I'm going to sleep in his bed tonight, and he might hold me.
I'm spending Valentine's Day with a serial killer who knows my darkest secrets and thinks I'm exceptional.
I start laughing. Quietly at first, then harder, until tears are streaming down my face and I'm not sure if I'm laughing or crying or both. The sound echoes off the tile walls, and I let it happen, let the hysteria work its way through my system until I'm empty and calm again.
Then I pee, wash my hands, splash water on my face, and look at myself in the mirror.
I look different. Something in my eyes has changed. I look like someone who's been through something and survived it. I look like someone who might actually be brave.
I look like one of my heroines.
When I emerge from the bathroom, he's gone.
The aftercare room is empty except for the lingering warmth of his presence and the quiet hum of the climate control system.I stand there for a moment, absorbing the silence, then make my way to the refrigerator he mentioned.
Inside, I find water bottles, a selection of cheeses arranged on a wooden board, fresh fruit cut into bite-sized pieces, crackers, and some kind of cured meat. It's the kind of thoughtful, curated spread that someone puts together when they want to make sure you have options without overwhelming you with choices.
He thought about this. About what I might need in the middle of the experience.
This isn't a lunch or a dinner, but abreak.
He planned for my break. For my safe word.
I don't even know how to process this so… I just eat slowly, savoring each bite. The cheese is sharp and creamy, the fruit perfectly ripe, the water cold and clean. I hadn't realized how hungry I was until I started eating, and now my body demands more with an urgency that surprises me.
By the time I'm finished, I feel almost human again. Restored. Ready.
I walk to the door of the aftercare station, take one last look at the room where I broke down crying and confessed things I've never told anyone, and step outside.
The jungle greets me with its wall of heat and green and the constant symphony of insects and birds. The air smells like flowers and rain and something else underneath—earth, maybe, or the sea.
There's a card pinned to a tree directly in front of me.
I pull it off the nail and turn it over, reading the poem…
Footsteps echo, jungle deep,
Naked skin meets morning air.
Follow pathways, do not weep,
Station Three awaits you there.
Headphones fastened, blindfold tight,
Darkness guides your senses keen.
Jungle whispers, day to night,
Commands will flow, like a stream.
Run now wildly, breathe the thrill,
Chase begins when you take flight.
Hunters prowl with practiced skill,
Seeking pleasures you won't fight.
