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That way, I might have some friends I could discuss this with.
Talking about it with Mom will only stress her out. She constantly lives on the edge, always looking over her shoulder, and here she is, actuallyenjoyingsomething for once. I’m not going to ruin that.
“I think you’re right,” I tell her, returning to my meal.
But I can’t stop thinking about him, not the rest of the evening.
My thoughts are a prisoner to Ramsey, and I don’t want to free them.
At least there’s been no more craziness, no more weird visions. I knew it must’ve been tiredness, maybe a sprinkle of anxiety in there to add some horribleexcitementto the mix.
That night, I roll over and over in bed, trying to get comfortable. Every time I close my eyes, I see his heaving chest and solid forearms, the way each muscle twitches when he moves his hand, thosehardmuscles.
My hand strays between my legs, but then I stop, biting down, even now, the cult’s teachings hammering into me.
A woman should never indulge herself in sins of the flesh.
I bite down even harder, willing myself to touch myself and give in to the heat, wetness, and want.
If you do, you will burn for eternity. Your family will disown you. We’ll have no place for you here.
With a huff, I remove my hand, rolling onto my side and checking my phone for no reason.
It’s like there’s a forcefield around that area. Which is another reason it would never work.
What would I do if he touched me?
I’d have no clue, not even a little bit.
I try to imagine,reallyimagine, how it would happen in real life. Not in the fantasy world, I can create if I want, the make-believe land where I’m suddenly super experienced and confident enough to trail my fingernails down his heaving body.
In my mind, Ramsey leans down, bringing his lips toward mine.
I almost slip into fantasy again, envisioning myself standing on my tiptoes, meeting him in a collision of lust, heat, and longing.
But then I stop and make myself imagine the real version.
I turn away, too stunned to know what to do.
Master Pete hisses in my ear, telling me I’m acting like a slut.
Ramsey’s lips crush into my cheek, and I mumble sorry, probably stuttering on thes. And then he steps back, his lips curled, his intense,non-freaking-changingeyes widening when he realizes I can’t give him what he wants.
Opening my eyes, I stare at the ceiling, its peeling material, the cracks, and the sadness of it all.
This is it. Me. Life. This is who I am, what I have to be to help Mom and keep us both safe.
Disappearing into fantasies won’t help.
Especially when Ramsey clearly doesn’t care. He’s not interested. He never was.
Mom was right. He’s just an older man doing a good deed, helping me out, that’s all.
It’s time I let Ramsey go.
Heck,no.
Let him go?
