I’ve been consumed with thoughts of Silas, forced to admit to myself that I loved every moment of what happened. The terror, the hazy suspension of reality as his grip tightened around my neck. My body craves him to the point that I even tried to make myself come. He’s the only person who’s touched me like that, which has to be why I’m reacting this way. Surely, if I can figure out how to make myself come properly, I can move on with my life, get back to hating him, and focus on finding a way to stay in college after the semester is over.
At the very least, I should be reporting him for murder. But then I remember Mark admitting to drugging my drink, and all thoughts of turning him in evaporate. After the cliff, I spent all night in the shower, scrubbing my body clean but also desperatelytrying to dull the throbbing need Silas left me with. My unskilled fingers rubbed and flicked, but anytime I started to get close, embarrassment would crash into me, stalling the orgasm.
I wasn’t upset he killed Mark. Not at all. If I’m honest with myself, I liked it. Delighted in the way Silas let me use him first—flipped the situation around so I was in control—before putting a bullet in the rapist’s skull.
Those are the types of thoughts I normally keep locked away, even from myself. I know how messed up it is, realize that forcing Mark to go down on me at gunpoint is also rape, but being that the guy talked openly about delivering women and children—and how wellIwould sell—I don’t feel one ounce of remorse.
And god above, the dream I had last week… It felt so real, like Silas somehow heard every wicked fantasy I’d had and fulfilled them.I really need to see a therapist.
Just like every day this week, I banish the shameful thoughts and wake before the sun, donning a boring long skirt and loose top. My fingers reach for the silver cross on my nightstand, skimming over the sleek metal. I’ve worn it every day since seventh grade. Mother said it would protect me. Jonathan claimed that’s how people would know I wasn’t a whore. But both of those things were lies.
Withdrawing my hand, I reach for the brush instead. Nagging doubts swirl in my mind, the cross glaring at me from its untouched position. If I manage to eradicate everything they’ve forced on me—submission, obedience, quiet compliancy—will I even exist? If I dig myself out of the grave they tossed me into, will there still be a life waiting for me? Or is it too late? Because it feels like all that I once was—everything I was meant to be—was killed long ago.
I reach for a tie to braid my hair back but pause, staring at my reflection. Sleep clings to me, my hair frizzy from the swift untangling as I stand in front of the mirror. I’m exhausted, butthe haunted vacancy in my eyes that’s been subtly creeping in over the last ten years is gone. Confusion and a morbid sense of curiosity stare back at me in its place, and it sure as hell beats the numbness I’ve grown accustomed to. I blink, tugging up my sleeve to stare at the thin silver scars on the inside of my arm. They’re healed. More importantly, I haven’t thought about making new ones since I started college.
Not allowing myself to linger on the reasons behind that—or rather,who—I creep down the stairs and pad toward the door. Walking to campus and studying in the library at ungodly hours of the morning has worked out well for reaching top marks in my classes—and for avoiding a certain someone. Today is no exception.
Thick textbooks filled with biology basics weigh my backpack down, all annotated with various tabs and color-coded notes. I admit Physical Geology wasn’t what I had in mind when I decided on Marine Biology, but learning about the formation and evolution of Earth and all of its habitats has allowed me to appreciate Oceanic and Atmospheric Sciences much more. A few days ago, class was canceled in favor of a trip to La Jolla Cove to study tide pools in real life.
This is my first semester, but it’s already been the best of my life. I know it will only hurt me in the end, but I can’t help dreaming of continuing classes. If I had time for the prerequisites, I’d love to take a geophysics course to better understand how seismology, gravity, and magnetic fields affect animal migration and habitat selection.
It's a dream I can’t let go of. And maybe that’s why I allow myself to indulge in the daydreams of being a different person—of having the option of crafting a life of my own. One where I’d have independence, a career, and a love strong enough to burn through all of my baggage.
My heart skips as the stairssqueakbeneath my feet. I can’t help but glance up. Each morning I creep past his roomwondering if his door will be open this time. Anticipation wilts as I find Silas’s door closed, hiding the paintings I know he’s crafting. Logically, I’ve made up my mind to let him go, but my body doesn’t agree. Not in the slightest.
My phone rings, the screen lighting up with a picture of my mother. I ignore it as I head out the door and make my way to campus. The notification of a voicemail shows up moments later. I read through the transcript, not having the energy to listen to the disappointment lacing my mother’s voice. She does, indeed, let me know it looks poorly on the family not to show up for lunch again. She expects me to attend this weekend. Apparently, Jonathan is bringing a friend I’m supposed to impress.
With a groan, I swipe and hit delete before I can think too much about it.
My guilty conscience leads me into the heart of the university. If a higher power does exist, I hope not for the first time, that they can’t hear the turmoil of my thoughts as I stare up at the towering cathedral. It’s beautiful, with vaulted ceilings and stained-glass windows stretching six feet high. Churches are meant to be places of refugee, of peace and acceptance. I’ve only ever known them as structures of oppression and pain, symbols of a woman’s need to bow while men speak.
What I wouldn’t give to be able to go back and believe the lie a little longer. To feel safe—just for a little bit. Even knowing it was unfounded. Maybe that’s the real reason people don’t change their views. Realizing everything you’ve held dear, the entire way you’ve lived your life is a lie… it’s decimating.
I step over the threshold and onto hallowed ground, crossing my fingers that vengeful angels won’t smite me on sight
A few students sit in pews, heads bowed, but the rest of the space is abandoned. Making my way to one of the alcoves, I close my eyes over the half-dozen lit candles and tilt my headback. Waiting. Standing beneath the opulence of the church, begging for a sign of something greater than myself.
I search for that sacred feeling, the one that will confirm I’m not alone in the universe. I want to believe I’m connected to a power beyond myself. An entity that is everlasting and accepting of who I am—not just the good, but all the messy bits as well. I hold the thought in my mind, seeking, searching for a soul that would find me in any lifetime. Love me in every form.
Flickers of darkness swirl through my mind. I lean into the image, inhaling the scent of incense and smoking candles as it condenses into two black pools with flecks of the richest emerald. My stomach flips, my pulse spiking as knowing awareness stares back at me. And Silas’s wicked grin comes into focus.
I grip the edge of the alter as my eyes fly open, darting around the dimly lit space. The thundering of my heartbeat thrashes in my ears as I fight to ignore the chill sweeping down my spine. The cathedral feels colder than it did moments ago. Quieter. Peeking from around the alcove, I see that I’m alone.
Ding.
I flinch at the crisp sound reverberating along the walls. Jamming my finger against the silence button, I grip my phone and head toward the doors.
Ding.Letting out a deep breath, I glance down and find a text from Tempest.
Tempest: Finished bio test early. Lunch?
My thumbs start typing an excuse, but I pause. I have one semester to live life the way I want to before it all comes crashing down. Clearly, avoiding Silas isn’t working. Maybe the best thing I can do is act like he doesn’t bother me. Like I don’t think about his fingers knuckle-deep inside me every night when I’m lying in bed.
Nope. I’m just a normal, well-adjusted girl.
Me: Lunch sounds great. Where to?
22
