Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Something wakes me up. I moan, blinking in the darkness of the room. I’m warm and comfortable, and I almost fall back asleep before the movement starts again.
It’s Max’s hand between my legs.
Slowly, disappointment and dread creep into my tired brain.
I told Max a while ago that he could mess with me while I slept.
I thought it would be hot until he started doing it multiple times a week, mostly on days that I said I was tired or didn’t want to fuck him before bed. And he’d never get me off.
Max is still, and I wonder if he went back to sleep. Maybe he did. Maybe he could feel the stiffness in my body. Slowly, the exhaustion pulls me under until, again, his hand moves. Up and down, up and down, waking me up.
I roll over, exhaustion muddling my brain. I can’t think clearly. I can’t even think when I’m awake. I’m just tired. So fucking tired. Work has been a lot. I’ve tried to tell Max that. Tried to let him see the depression in my eyes. All I want is to sleep.
Max stays still long enough that I start to drift off again, and then again, his hand moves between my legs. He’s rubbing.
I groan and flip over aggressively. Why won’t he let me sleep?
About five minutes later, Max starts again. I shove his hand away.
Another five minutes later, it starts again.
This time, I just let him. I know he won’t stop until he gets off, and I’m tired.
I feel the bed shake rhythmically, and his breathing starts to pick up.
Finally, it stops. He rolls out of bed to go to the bathroom, and I hear the faucet turn on.
Then, he comes back, and his breathing evens out almost immediately.
I can’t fall back asleep, but I don’t open my eyes. If I do, it means I’m admitting defeat. Why is it so hot in here? I toss, hoping my movement wakes him up. Max’s snores soften for a second, then pick back up.
I toss for hours, sweaty and angry, planning my fight with Max for the morning.
The next day, I’m exhausted. Exhausted and pissed off. I’ve had a bad feeling all day. As I rage clean the dishes, I drop the soap bottle into the water a second time.
“Fucking stupid fucking soap.”
The garage door opens, and I know Max is home. I stiffen, the feeling of dread not going away. One of two things is gonna happen. He’s gonna brush me off or get angry. I slam the soap bottle back on the counter.
I dare him to try and beat my ass. Fucking dare him. I have years of pent-up rage, and it may as well go somewhere.
The door opens, and he steps inside with a swish of his clothes. “Hey.”
I ignore him, continuing to wash dishes. There’s a beat of silence, and then he continues inside, putting his stuff on the dining room table. He doesn’t say anything else; he just moves around, putting things away, and then goes upstairs to change. When he comes back down, I hear him put the TV on.
Oh, so he’s gonna pretend like everything is fine.
I whirl on him, keeping the kitchen island between us.
He glances at me briefly and then does a double-take. One of his hands twitches.
I glare.
“You… okay?” he asks.
My skin gets hot. “Oh yeah, I’m okay. Totally fine.”
Max evaluates me, then blinks once. “Ookay…” Then, slowly, he reaches for his controller.
Which makes adrenaline rush through my veins.
“Because of course I’d be okay. I get great sleep every night.
Not like someone’s waking me up then keeping me up for hours.
” My whole body is thrumming, waiting for him to unplug the controller and throw it at me.
If he does, there’s a butter knife right by my hand. I’ll teach him to hit me.
But he doesn’t. “Oh, fuck. Sorry.”
I stare at him.
He raises both hands. “Didn’t know I was keeping you up.”
“Well, you gotta stop. I can’t sleep.”
“Sure, okay. Yeah, no problem.” He looks at me like he thinks I’m crazy.
Maybe I am crazy. I feel crazy, standing there stiffly, waiting for him to attack me. When he doesn’t, the energy still doesn’t go away. “Is that it?” I ask.
“That was my bad.” Max eyes me, then the TV.
Still, no effort to get up and hand my ass to me.
“Is that all?” He clearly wants to play his game. As if this meant nothing to him.
I guess it is.
Slowly, I go back to the dishes, but my entire body still feels stiff. That’s not how easy life is. If he’s not gonna beat my ass, he’s gonna do something.
Why the hell couldn’t he just beat my ass and get it over with? At least then, I’d know what to expect.
Two weeks later, I’ve had a long day at work pulling overtime, and all I want to do is sleep for the foreseeable future. I fall into bed, passing out almost immediately.
