Page 54 of Hollowed

God, I did.

Not just his cock. Not just his voice. Not even his hands.

I wanted the weight of him against my back.

I wanted to be split open again, not because I needed to be broken—but because I wanted to feel something louder than silence.

I wanted to be reminded.

That I hadn’t been erased.

That I had been chosen.

His breath shifted across the room.

I heard him rise.

But I didn’t move.

I didn’t have to.

His steps were slow. Measured. Every one of them closer.

And when he stopped behind me, I didn’t turn.

I whispered,

“She never stayed, did she?”

He didn’t speak.

But I felt it. The way his silence sharpened.

“My mother.”

He breathed in. Once. Held it.

Then exhaled the truth.

“She begged to forget.”

I nodded.

“And me?”

His fingers brushed my jaw.

Lifted my face.

“You begged to be remembered.”

I turned then.

Faced him.

And saw the wreckage beneath the stillness. The way his mouth twitched like it wanted to speak more than it should. The way his hands hovered like they wanted to worship but didn’t know where to begin.

“I never meant to be kept,” I said.

---