Page 73 of Hunter

The click of the door barely registers.

I can’t stop shaking.

My whole body is locked in violent tremors, knees pulled tight to my chest, arms wrapped around my head like I can somehow shield myself from the memory that’s swallowing me whole. The tears won’t stop. They keep coming in ugly, gasping sobs that burn my throat and make my chest ache.

I thought I could do it.

I really thought I could let Hunter have me tonight. I wanted it. I wanted him inside me, wanted to feel full and claimed and wanted. I was so turned on, so ready, moaning and pushing back against him like I was starving for it.

But the second he flipped me onto my stomach and pinned my wrists down…

I was back in the prayer room.

Rough carpet burning my knees. Adult hands heavy on my shoulders, then my back, pressing me face-down while they tried to fuck the demons out of me. The low chant of “deliver us from perversion” echoing in my ears while they were doing exactly what they were praying against as they raped me. The weight. The helplessness. The shame that never quite left me.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. All I knew was that I had to get free.

And now Hunter’s gone.

The apartment feels too quiet. Too empty. Sofia jumps onto the bed and pushes her head against my arm, purring loudly like she’s trying to fix me. I pull her close, burying my face in her soft fur, but the sobs keep ripping out of me.

I ruined it.

Our relationship was the best thing I’ve experienced in years, and I ruined it. Because I’m broken. I turned into that scared fifteen-year-old kid again, crying and shaking while someone tried to take something from me.

I wanted him so badly. I still do. But the second I was face-down, wrists trapped, something inside me snapped, and all I could feel was terror.

I cry harder, muffling the sound against Sofia’s side. My wrists ache where he held them. My neck stings from his bites. My body is still buzzing with leftover arousal and adrenaline, but it’s all twisted up with shame now.

Why can’t I just be normal?

Why can’t I have sex without falling apart?

The memory of Hunter’s voice keeps replaying.

“I’m going to take your ass tonight.”

I wanted that. I wanted him to take me. But the second I was in that position, it wasn’t Hunter anymore. It was Pastor Dale and the other men holding me down, trying to fuck the gay out of me.

I curl tighter into a ball, shaking so hard my teeth chatter.

I don’t know how long I stay like that. Long enough for the tears to slow into quiet, hiccuping sobs and for Sofia to start kneading my arm, purring like a broken motor.

I reach for my phone with a trembling hand, but I don’t open our chat. I can’t. Not yet. I don’t know what to say.

Sorry I freaked out while you were about to fuck me.

Sorry my trauma is louder than how much I want you.

Sorry I’m so broken.

I drop the phone and pull the blanket over my head, curling around Sofia as though she can protect me from the memories still crawling under my skin.

Sleep doesn’t come. And when the morning light starts to seep into my space I force myself to uncurl.

My muscles protest. My eyes are swollen. My throat feels raw. But I have a shift at the art store at nine, and I’m not calling off. I’m not letting this win. I’ve spent too many years letting the prayer room win.

I drag myself into the shower and stand under the hot water until my skin turns red. I scrub harder than I need to, as though I can wash the memory off. It doesn’t work. The shame stays lodged behind my ribs.