hated it. I hated how much I cared, how much I wanted him, even now, even after everything. Standing there with my heart laid bare, all I wanted was for him to see me, to really see me, and understand just how much I was struggling to believe I was worth something more. I needed him to know that every word I spoke came from a place of deep, aching insecurity, a place I didn't want to be in anymore.

"Abigail, how can we..." His voice trailed off, his hand trembling beneath mine. "Even if I weren't your father, I am 21 years older than you. You are the most gorgeous girl I know, you should be with a proper man, Abigail... to love each other... You know that I love you, sweetheart, I always will, always, but not..."

"So, you love me but not

me

, not Gail is that it? You love me as your daughter, or your step-daughter or any other label suits your rejection; like you are twenty one years older and that is not proper...well, I've met much older men, Rob, and not only they didn't bother about the age difference but they would practically sell their souls for a chance to be with me. And yet, yesterday, age wasn't a problem; you fucked me again and again and you crushed on me, and I felt you mine, like I was totally yours,

yours

Rob."

The words tumbled out of me, raw and unfiltered, driven by the storm of emotions I could no longer contain. "And now what? What are you telling me? That after all this, you'll just let me go? You'll let me be with someone else and let him touch me, and you won't care?".

I could feel my voice shaking with anger and desperation, the words coming faster, sharper, as I imagined the things that could happen, the things that terrified me. "How can you stand the image of someone else fucking me, using my body however he wants? Filling my pussy with his filthy sperm, assfucking me, forcing me to swallow every disgusting drop? How can you not care? How can you just let me go and be with someone else, like I don't mean anything to you?"