August 8, 2007, Evans’ residence. Victoria and Jez.

I.

Victoria and Jez had gotten off early from work at the store, due to the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Dien had actually come in for once.

Getting off early from work on such a particularly boring, slow afternoon, when Victoria’s parents weren’t home meant one thing.

They stumbled up the stairs stopping every couple of steps for frenzied kisses, frantically groping at one another, and Jez trying to get Victoria’s t-shirt off in the process.

II.

Victor Evans hated the dead of summer more than any other time of year. The office was swelteringly hot, and he was annoyed with everyone. Seeing as he was the head of the law firm, he could leave early. And he did. He wanted some alone time, before Dustin and Dwayne came screaming into the house after soccer practice, and Anita too, whining and moaning on at him, as she was apt to do. As for Victoria, she was supposed to be working late at Bleeding Vinyl, and then spending the night at the Leto’s.

He pulled into the driveway, humming along with the radio, feeling almost cheery, now that he had left the office. As soon as he actually got out of the car though, he’s spirits plummeted. Victoria was home. Not only that, but the reason he knew she was home was that she was blasting some horrible death metal with her bedroom window wide open, so that the whole street could hear. He growled a not-so-menacing threat and stormed into the kitchen.

“Victoria! Turn down that racket!” No response. He stomped halfway up the stairs and paused on the landing.

“Victoria!” Still no response. He stormed up the rest of the stairs and faced her Britney Spears door poster. The music was so loud that he blonde silhouette shook; a roar of meaningless words and chords – an escape.

“Turn it down!” he yelled, already knowing she wouldn’t hear. He flung open the bedroom door – “Goddamnit, Victoria Anita!-” and froze.

III.

Her long, fiery, gold-streaked mane tumbled down her back in a waterfall of curls, a brilliant contrast to the creamy, ghostly pale skin of her back. She was upright in bed, but moving, thrusting and grinding to the heavy, thrashing beat of the music, and he couldn’t understand what she was doing, or what was going on, until he noticed the hand on her back, creeping up her body until it entangled itself in her hair.

And then, through the music, came a low, unmistakably male moan.

“You like that?” Her voice was breathless, gasping, excited. Both of his hands were on her now, pulling her closer, clutching her hips so hard that he must be leaving bruises behind. She giggled wildly, almost as if she knew they had an audience, and leaned forward to bite the boy’s neck. He groaned and yanked on her hair.

Mr. Evans slammed the door behind him. Finally, Victoria heard him. She looked around, suddenly, and an expression of shock crossed her face. Then, a wicked grin.

“Hi, Daddy,” she giggled. The boy beneath her sat up sharply, brushing golden hair out of sleepy brown eyes. Jezebel.

“Fuck,” he mumbled.

“Oh, shut up.” Victoria pushed him back down, and somehow it started all over again, as if her father had never been there at all.

Mr. Evans went down to the kitchen to wait.

III.