Todos los capítulos de My stepdad's fantasy: Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 20

Chapter 11 – ChoicesThe office door was locked.But it didn’t feel locked anymore.Mom had the key,She always had that small silver one on her ring the one she used to jingle when she was irritated in line at the grocery store, or when she swore she’d just had her glasses a second ago. I’d never noticed it before. Now it felt sharp. Dangerous. Like something she could cut us open with if she wanted to.Julian’s hand was wrapped around mine too tight. Not comforting. Not gentle crushing, I could feel bone pressing against bone, and I didn’t pull away I couldn’t. His fingers were trembling, and his pulse was hammering through them fast and ugly and scared in a way he never showed anyone and miine wasn’t any better my heart was slamming so hard it hurt, like it was trying to punch its way out of my chest.The room smelled wrong, filled with old books scents, Julian’s cedar cologne and sweat mixed withMine yhat sour, metallic fear sweat that makes your skin feel sticky and wrong, like it

We didn’t knock. I don’t remember deciding that. It just… didn’t happen. No pause. No count to three. No look that says are we really doing this. Julian turned the knob. Slow. Careful. Like he was trying not to wake the house itself. Like the house might open one eye and tell on us. The lock was still open from earlier. He’d picked it hours ago and left it that way, like a bookmark. Like he knew we’d need to come back and finish the sentence. The door opened with almost no sound. Her white noise machine was still on. Ocean waves,Fake oned Loud but Constant. Too loud for sleep, honestly. Crashing over and over like it was trying to drown something out. Footsteps. Breathing. Screaming. Maybe all of it. The sound hit my head and made everything feel underwater. Mom was in the middle of the bed. On her back. Silk robe twisted around her waist like she’d been fighting it in her sleep. One arm over her head. Mouth slightly open. Breathing slow. Deep. Even. Too even. Slee

Julian came back just after noon.The front door opened with that same familiar creak, the one I’d heard a thousand times growing up, the one that usually meant groceries or work calls or normal, boring life. Today it sounded wrong. Too loud. Too sharp. Like the house itself was flinching before he even stepped inside.I was still on the stairs.I hadn’t really moved since Marcus left.My legs were tucked under me, numb and prickling, arms wrapped tight around my knees like if I let go I might come apart. Mom had gone back upstairs after he walked out. Her door had slammed so hard it rattled the picture frames in the hall. No words. No confrontation. Just the sound of her crying again—muffled through walls, angry and raw and endless, like something wounded that refused to die quietly.Julian saw me immediately.He stopped in the foyer, keys still in his hand, body going still in a way that made my chest tighten. His eye

Black, Not dim, Not shadowed it was total darkness The warehouse lights died like someone reached up and flipped a switch on the entire world, like reality itself had decided it was done watching. One second there was harsh fluorescent glare, buzzing overhead, burning into my eyes and the next there was nothing. No depth. No edges. Just absence. For a heartbeat, I couldn’t tell if my eyes were open or closed. My ears rang. Not from the gunshot there hadn’t been one yet but from the projector. From the sound it had been blasting into the space. My own voice, torn out of context and flung back at me, still echoing off the concrete walls even after the image died. It lingered, stretched thin, distorted by the acoustics, like the building itself didn’t want to let it go. I felt sick. Like my body didn’t belong to me anymore.

The car wasn’t safe anymore.I knew it. I didn’t think itI knew it in my bones, like when you suddenly realize you’re about to throw up and it’s already too late.The headlights caught the next green sign on the highway.REST AREA – 2 MILES.The letters glowed too bright. Fake-bright. Like they were laughing at us. Like the road knew something we didn’t and thought it was funny.Julian was breathing wrong.Not loud. Not fast. Just… wrong.Too shallow. Like he was scared to breathe all the way in. Every inhale sounded careful, like it hurt, like it cost him something he didn’t have enough of anymore.The bandage around his ribs was dark again. I could see it even in the low dash light. Blood soaking through slow, stubborn, spreading in ugly patches that wouldn’t stop. His hand stayed pressed there, fingers sticky, knuckles white. He hadn’t said a word since he crushed his phone and threw it out the wind