“You told me not to cry.”
My breath shakes.
“I didn’t?—”
“You did.”
His thumb presses against my lips.
“You promised you wouldn’t let him take me.” His breath stutters. “But you didn’t stay.”
The floor feels too far away.
The walls are pressing too close.
The chain drags cold against my ankle, my skin raw where the cuff rubs, but I can’t move.
Because what if he’s not lying?
What if I was there?
What if I don’t remember?
What if I already broke him once?
His thumb presses harder against my lips until they part, until I taste the salt of his sweat, until I taste something I’m not supposed to.
“You begged me to be good,” he whispers, his voice slipping, raw and childlike. “You begged me not to scream.” My throat locks. “You told me we’d go to the quiet place if I didn’t make a sound.”
The quiet place.
Something flickers in the back of my skull.
A pulse.
A static hum.
A word I don’t remember knowing.
I shake my head.
I shake it too fast.
Like I can shake it loose.
But it stays.
It lingers.
The quiet place.
His breath drags across my temple, his grip shaking.
“You told me the quiet place would be safe.” His mouth ghosts over my ear, soft and filthy. “You told me we’d stay there forever.” My pulse fractures. “You told me we’d never come back.”
His other hand drags up the chain, pulling it taut, coiling it tighter, winding me closer like he’s afraid I’ll vanish again.
“And then you left me.” His voice breaks. “You left me there.”
