Page 46 of Reckoning

“I don’t believe in sex before marriage.” I say, playing my trump card.

His eyes narrow, he grits his teeth in obvious annoyance and then that charm comes back. “Then let’s go to Vegas now.” He replies and it sounds like he isn’t joking.

I let out a little giggle. A flirty one. Like I’d just walk down the aisle and marry a man I don’t even know because I’m that desperate to fuck him.

He tightens his grip on my thigh, sloppily kissing me again before he stares into my eyes and says, “You’re going to be mine, Sofia. And I’ll take care of you. I’ll protect you the way only a husband can.”

I can’t help the chill that runs up my spine because those words, they feel like an omen. It feels like right now, Otto is making some sort of prophecy and that my fate is already sealed.

* * *

I wake noton the floor, not where I know I should be, but on the bed. My sheets are sprawled about me but that’s not the most concerning thing.

No.

I feel wet. I feel… surely not, surely that’s not possible?

My eyes dart about the room. I don’t know what I expect to see. I don’t know what answers I’m seeking but there’s nothing there. It’s just me in the pale morning light.

I know I didn’t have sexy dreams. I know what I spent the night imagining was nothing short of the worst horrors imaginable so why does it feel like I’m aroused? What kind of fucked up shit am I into?

I get out of bed, force myself to take a shower. My clit feels like it’s throbbing. I haven’t touched myself, haven’t made myself come in so long because I don’t want to feel attractive. I don’t want to feel sexy. I’ve had zero desire for anything, period.

And yet right now it’s like my body is begging for something.

I drop my hand between my thighs, I tease myself but it doesn’t feel enough, no matter what I do, how I touch myself, it feels like my body wants something else, that it craves a touch that isn’t mine, as if I haven’t had enough foreign hands on me.

What the fuck is going on?

My heart is hammering in my chest. I’m practically crying with a need I don’t understand. I try to use the shower head to get some relief but even that does nothing. Is this how normal people react? How their bodies suddenly just wake up aroused and horny?

I give up, leaving myself even more unsatisfied and turn the shower off.

Downstairs the TV is on, just as I left it last night. But as I walk past the screen I freeze. My eyes dart back to the image, to the words flashing along the bottom.

And any thoughts about sex seem to die entirely.

This can’t be real. It can’t be happening.

I can feel my body shaking, can feel my heart thumping so loudly in my chest.

I flick from one news channel to another but it’s the same image, the same words.

He’s hanging there, crucified.

I never knew his name. No, we weren’t exactly introduced in any civilised manner. I know the feel of his hands, the bruises his fists left, the way his teeth felt when he was biting into my skin. I know the sound of his grunt when he was getting what he wanted, taking what he wanted.

All that is seared into my memory. But his name, until today, that was a mystery.

Christian Moran.

He sounds human. He sounds like an actual person and not a monster.

I bite my tongue so hard I can taste my blood as I stare at that image. I should feel relieved that he’s gone. Relieved that one more bastard is dead and will soon be rotting. And yet I don’t, if anything it makes me even more on edge because who the fuck is doing this? Who the fuck is behind this? Is this another part of the mind games? Am I being set up for murder now?

I pour myself a glass of water, neck it back, then pour another. My hand shakes so violently I end up spiling half the contents all over the countertop and down myself.

If I was smarter, if I was more shrewd I’d be playing my own games but they didn’t exactly turn out well the last time. I’m not stupid enough to believe it would end any differently a second time around.

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