Why does it even bother me that the cold is biting? It never did before. I’ve survived winters here for years, survived on my own without needing someone, without wanting to be held or cared for.
But that asshole took that from me. And now the loneliness is unbearable.
And I just don’t want anyone . . . I want him.
But no matter how much I try to convince myself it was awful, most everything wasn’t. It was intense, and I wish he would’ve gone easier—definitely wish he’d have lost the paddle, but that was the only real unpleasant part.
Then the fucker also had to hold me, and I fell asleep in his arms.
Fuck him for that too.
I push open the door to the blue house, then slam it.
The sun sets as I stomp up the stairs to the bedroom, my appetite gone, even though I haven’t eaten today.
His fault again.
My thighs clench, my belly full of heat, like it has been most nights.
So, I crawl onto the bed and under the blankets, reaching into my pants and start to jerk off.
But it only makes me more frustrated.
My fingers trail lower, and I push one inside my asshole, hoping, like I have other nights, maybe this time I’ll be able to replicate the pleasure he gave me, prove I don't need him.
One finger becomes two and while I finger fuck my ass, it’s not the same.
Even my release brings no relief.
So, after I clean myself, I curl into a tight ball under a mound of blankets, staring at the chimney smoke as I cry myself to sleep.
I could go back.
Yesterday the idea consumed me. But I stayed put because despite my best efforts to hide, Mac can find me if he really wants to.
So why hasn't he come after me?
Tears flow over my nose, then drip onto the pillow. He doesn’t want me, that's why.
I’m just the dumbass kid he needs to rescue. The stupid deer running scared.
Hell, I couldn’t even control what I was feeling that night. Didn’t understand what was happening to me.
I try to close my eyes, to get some rest, but Mac continues to plague my thoughts, my dreams.
And it's tearing me apart.
Chapter 10
Two weeks later, I stand on his porch. I don’t remember the trek up the hill. Panic flutters weakly inside my skull, but my stomach is growling something fierce.
When was the last time I've eaten?
I’ve been collecting some canned food, but most days I don’t have an appetite. Lately, all I’ve been doing is sleeping.
Or crying.
The front door swings open, and Mac stands there, arms crossed, face growing somber by the second.
