Page 64 of Somno Slave

7.08am.

This forces me to break my stillness.

I strip off my ruined pyjama bottoms with two fingers. I shove them deep into the laundry basket and scrub my hands after.

The water runs hot over my skin.

You’re dreaming of me.

My hand stills beneath the stream.

Wait.

The camera.

I stop dead.

For a second, relief hits so hard my knees nearly weaken beneath me.

Right. The camera. Proof.

I move so fast it makes me dizzy, running to the bookshelf opposite the bed where the tiny black camera still sits angled toward the mattress, its little red standby light blinking softly in the dim room.

“That won’t stop me.”His voice drags through my mind.

It will show what happened.

My hands shake so badly I nearly drop my phone trying to open the app. The footage loads slowly enough to make my pulse hurt.

And then the recording starts. The room appears first in grainy monochrome. Empty. Still. Just me asleep beneath the blankets exactly where I should be.

Relief starts crawling into my chest.

See?

See how stupid this is.

But then there’s movement.

My breath catches.

On screen, my body shifts violently beneath the sheets. My thighs press together. My back arches hard enough to drag the duvet downward.

“No,” I whisper instantly.

I watch myself writhe against the mattress like something underneath me is touching me exactly where he did. But I’m alone. All alone.

My stomach drops.

There’s another movement. My hips lift sharply off the bed. Grinding against the sheets in slow, desperate motions that make my face burn instantly with humiliation.

“Oh my God.” The sound comes out thin, cracked.

On the screen, my head rolls against the pillow. My mouth parts. I see my own lips moving soundlessly before the camera audio finally catches it through static.

“Deogal...”

The name leaves me breathlessly.