Page 18 of Scarred Sins
She’s nice enough. She’s polite, keeps to herself, and rarely uses the common areas of the apartment. At one point, her boyfriend came over.
They probably thought I was asleep, then had sex in the living room. Unfortunately, I could hear all of it through the thin walls, and it’s not like they tried to keep it down, either.
That’s when I first started thinking about sex in a while.
Wren sounds like she enjoys it when they do it.
What’s it like to enjoy it?
From Layla’s stories, it’s supposed to be painful only the first couple of times, and even then, the pain is supposed to morph into pleasure beyond my knowledge. She often says how good it is to have an orgasm, especially after a stressful day.
She told me about various toys, too. It’s not like I can just trauma dump on her, so I lied and told her I was very inexperienced. It’s easier to lie than to even start remembering the nightmares.
Layla suggested masturbation, and I did give it a shot.
The moment I touched myself for the first time, bile rose in my throat, and I rushed to the bathroom, vomiting all over the cold tiles, puking my guts out.
Even my own touches felt invasive, dirty, and disgusting.
That’s the only time I did anything remotely sexual. I’m broken, and there’s nothing that can fix me. I’m bound to a lifetime of suffering because of what I was forced to endure.
I shake my head, forcing the thoughts away.
The other issue is the auction I managed to find online.
It took me a while to even land on a page that wasmaybeselling the tickets, even more to find a legitimate one where I could purchase it. Some motherfucker beat me to it, messing with my head as he continuously offered a mere hundred dollars over me.
I’m not surprised the tickets were being sold left and right for that much money. It’s no secret that politicians have a lot of enemies, and just like all other social gatherings, this one can very well be another money-laundering scheme, or worse.
Until the very last minute, I thought I had a chance of winning.
However, as soon as I saw the message on the screen with my name on it, I froze. The tears came quickly after that, and no matter how much I tried to make the situation even remotely reasonable, there was no logical explanation.
All I can think about, even now, days later, is that it could be the stalker.
With a groan, I roll over on my stomach, burying my face in my soft pillow. The duvet covers me entirely, with my head peeking through it, uncovered. My breathing is shallow, my mind trying to make sense of it all.
Someone knows about me, and he is not shy to show it.
Why would he snatch the ticket right out of my hands? In fact, why not offer an insane amount of money immediately? Why play around with me?
The thoughts of the unknown man don’t leave my head.
For now, he isn’t dangerous. In fact, if he did kill those two men back in Long Grove because of me –forme, and given the extravagant gifts he’s been sending, I don’t think he’s dangerous for me.
The reasonable part of me wishes to listen to the stalker. He’s never shown anything malicious toward me, and if he says that it’s dangerous for me to be there, it probably is. But he doesn’t know why I’m going, why I’m so determined to see it for myself.
Why does the thought of going there and seeing the stalker for myself give me butterflies? Why does it make me feel safe?
I sit up in the bed, straightening up. My hair is messy, sticking every which way, mouth parted. I grip the thick duvet, hugging it closer to my body and clinging onto it for warmth.
The only reason I’ll go to the banquet is because I know that the monster of my nightmares will be there.
You barely have basic survival skills, Blair. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.
I scowl, closing my eyes.
It’s true.
