Chapter Thirty-Three
Rheda
My shower turns on too easily. Heat floods the room, steam curling up the tiles, softening the edges of everything until it all feels less defined.
I step under it and the water burns sharp.
I don’t make any effort to move; I just let the sharp sting scratch down my shoulder and spine.
My fingers reach for the soap. I put too much into the palm of my hand, drinking in the strawberry fragrance, something sweet and familiar.
I scrub hard, too hard, as though I can scratch myself awake. My body moves like it’s following instructions I haven’t agreed to.
I hate the way I’m preparing.
I hate the way something low in my stomach tightens, not with fear, but with anticipation that feels invasive and wrong.
I finish the shower quickly, like if I stay any longer, I’ll have to admit what I’m doing.
I head into the living room. I pace once. Twice. Pick up my phone. Put it down again. Turn the light on. Then off. Then on again.
Stay awake.
That’s all I have to do.
I sit on the edge of the sofa and press my palms into my thighs, grounding myself in the pressure.
You are in control.
You are awake.
You are—
My phone buzzes.
The sound cuts straight through the room, sharp enough that I flinch. My heart lurches, a sudden, stupid spike of panic, like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t be.
It vibrates again.
I stare at it for a second before reaching over, fingers hesitating just above the screen.
Unknown number.
I drag in a slow breath in and then out, and swipe to answer.
There’s a small pause on the other end.
“Hey—uh, is this Rheda?”
The voice is soft. Slightly nervous, but warm.
“Yes,” I say, more carefully than I mean to. “Who’s this?”
“Oh—sorry. It’s Joe. We, um—” a small, embarrassed laugh, “we bumped into each other at the pub? I got your number from your friend.”
Right.
Joe.
“Oh,” I say because nothing else seems to work. My heart ticks loudly.
“I hope you don’t mind. I wasn’t sure if calling would be weird. But I thought I’d try anyway.”
He fills the silence quickly. “I just— I was wondering if you might want to go out this weekend? Nothing big. Coffee, or— I don’t know, a walk or something. Just... yeah.”
My grip tightens slightly around the phone.
A date.
The word sits there, heavier than it should be.
“I—”
My gaze lifts without meaning to, to the corner of the living room. For a second—just a second—I swear something moves. A shape. Too solid to be shadow, too still to be alive.
My breath catches so sharply it almost hurts.
No.
No, no.
I blink, hard.
The space is empty. I stare at it longer as though it might reveal itself.
“Rheda?” Joe’s voice cuts back in, gentler now. “Sorry—did I catch you at a bad time?”
I swallow.
“No,” I say quickly, too quickly. I force it steadier. “Now is fine.”
Silence presses in again. I drag a hand through my hair, pacing once across the room before I even realise I’ve stood up.
A date.
It’s normal. Safe.
But—
My eyes flick again to the corner.
Empty. Still empty.
“I can do this,” I murmur, barely under my breath.
“Sorry?” Joe asks.
I shake my head, even though he can’t see it. “Nothing. I just—”
I stop because this shouldn’t be hard. This should be easy. It’s just a date. Just a man. Just a normal, uncomplicated yes.
My chest rises, falls.
I think of Deogal. Of the way he looks at me like I already belong somewhere I don’t remember choosing.
The thought makes something in me snap, sharp and sudden.
No.
I don’t belong to that. To a dream.
I don’t.
“I’ll go,” I say. It comes out firmer than I expect, almost defiant.
There’s a small pause on the other end.
“Yeah?” Joe’s voice lifts, hopeful, a little disbelieving. “You will?”
“Yes,” I say again. “Sounds fun.”
Relief floods through the line. I can hear the smile in it. “Great. That’s— yeah, that’s great. Saturday? There’s a place near the river I know, it’s—”
He keeps talking, filling in details, light and easy, like this is exactly what it should be. I let him. I even hum when I need to.
But my eyes drift back, one last time, to the corner of the room. Empty. Completely empty. And still, my skin prickles like it isn’t.
I press my palm harder into my thigh again, grounding.
You are in control.
“Saturday works,” I say into the phone, and this time, I make myself believe it.
“Great, I’ll see you then.” His smile is evident in his tone. “Night, Rheda.”
“Night—” the phone cuts off before I can even finish the word.
My body sinks into the sofa. I pull my legs to my chest, embracing them, still scanning the room just in case. I reach for the lamp, turning the brightness higher, forcing the light into my eyes until it stings. My pulse ticks faster. Good.
Stay there. Stay sharp.
Minutes pass. Or hours. It’s hard to tell.
A yawn rips through me, followed by a second. My thoughts start to blur at the edges, slipping slightly out of sequence. My focus stutters. The room feels softer, like it’s losing definition again.
I blink hard.
Stay awake.
My body doesn’t listen.
By the time my head touches the cushion, it feels less like a decision and more like something that’s already been made for me.
I breathe. Deeply. And then—sleep snatches me away. Something heavy presses down on my chest.
I try to move my hands. Fail. Move my legs. They don’t respond. A numbness pulls through my body as though it’s no longer mine to command.
“Doctor.” The word drags through my mind slowly, rough and low.
