Page 51 of The Sniper

Heavy, like everything inside it had absorbed what we’d just done.

Noah’s breath was slow beneath me, steady, warm against my hair. One of his hands was tracing circles down my back—light, gentle, like he thought I might vanish if he touched me too firmly. And I didn’t move. I just stayed there, tucked under his chin, limbs tangled with his, the sweat cooling on our skin.

Then the tears came.

Quiet, at first. So soft I thought maybe he wouldn’t notice. Just a few that slipped from the corners of my eyes and soaked into his chest. They didn’t come with gasps or sobs, not this time. No wailing. No falling apart. Just slow, aching drops that felt too heavy to hold back anymore.

I kept my face buried against him, hoping if I didn’t lift my head, he wouldn’t feel it.

But he stilled.

His hand froze on my back. His chest stopped moving for just a second. And I knew he’d felt them.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask.

And I think that was worse.

Because I wasn’t ready to explain.

I rolled away from him slowly, careful not to look him in the eyes as I pulled the sheet around me. My body still ached from the way he’d moved inside me—deep, unrelenting, like he was trying to get to the part of me that nothing else could reach.

Only now, all I felt was hollow.

I sat up on the edge of the bed, sheet clutched to my chest, and let the silence settle around us like dust. The only sound was the faint ticking of a wall clock and the occasional drip of water from the bathroom faucet. I stared at the floor. At my toes curled into the rug. At the place on the wall where his shadow still fell.

And then I whispered it.

“I was a virgin.”

The words didn’t come out as a confession. Just a truth I couldn’t hold inside anymore.

His breath caught.

“I was saving myself,” I said, quieter now. “For marriage. For love. For something … safe.”

A pause. Long enough for shame to creep in and wrap cold fingers around my throat.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” I said. “Not after seeing my daddy’s body. Not with grief thick in my throat and everything inside me numb. I don’t know why I did it. I just?—”

I stopped.

Because the truth was, I did know.

I wanted to feel something other than death.

Something warm. Something alive.

And I thought maybe if I gave the thing I’d guarded the longest, it would hurt less.

But it didn’t.

It only hurt more.

Noah sat up behind me, still silent, and I could feel him watching me—like he was afraid I might shatter if he moved too fast.

“I’m not blaming you,” I said, eyes fixed on the floor. “I’m not saying you made me do anything I didn’t want to. I wanted to. I asked for it. I came to you.”

Another tear slipped down my cheek, catching on my jaw.

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