Original subtitles

V.I.P.

4K.

Stepfather. Step

mother. Steps

ister. Stepbr

other.

My dearest stepdad

dy. I see you,

you know. You think I don't,

but I do.

The way your hands twitch when I walk

in the room. The way your breath

hitches when I lean just a little too

close. The way you pretend not to watch

me, but I can feel it. Burning,

carving its way down my spine like a

secret no one else is allowed to hear.

You avoid me. You barely even speak to

me anymore. But silence doesn't erase

things, does it?

It just makes them louder. More

unbearable. Like that night in the

kitchen when I reached past you for a

water and your whole body locked up. Do

you

think about me when I'm not here?

When you're alone,

in the dark,

with no one to see?

Do you press your fists into the

mattress and curse yourself for wanting

what you shouldn't?

Do you swallow hard and try to will it

away?

But it just sits there,

heavy in your gut,

curling around your ribs like something

alive?

I wonder how

far you'd let it go if I pushed,

if I really,

really tried,

if I sat in your lap,

if I whispered in your ear,

if I told you I know. That I've always

known. That I like it. That I like

watching you unravel just from the

thought of me. Would you break?

Would you snap like a frayed wire?

Or would you do what you always do?

Turn away,

grit your teeth,

force yourself to remember all the

reasons why this is wrong.

You are

stronger than me,

but for how much longer?

I feel

you're losing that control.

Finally snapping like a rubber band

stretched too tight,

recoiling with a force that knocks the

air out of my lungs.

I feel it with my tights.

I imagine you on me

like a storm. Lightning striking,

thunder rolling through my bones,

rain drenching me in something far too

sinful to be called water.

Your hands,

rough as tree bark,

gripping me like I'm the last branch in

a hurricane.

And then everything becomes real. Oh!

Did I do that?

Oh!

The way we move. Like two otters caught

in a river's wild current. Tumbling,

gasping, clinging.

Or maybe like an over-caffeinated

barista frothing milk. Relentless and

desperate,

building up to the perfect foam before

it spills over the edge.

Tracing a path

down my skin like a GPS recalculating.

Always finding new,

unexpected roots that make my breath

hitch.

Your fingers,

moving with the precision of a man

diffusing a bomb. Every touch of wire

that could set me off. It's driving me

crazy. It makes me ecstatic.

I

'll admit that was unexpected.

Oh my god. What

happened?

We got mom all patched up and almost as

soon as she got out of the hospital,

she filed for divorce.

Her now ex-husband wasted no time

finding himself a new wife. That would

be me. Still,

I keep calling him daddy. So what's the

moral of the story?

Don't hold back when you've got a

chance to have some damn good fuck.

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