I watch him from the bed, noting the blood on his collar.
It’s still red, not yet brown, so I know it’s fresh.
He doesn't explain it. I don't ask.
"Same as last night," he says, shucking off his pants. "Though, you might want to...I don't know...fake a moan, touch your clit, something."
He looks pale in the moonlight, and I can tell this bothers him. His words lack their usual cruelty.
Good.
This should be painful for someone other than me. For once, I shouldn’t be the only one who suffers.
He's already hard this time, and I suspect he prepared himself before he came in here.
I lie back without being told. I don't respond to his words. I'm not going to make this easier on him, even if it means I suffer.
There will be no clit touching.
He can fuck me dry.
He groans, rolls his eyes, and pushes my nightgown up.
His thrust is hard and dry. No preamble. No checking if I'm ready. Just—in.
I bite my lip against the burn. Saint doesn't seem inclined to try and make it easier—probably punishing me for not finger-fucking myself in preparation.
Oh well.
He fucks me with the same detached efficiency he uses for everything else. Long, deep strokes. Chasing his release. Using me.
There's a lovely floral wallpaper on the ceiling. I count the orchids. Dissociating.
Forty-seven. Forty-eight. Forty-nine.
He finishes with a grunt. I shiver at the warmth of his spill and barely notice when he rolls off.
"Until tomorrow," he says, already rolling off the bed and buckling his pants.
I go to the bathroom, shower, and when I come back, he's gone. He'll slip in at some point, sleep, and then leave.
It takes three days for me to leave the bedroom.
Lyla brings meals, which I appreciate.
Today, she’s realized I function on carbs and coffee, and she’s brought me a croissant, fruit, and a carafe of thick, black Columbia roast.
I hold onto my cup as I slip out of the room.
I don't go far. Mostly because I don't know where the hell I'm going. I'd been too in my head when Saint gave me the "tour," and I'm too scared to venture far from my room. Lord knows who I could run into.
But the room feels smaller by the minute, and I need to get out.
I don't know how Sera did this, played this part.
It's been two days, and I feel like I'm drowning.
I miss school, my apartment. Hell, I miss my mother. My relationship with Bianca was fraught, but there were times when I felt like she was the only person who’d ever seen me.
