Page 52 of Darkened Promises

As soon as my release starts, her walls tighten around me, her eyes fluttering as she comes with me. Each pulse of her muscles pulls out more of my release until we both slump against each other.

“Rosy, I…”

“No. No apologies or take backs, Bry. You gave me something for me. I wanted this between us. Please don’t think I didn’t.” Her breathing is still shallow, her skin still coated in a sheen of sweat, and the pulse in her neck still erratic. “I needed this for me, for us. I wanted every moment we just had together.”

She’s never looked more beautiful.

TWENTY-EIGHT

ROSY

I slip from the bed, forcing my legs to steady when they almost stumble on my route to the bathroom, desperately trying to stay quiet to have a moment to myself. Nate’s the only one left with me this morning, still asleep in the bed.

Yesterday felt better. I’d taken something back for myself and had the most perfect time with Bry. There wasn’t any moment I’d felt triggered or taken back to him. Bry made me feel loved and cared for in a way I didn’t know I needed.

I welcomed his touch, and his need for me to consent almost had me in tears because it was exactly what I needed him to ask me. To give me back a voice and to allow me the control to feel safe.

For a time, I almost felt like me again.

He looked at me with awe, with lust, and with love. Not the usual pity, guilt, or worry they all seem to direct my way.

My hands grip the sink as I stare at my reflection, frantically looking for any trace of me left. I need to find it. However I can’t see through the tears that keep sliding down my cheeks.

These more familiar feelings of hatred and disgust are too ugly, too painful after the brief reprieve Bry gave me. Last night’s dreams were so real and oily that they coat and infect everything inside me. It isn’t Bry’s hands on me I can still feel, it’s his.

His cold fingers twisting my skin. The burning heat searing through me.

His.

His palms reverently stroking my skin, praising and caressing.

His.

His chilled hands gripping my hips, digging in painfully and taking.

His.

I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want to be broken.

I want out. Out of this body, of this head, of this whole life.

Falling to my knees, I scream into a towel until there’s no sound left, until my lungs are raw with the burning pain. Anger swirls inside me, heat rising as I let it consume me rather than fight to bottle it away.

Fuck everything. Fuck all this bullshit.

It’s an inferno rising and leaking out of me, and now that I’ve let it escape, I can’t seem to hold any back.

I’m angry at him.

I’m angry at the world for throwing me another shitty hand to survive.

And I’m angry at myself for wondering, why me?

A choked sob escapes me, and I curl into a tight ball, trying to hold all the fragile pieces of myself together.

What did I do so wrong to get picked?

A raw, wailing sound escapes from my chest as I let out the grief and the hurt, unable to hold back the biting emotions. I don’t know how to live in a world that feels so altered, so different. More tears blur my vision, the steam fizzling out before leaving me hollow and cold.