Chapter 8: 🌶️ Forbidden Thoughts

Two weeks later...

Night has long since fallen, and the house is wrapped in silence. I’m lying on my bed, scrolling aimlessly through my phone, looking for something to keep my mind occupied. Suddenly, a notification lights up the screen: a message from Emmy. It’s not unusual, but tonight, something feels different as I wait to open it. My heart quickens as I tap on the conversation.

Emmy (message): “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. You know, our relationship isn’t the same as it was in the beginning. I feel different with you...” I frown. This tone, this phrasing, isn’t what I’m used to. There’s a seriousness in her words that I can’t ignore.

Emmy (message): “I think maybe it’s time I reveal a little more about myself, but first, I need to know something. What do you really feel for me?” I freeze, staring at the screen as if the words might somehow change on their own. My heartbeat grows stronger, each thud carrying the weight of doubt. Emmy has never been this direct, this personal. I can feel this message is a turning point, a pivotal moment that could change the nature of what we have.

I run a trembling hand over my face, trying to steady my breath. Why is this affecting me so much? I’ve always known our relationship was largely a game of seduction, a paid exchange. So why does this message make me waver? Have I truly developed feelings for Emmy, or is it simply the allure of getting closer to the mystery that pulls me in so irresistibly?

I set my phone down and sit up, taking a deep breath to steady myself. I know I need to respond, but I can’t help reflecting on what this really means. Emmy is a stranger to me, yet she occupies my thoughts more than anyone else. Doubt creeps in. Is she being sincere? Does she genuinely feel something for me, or is this just another way to keep my interest, to ensure I stay hooked on this virtual connection?

The next morning, I wake up with the same weight in my chest. Emmy’s message keeps playing on a loop in my mind. I get ready for the day on autopilot, my movements slow, almost robotic. Every action takes a particular effort, as if my mind refuses to let go of the stormy thoughts that have been gripping me since last night.

In class, I’m completely unable to focus. The professor’s words drift over my head, failing to stick. Every five minutes, I glance at my phone, hesitating over whether or not to respond to Emmy’s message. More than once, I open the conversation, type out a few words, then delete them before closing the app again. I feel trapped in a spiral of confusion, unable to make a decision.

Jack: “Hey man, are you sure you’re okay? You look totally out of it today.” Me: “Yeah, sorry ... just a bit tired, I guess.”

I force a smile, but inside, I feel the worry growing, like a weight I can’t seem to shake off. The more I try to focus on the class, the more my thoughts drift back to Emmy, to that crucial question she asked. I keep wondering if I’m falling in love with an illusion, with someone I only know through words and filtered images on a screen.

When class ends, I head slowly toward the exit. The sky is gray, perfectly mirroring my mood. I feel torn between two realities: the life I lead here, with my classes, my friends, and my family, and this other, virtual life, where everything feels more intense, more intoxicating, but also more uncertain.

The park is silent, broken only by the rustling of leaves and the snap of branches in the gusting wind. The solitude feels heavy. I pull out my phone, hesitating for a moment before finally deciding to reply to Emmy. This moment in the park, away from home, seems like the right place for the reflection I’ve been avoiding all day.

Me (message): “Emmy, I ... I’m not exactly sure what I feel. All of this is so new to me, and sometimes, it feels like I’m losing control. But I know I love talking to you, that I look forward to your messages. You mean more to me than I ever thought possible. I don’t know if it’s love, but I really want to know who you are behind all of this.” I read over my message several times, my heart pounding. Finally, I press “send,” my fingers slightly trembling, and I sit there on the bench, staring at my phone, as if a response might appear right away. But I know it’s not that simple. This could change everything between us, for better or worse.

Evening slowly falls, casting a gentle twilight over the house. I try to unwind after a long, exhausting day. I’m lying on the couch, but my mind is elsewhere. Since sending that message to Emmy, I haven’t heard anything back. The silence eats away at me, worry growing with each passing minute. Did I make a mistake being so honest? Did my openness scare her off? These questions swirl in my head, making it impossible to find any peace.

In an attempt to distract myself, I get up and decide to be productive. My parents are out for the evening, so it’s just Emma and me in the house. I figure a nice dinner might keep me busy and help me forget, even if just for a moment, this unbearable wait.

