Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
I could also blame my parents for keeping me guarded so strictly. That’s who I blamed after the near scandal with my college professor. Had they given me a little freedom, if they allowed me to experience life, on any level, I don’t think I would have been as susceptible to the small amount of attention I was paid as a freshman. I wouldn’t be turned on by a psychopath if I had been given a chance to go out and live a normal life.
Tears streak down my face for my own depravity, and I have to dash them away with the back of my hand. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t smile or taunt me because I’m upset. He also doesn’t look pleased. The worst part of all of this is that he watches me the same way I watch him. His eyes graze down my cheek, following the multitude of tears that I can’t seem to stop.
His promise means nothing as he tugs the blanket a little bit higher up on his chest. He said don’t be scared of that, of that type of assault. But he’s in bed beside me, and that is all I can think about.
He pulls his eyes from mine as he lifts the television remote, pointing it at the screen. It goes black before a whirring sound fills the room as it slides back into its hidden spot in the footboard. He turns over, angling his back in my direction, and turns off the bedside lamp.
He’s not afraid of me. He’s not scared or worried that I’m going to hurt him in the middle of the night. There’s no reason he should be, despite what’s happened. My mind keeps going back to the fact that physically, he hasn’t hurt me. I don’t know if I can fight him. I don’t know if I can hurt him, physically. Even though he hasn’t done that to me, I know I wouldn’t win.
I refuse to think about the fact that’s not the main reason why. I don’t know if he changed his mind or if he’s just uncomfortable, but he rolls back over, the overhead light still shining bright. His eyes are closed, those sandy brown eyelashes resting fully on his cheek. When he moves again, I startle, a knee-jerk reaction.
He twists in the middle, grabbing a different remote, and then the room goes dark. I’m left sitting, staring into emptiness, my heart pounding in my chest. If he has nefarious plans, I’ll never see it coming. I can only assume he’s going to hurt me when his body moves again, but all I feel is a soft touch—a brush, probably the tip of only one finger, on my leg and then it’s gone. It was so brief, I could convince myself that I imagined it. That it didn’t happen. That he didn’t finally cross that line.
He doesn't apologize. There are no whispered words in the darkness, but he also doesn’t reach for me again. I sit there for what feels like hours, adrenaline rushing fast enough to give me a headache, but he doesn’t move again. His breathing is low and steady, rhythmic enough that I convince myself that he’s asleep.
I wonder if I’ll ever get the chance to look back at this moment. If I’ll be rescued and asked to tell the full story, to give every single gritty detail about my stay here. Would they ask me why I didn’t try to smother him or why I didn’t try to hurt him to get away? Because I don’t touch him, and I don’t know the answer as to why I don’t.
I tried to imagine myself being free of him. I tried to picture what it would look like, but overpowering him, for some reason doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t feel right deep inside of me as that’s what I need to do. I want to shake him awake and insist that he leave. I want more promises from him. I want an agreement of sorts. I want to be able to ask for things and get them—like him sleeping in another room, which he did before now. I want privacy to shower and use the restroom. I want meals that don’t consist of things I’d never pick for myself if I’m going to be his captive.
I should have more accommodations. I scoff, covering my mouth with my hand the second the sound escapes. I don’t want him to wake up but my thoughts are leading me to ridiculous places. Maybe this is part of that insanity.
The man forced me to make myself come in the shower. It wasn’t what I wanted. But did he make you watch him when he jacked off beside you in the bed? The answer to that is yes.
I tried to pull my eyes away. I tried to not watch him. I didn’t feel threatened in that moment. I wasn’t worried he was going to hurt me. There was no silent command to keep my eyes on him but that didn’t make it any less of a choice. There was no choice. I was in a trance.