I'm Not Sam by Jack Ketchum, Lucky McKee Read Free Book Online

Now they break apart. Zoey stares at me from the foot of the bed. 
    She gets up and meanders over. I scratch her neck and chin and she tilts her head back and closes her eyes, content. When I stop she steps onto my lap and nuzzles my chin. Breakfast time. 
    “In a minute, baby. Got to piss.” I step into my jeans. Tuck in my tee shirt. Habit. It slightly amazes me that I still have habits. 
    On the way to the bathroom I can hear the TV. Cartoon voices. Lily’s already awake.  
    The guy I see in the mirror disturbs me so I don’t dwell on him. I just finish my business and get out of there. 
    In the living room Lily’s kneeling in front of the TV set, watching a commercial for Sid the Science Kid. 
    She’s also naked to the waist. 
    There’s that mole. 
    She hears me behind her and turns and smiles. 
    “’Morning, Patrick.” 
    Even after all these years it is wholly impossible not to take in her breasts. 
    Sam’s breasts are small. You can cup one in each hand and not get much overflow. They’re quite pale. So pale that in a few places you can see the dim blue traces of vein beneath the flesh, traces of vulnerability I always thought. Her areolae are a very light brown, almost perfectly round and about an inch wide. Her nipples are pink and a quarter-inch long at all times, permanently erect. 
    And her nipples have a direct phone line to her cunt. I’ve made her come dozens and dozens of times without ever going below her waist. 
    If she notices me looking at them she doesn’t show it. 
    “Something wrong?” she says. 
    “Where’s your pajama top, Lily?” 
    “On the bed. It got hot.” 
    “Why don’t you go get it for me, okay?” 
    “I’m still hot!” 
    “Girls are not supposed to run around with their tops off, Lily.” 
    “Who says?” 
    “I say. Trust me.” 
    She sighs again. I’m getting used to that sigh. But she gets off her knees and stomps past me toward the bedroom and as she goes by she brushes my bare left arm with her right breast. 
    I could practically swear she’s done this on purpose. 
    Like she’s flouting her body, flirting with me.  
    But that’s impossible. How can she know how this makes me feel? If this were Sam she’d damn well know of course. Sam’s very self-aware. But Lily? 
    The answer is, she can’t. She hasn’t got a clue. Kneeling there in front of the TV she was the picture of innocence. Brushing against me’s just the sullen, pouty thing any kid might do who isn’t getting her way. 
    Forget about it, I tell myself. 
    Sure. 
     
    I’ve showered and shaved and dressed and as I’m cleaning up the dishes she appears in the kitchen doorway. 
    “What are we doing today, Patrick? Can we go on the ’puter some more?” 
    “Actually, I need you to get in the shower for me and then get dressed, okay?” 
    “Ugh! I hate the shower!” 
    No she doesn’t. 
    “Water gets all in my eyes. Can’t I do a bath instead?” 
    It’s all the same to me. “Okay. You want to run the water or should I?” 
    “You do it.” 
    I finish up the dishes and run her a tub, bend over and test the water with my hand. 
    “Ready,” I tell her. 
    I stand and turn and there she is in front of me, naked, naturally, clueless again, her pajamas in a heap on the floor. Jesus wept. I avert my eyes. I pick up her pajamas and get the hell out of there. 
    Sam is a neat-freak but Lily obviously isn’t. Her clothes from the day before lie on the floor of her bedroom where she dropped them in a more-or-less straight line from the door to the bed. Shoes, tee shirt, jeans, panties, socks. 
    I make her bed and fold her pajamas and put them in a drawer. But for them, the drawer’s empty. If this goes on much longer, if Sam’s going to be Lily for a while, I should probably move more of her stuff from our room to this one but I’m damned if I’m going to do that right now. We’ve got this MRI coming up at noon. Nothing changes any more than it has to