Morboso93

His hand was where it shouldn’t have been, and my voice was whispering things no son should hear. But neither of us wanted to stop.

Valeria was twenty-five, my father’s wife, and she looked at me as if she didn’t know whether to hate me or devour me. I didn’t know either.

I knew it wasn’t sensible. I circled the bridge anyway, climbed down the wall, and found him sleeping exactly where I’d left him.