As I head toward the kitchen, I pass Emma’s room. Her door is slightly ajar, casting a thin strip of light into the dark hallway. I hesitate for a second, then decide to ask her if she’d like to join me for dinner.

Me: “Emma, I’m going to make dinner, do you want...” I push the door open slightly as I say the words, but my voice cuts off abruptly as a detail catches my eye: Emma is standing with her back to me, near her bed, in the middle of changing. She hasn’t noticed me, absorbed in her movement, and I freeze in place.

Everything slows as I stare at her, each second dragging longer than the last

A strange warmth rises in me, a physical reaction I immediately suppress with an intense wave of shame. What am I doing? This is Emma, for God’s sake! I shouldn’t be looking at her like this, much less feeling what I’m feeling.

But despite myself, my eyes remain fixed on her. I find myself noticing the details of her body, the grace of her silhouette. My heart beats faster, and an uncomfortable shiver runs down my spine. This is wrong—I know that. It’s terribly, undeniably wrong.

Finally, she makes a move to fully take off her bra, and that jolts me out of my stupor. Panicking, I step back quickly and quietly close the door, hoping the soft creak didn’t catch her attention. I stand there in the hallway, breathing hard, struggling against the wave of confusion that’s overtaken me.

What’s wrong with me? I can’t ... I shouldn’t...

I shake my head, as if that could clear the images from my mind, then make my way to the kitchen in a hurry, almost as if I’m running away. I need to get a grip. I can’t keep looking at Emma like this. It’s not just inappropriate; it’s downright dangerous.

Once in the kitchen, I try to focus on preparing dinner. I pull out the ingredients, laying them out on the counter, but my hands are trembling slightly. Images of Emma still linger in my mind, clouding my concentration.

She’s my little sister, for God’s sake ... I can’t look at her this way...

I stop, unable to finish the thought. A mix of guilt and desire churns inside me, leaving me more confused than ever. I need to pull myself together, to bring some order to my thoughts, no matter what it takes.

A few minutes later...

As I absentmindedly chop vegetables, I hear light footsteps in the hallway. Emma walks into the kitchen, casually dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, her hair still a bit tousled from changing.

Emma: “Need some help with dinner?” I jump slightly, surprised to see her appear so suddenly. I force a smile, trying to seem as normal as possible.

Me: “Uh, yeah, sure. I was thinking something simple, like pasta with sauce. That okay with you?” Emma nods, moving to the counter to grab a knife.

Emma: “Perfect. It’s been a while since we’ve eaten together, just the two of us.” I nod, but I can’t shake this lingering unease. I try to focus on what I’m doing, but every time our eyes meet, that strange tension returns, like a shadow I can’t quite brush away.

We work side by side in silence, each lost in thought. I concentrate on every task, trying not to let my mind drift to anything inappropriate. Emma’s closeness, usually familiar, feels unusually heavy with unspoken things I don’t dare name.

During dinner, Emma seems lighter, almost as if all her worries have vanished. She has a constant smile on her face, and I can’t help but wonder what’s put her in such a good mood. We chat about lighthearted things, sharing childhood memories and trading jokes. Her laughter is infectious, and despite myself, I find myself smiling.

Me: “What’s got you so happy today?” Emma glances at me quickly before focusing back on her plate, playing with her fork.

Emma: “Oh, nothing special, just a good day, I guess.” Her tone is casual, but I sense she’s holding something back. My mind immediately wanders to the idea that it could be about a guy. Curious, I decide to probe a little further.

Me: “Oh yeah? Nothing to do with a guy, maybe?” She bursts into laughter, clearly amused by my question, but she avoids answering directly.

Emma: “Pfft ... Maybe, maybe not. Why, are you interested?”

I shrug, feigning indifference, though a part of me is genuinely curious about what’s got her in such high spirits.

Me: “Just curious. You seem more ... radiant lately.” She gives me a sidelong glance, a mysterious smile tugging at the corner of her lips, but says nothing more.

As we finish dinner, Emma surprises me by suggesting we watch a movie together.

Emma: “Hey, would you want to watch a movie after? There’s this new one I’ve been wanting to see.” A romantic comedy wouldn’t usually be my first pick, but tonight, my mind is elsewhere, still wrapped up in my exchanges with Emmy.