The next day, I’m horny. The house looks weird, but there’s a hot guy here, and all I want to do is climb him like a tree. So I do, hugging him to me. His thigh brushes my clit, and it sends a thrill through me.
Suddenly, the guy fades, and I’m looking at the edge of my pillow. The horny feeling doesn’t stop, though. What is going on?
Something licks at my opening. Slowly, I realize I’m waking up. Someone’s head is between my legs, licking between my vagina and my asshole. I blink awake. It’s Max. He has my cheeks spread so he can tongue my ass.
I’m so confused. Was I dreaming? Max continues assaulting my hole. My body is already wired, pleasure running through me, and I’m not fully awake. I think this is wrong. I think it’s wrong, but I’m on the edge of coming.
You weren’t ready. You should have seen this coming.
I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting to go back to that pleasant fog. No. I don’t want to wake up. I want to stay asleep. Because something tells me that around the corner of consciousness, there’s a monster of bad feelings waiting. I know it’s there. I can sense it.
Instead, I focus on the feeling of my body. The feelings that I didn’t ask for but are there anyway. They feel warm and inviting. Warmer than the monster. These feelings won’t hurt me. These feelings want me to come.
So, I flit my hand down to massage my clit. The warmth seeps into me more, and I squeeze my eyes shut, chasing it harder.
You’re not safe.
Fuck. I circle my fingers, pushing myself harder in the way I know feels good.
I feel a shift behind me, and then a groan follows.
I focus on nothing other than that safe feeling that’s creeping away faster than I can chase it down.
Then, I push myself over the edge, coming on my fingers.
There’s more shifting, and then something’s at the entrance of my pussy.
It’s Max. He shoves his dick inside my pussy. He pumps a few times before coming.
As soon as he rolls out of me, he goes back to the bathroom. I’m squeezing my eyes shut, but I can still tell he came inside me. My legs are sticky. The monster is screaming that I’ll have to get up. I’ll have to pee so I don’t get a UTI.
But I don’t want to listen. I don’t want to wake up ‘cause I can feel the shame burning against my skin.
You’re a coward. You let this happen. This is your fault.
I bury my head under my pillow and focus on the wetness between my legs. The pleasure. Anything but reality.
I put the book down for the third time today.
I can’t focus anymore. Usually, I read, but I haven’t been able to get through this book at all, and I’ve been trying all week, which pisses me off ‘cause the book is right up my alley. It’s about a badass woman who takes control of her dad’s mafia empire.
I stare at the cover, trying to find a reason to blame the book. Maybe it’s the writing style? The chapters are too long?
But deep down, I know it’s because I’m tired. Max hasn’t stopped waking me up. The thought makes nausea run through me.
Where’s all the courage I had when I told him to stop? Was ready to fight him? Instead, at night, I’m just a scared little girl. A coward. I can’t make him stop. It’s like I’m frozen. Because if I freeze, he’ll eventually finish and leave me alone.
I know some part of me should be angry. Should be deeply, irreparably angry.
But for some reason, it’s like the anger is sitting behind a glass wall, and all I can do is look at it.
Right now, all I want to do is pretend like I don’t exist. Maybe if I wear my clothes to bed, he won’t want to do it.
Maybe if I don’t say anything, he won’t continue.
I stare at the book cover. It has a fierce-looking woman on the front, her hair blowing in front of her face. I have a sudden, intrusive thought: she wouldn’t allow this kind of behavior.
Shame washes over me, and with it, a lick of anger.
Fuck it. Saying something can’t make things any worse.
I grab my phone and send Max a text.
Me: Hey. Can you fall asleep with your hand on my back or legs? Just not on my kitty; I can’t sleep. Thanks!
I drop the phone, my heart beating quickly for the first time in a week. A response comes back quickly.
Max: Oh, sure! My bad, no problem.
A week later, I’m woken up again with his hand between my legs. And this time, I don’t sink back into that welcoming numbness. The woman on the cover of my book stares at me from my nightstand, daring me to stand up for myself. Daring me to be what she is.
And that’s where my anger was finally born. Like a shield, it rose up around me, burning so hot no one could come near me. So no one could hurt me. Not even the people who say they love me.
Especially the people who say they love me.
I leave Max that night. Screaming and throwing things around, embracing the anger that’s been building for my entire life.
It’s time for a new Celeste. A new me.
Raven.