For several days, I don’t move beyond the bedroom and music room. I can’t find it in me to play myself, so Ian plays for me. The music seeps into me and unfreezes the numbness, little by little—just like his persistent comfort does. When Ian has to leave my side, he brings Ginny to me. She snuggles up at my side, and the feeling of her soft fur and gentle heat—the sound of her purring—awakens my senses, just the same as Ian’s music and comfort does.
Slowly, I wake up, the rage fades, and I return to myself. But the hurt and the horrible memories linger, and I can’t bear to be around Killian. Not just because of what he did, but also because seeing how much my rejection hurts him awakens something painful in me—a need to be close that I can’t give in to, because the anxiety is stronger.
“C-can I please hold you?” he’ll ask several times during the day, watching me with this forlorn look that breaks my heart. I badly want to say yes. He doesn’t seem like the Killian who broke me—not two weeks or five years ago. He seems lost. But even so, I can’t let him touch me. Because Iknowwhat he did. I still feel the worthlessness and the emptiness deep in my soul. A wound that won’t soon heal. So I shake my head and draw in on myself.
But the urge to feel him keeps lingering, as deep as the wounds he inflicted. I often wake at night, feeling broken and hollow. Sometimes, I’ll just lie there, staring into the darkness—into nothingness. Other times, I’ll shake and shudder, feeling like the emotions are about to tear me apart from the inside. Then Ian will wake and hold me close, rocking me and whispering soothing words until the early hours of the morning.
Ian often looks tired during the day. He tries to hide it, but I’ve gotten to know him well during the last six months, just like he has gotten to know me. I can tell he’s worried about both Killian and me, and it’s eating away at him. I wish there were something I could do about it. I know letting Killian hold mewould help, but I just can’t make myself go back to the man who broke me twice. It would cut away that last piece of dignity I’m fighting tooth and nail to hold on to.
The more I reject Killian, the less I see him. After two weeks, I realize that I haven’t even seen him for three whole days. It worries me. It shouldn’t, but it does. I just can’t help it. So when I lie awake and hear sounds coming from the entryway, I crawl out of bed and steal through the dark hall, toward the light in the living room. But no one’s there.
I stand there for a moment, just looking around and wondering.
That’s when I hear a slurping sound coming from the kitchen.
“Ginny,” I say, rounding the kitchen island. Suddenly, I badly need to hold her—feel her soft fur and beating heart.
But it’s not just Ginny I find there. Killian is sitting on the floor, Ginny on his lap, feeding her from the tube of creamy cat puree she loves.
“Get away from her,” I hiss, instinct taking over. I dart to him and snatch her from his hands. I’m not going to let him hurt her too.
“I’m so-so-s-sorry.” He drops the tube on the floor and hurries up. I’m shocked when he hesitates, casting a look my way, on his way out. Dark circles surround his eyes, his face looks thin, his skin pale. He hurries off, like a scared mouse, and it’s only then that I notice he’s wearing a hoodie and jeans instead of his usual dress pants and button-up shirts.
I glance at the tube on the floor, then at Ginny. She’s purring.
My heart sinks, regret and guilt twisting like thorny branches in my gut.
I sink to the floor and pick up the tube. Ginny keeps purring while I feed her more of her favorite paste, her tail swaying in slow, happy little motions. She’s the only creature in this housethat’s happy. I wish I could make everyone else here feel the same.
Finally, I put the lid on the tube and set Ginny on the floor. “I think you’ve had enough now,” I say when she keeps looking at me with expectant eyes.
Finally, she mewls and rushes off to play with her favorite squeaky toy.
“Good idea. Practice catching mice,” I say and give her a quick scratch before turning off the kitchen light and making my way back through the darkness.
In the entryway, I pause and look up the dark stairs. Memories that have been dormant for a long time come rushing. Running down those stairs with my dress hanging loosely around my body, the sticky cum making the fabric cling to my back, and the butt plug stirring in my ass with each movement. Ian watching me like I was vermin.
I still remember the feeling, but not the look. What I see when I think of Ian is his soft expression just before he kisses me. His stern gaze when he commands me to kneel at his feet. The look of pride when I readily obey. My mind goes to Killian and his cold rejection that night. But it’s the same. I can’t quite see it. All I see is that forlorn expression on his face. The sound of his stuttering that cuts deep into my heart.
I don’t know what makes me turn toward the stairs. A reckless, stupid need to be close to him, or maybe a belief that people can actually change. It doesn’t matter. The darkness blots out my rationality, and I ascend the stairs with determined steps. Once I cross the landing and stop in front of Killian’s bedroom door, I pause, uncertainty welling.
What the hell am I doing?If he sends me away, there’ll be no way to recover. I’ll have to leave—Ian, Ginny, and everything I’ve come to love here. But if he doesn’t...
Hope grows inside me. No, not just hope. A need to mend. To be mended.
I carefully open the door. “Are you sleeping?” I whisper.
“N-no.” Killian immediately sits up. I see the shadow of his hand move through the darkness, toward the bedside lamp.
“No,” I urge, then calm my voice. “No light, please.”
He slowly withdraws his hand, and I can feel the uncertainty hanging thickly in the air.
“Can I please lie with you?”
“Of c-course.” He shifts on the bed, making room for me and lifting the comforter.
I cross the room, pause, draw a shuddery breath, then crawl in.