Page 106 of The Demons We Hide

I snuggle closer and for a fleeting moment, I wish he was my dad. Uncle Morpheus takes care of me in a way my own parents never have.

Sometime later, I’m lowered onto a mattress. Soft and plump and full, I release a slow breath as I sink deep into the comfort of the blankets and pillows.

“Juliet…” Uncle Morpheus’ voice calls out to me and I groan in dismay as he grips me and sits me up. “Come now, Pretty Girl. Take this, it’ll make you feel better.”

Uncle Morpheus presses something small and dusty tasting to my lips. I grimace but part them obediently. Once it’s on my tongue, the taste gets worse, and I gag until he presses a cool glass of water to my mouth. I gulp down the liquid greedily, drinking more than I need to get rid of the awful taste. Hopefully, though, whatever he gave me will make sure my hangover tomorrow won’t be so bad that I can’t show up to mom’s dumb activities. If I miss that I know I’ll be in a world of trouble.

“Alright, good girl,” he murmurs. “Now your dress. We need to get it off you. You’ll be too uncomfortable sleeping in your clothes.”

“Nooo.” I whine as I feel his fingers plucking at the strings of my dress holding it up around my neck.

His low chuckle is full of an emotion I don’t recognize, making him sound strained. My eyelashes flutter open to find him staring at me, round eyes locked on my face and then lower. He carefully plucks my phone from my bra and sets it on the nightstand of the hotel room.

“This dress was very… revealing,” he continues, sliding a fingertip beneath the fabric along my chest. I shiver and frown, scooting back against the headboard.

“M-mom picked it out,” I say. I hadn’t even wanted to come, much less wear it.

“Did she?”

I try to roll away, but he tsks at me and straightens me once more, his hands becoming more firm as he unties my top and then tugs the dress down. I go still as he works it down my chest and over my hips until I’m left in nothing more than my thong and bra.

“You liked wearing it, though, didn’t you?” Uncle Morpheus asks, that same tension in his voice as he speaks. “Pretty girls like it when the boys look, don’t you, Juliet?”

I shake my head. “N-no one was…” My tongue thickens and sticks to the roof of my mouth, choking off my words as Uncle Morpheus returns to me. Instead of offering me a shirt or something to sleep in, he reaches behind me and before I realize what’s happening my bra loosens and drops away.

I cover myself. “U-uncle Morpheus?”

What is he doing? Why…

“God, I’ve always wanted to see these perfect tits of yours.” His words don’t match the man in front of me. They can’t. My uncle would never…

His hands grip my wrists and pull them away from my chest. The air in all these hotel rooms is set at a balmy sixty-nine degrees, and the second my nipples are visible, they pucker into hard little points. I press my legs together as my breath rushes in—faster and faster.

What’s happening? What is he doing? Why is he doing this?

Uncle Morpheus groans and reaches for one of my breasts. Cupping it in his hand and squeezing, he comes down on top of me, pressing my back into the headboard at first and then gripping my hips and yanking me to the bed. I’m underneath him and his body is on top of mine. It’s everywhere, heavy and too warm, and shock fills my bones with lead.

My breath chokes from me, fleeing and escaping in a way I can’t. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I move? Why can’t I… I stare up at the face of the man that I’ve known since I was a child. Uncle Morpheus. Dad’s best friend and business partner. Morpheus Calloway. Philanthropist. Accounting genius. Kind friend. Uncle.

He doesn’t look like any of those things now.

Dimly, I can feel my legs being pushed apart. Uncle Morpheus groans. Cool air washes over my naked skin. My lips part, but nothing comes out. Not a sound. Not a whimper. Not a scream.

No.I mentally push the word towards my mouth, trying to force it out. It never comes.No. No. No!

Cold air over my breasts. Down my thighs. My dress is gone. All of my clothes are gone.

Tears prick at the back of my eyes, and Uncle Morpheus’ face comes into view again. I hadn’t even realized that he’d moved farther down. “Oh, no, don’t cry, Pretty Girl,” he murmurs, swiping a thumb along my cheek. To my utter horror, he presses the teardrop into his mouth and sucks it clean. “I’ll let you feel good too. You’ve been such a tease wearing your pretty dresses, but now you’re going to give me what I’ve been wanting, aren’t you? Yes, you are.”

I’m going to throw up. I can feel the need, the heavy weight of sickness rolling through me. Somehow, though, my body refuses to give me even that much power. I have no control of myself—not my limbs, not my words, not even my insides.

Morpheus presses a light kiss to the corner of my slack mouth. I’m awake and aware, but… I can’t move, only stare up at him and listen to the sounds of his belt buckle jingling as he unfastens it.

This isn’t real.

No, of course not. Uncle Morpheus loves me. He’s family. He would never do this.

This is just a bad dream.

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