Hands follow next. They find my throat, fingers curling into the groves that they’re familiar with, and then it squeezes. I inhale. Rasp. Exhale and then choke. The fingers tighten.
“You must be losing your mind,” The deep voice whispers. I pretend I don’t recognise his voice. I tell myself it’s just a dream.
“Did you not learn your lesson before?” He breathes, and his hot breath fans over my face. His fingers curl tighter. I gasp, but the oxygen doesn’t flow properly. “Tell me, Doctor, do you really think you’re in control?”
His other hand drags down my neck until it settles between my collarbones. He presses. It doesn’t hurt, not yet, but the pressure alone is enough to unsettle my thoughts.
I try to speak but nothing comes out.
“I will teach you to know your place,” he says, “you will learn not to taunt me.”
His hands trail lower, to the place between my breasts. He pushes hard until I’m sure he’s on the edge of cracking my ribcage. I inhale sharply, but his fingers do not release my windpipe.
I force my eyes open, and they finally obey me.
In the dim lighting of the room, he appears, leering over me in that terrifyingly familiar way. His ravenous eyes hold me tighter than any touch could. Black voids. They promise so much destruction. With one look alone, I shake. My bottom lip quivers.
“I should punish you,” he says slowly. “Or maybe—“
His lips slash into a gruesome smile. “I will kill your little boyfriend.”
It’s horrifying, the way his head tilts to the side and his gaze holds mine. Nothing sparkles in them today. They’re devoid of light and life.
“Don’t you dare!” I finally find my voice. It’s hoarse and jagged. Heat floods my head. The blood races to the site of his grip.
“So, you admit it.” He stops smiling. “He is your boyfriend.”
“No!” I cry out. “Please, stop!”
He pushes closer. “Do you want him?”
“No!”
“Do you think about him touching you?”
Each word stabs through me. I shrink in on myself. “No!”
His eyes scan mine violently as though undressing my every thought.
“I’m sure he’d take you,” he says slowly. “Touch what isn’t his.”
His attention drops lower, and I’m dangerously aware of how exposed I am beneath him.
The blanket is gone, thrashed somewhere across the room, leaving my body shivering in the chill.
My pyjamas have ridden up, exposing where his fingers claim my stomach.
I’m suddenly aware of my body in a way that feels like exposure. Too much skin. Too much heat.
Too much of me reacting when I shouldn’t be.
“I don’t blame him.” He breathes, “You’re devastating.”
His fingers loosen around my neck.
I inhale sharply. My head pounds. Face burns. I gasp as much air as I can as though I know it can.
“This isn’t real.” I rasp. “You’re not real.”
He takes my hand and presses it against his hard chest. The heat burns through the material. He drags my palm slowly down his body.
“Tell me that this isn’t real,” he murmurs. “That you’re not touching something real.”
The shift is sudden. One moment I’m on my back, the next I’m forced forward into the mattress. My body doesn’t catch itself. My cheek hits the cushion, breath knocked from me.
I try to pull my hand back. It doesn’t move.
“Don’t!” I shriek. “Get off!”
“I take what I need.” He says. “This happens because I decide it does.”
He moves effortlessly behind me, tearing my pyjamas away like they’re paper. I scramble and try to push away from him, but I’m unable to move.
“No knickers?” He breathes.
I immediately regret my decision.
I hate myself for being so na?ve.
So fucking thoughtless.
“Don’t do this!” I resort to begging, pleading. “I don’t want this! Please stop.”
“Don’t lie to me, Doctor.” he snaps, his voice devoid of any lightness. His hot body leans over mine and the temperature alone is enough to make my mind spin. He runs a fingertip down my spine. It’s slow, tormenting, designed to force a shake. “It’ll only piss me off more.”
I whimper like a kicked animal. It hurts to hold my head up. The dull ache in my neck burns and throbs.
Don’t drop it. Don’t drop it. I beg myself. But it’s too painful.
I face palm the cushion.
“Good girl,” he coos. His praise does something to me. I try to pretend it doesn’t. His fingers sink into my thighs and in one swift move, he positions me ass up.
“I was going to take it easy,” he whispers. “But you’ve been a very bad Doctor today.”
He runs something hard and hot against me, just one swipe through my lips, and then groans.
His penis.
“Don’t you dare!” I yelp.
I fight. I buck. I scratch at him to get off. But nothing happens.
“Just the tip,” he murmurs.
“Deogal, please. Don’t do this.”
He pushes his member against my hole, and the pressure stretches me. It stings brutally. I try to resist him, but with one thrust, he forces the whole head inside of my virgin hole.
My eyes prick. “Stop!”
“Don’t cry, Doctor.” He whispers, breathlessly. “I mean it. If you cry, I won’t be able to hold back.”
“Stop,” I wheeze. “It’s too big!”
“You’ll adjust,”
My face rolls in the cushion. I bite into it hard.
He pushes in further. And, God, the pain is blinding. Stars shoot across my vision. I feel like I’m ripping open entirely, like he’s destroying me from the inside out.
“Fuck,” the sound ripples from him. “You’re choking me, baby.”
He praises me.
I hate it so much but heat coils violently between my thighs.
“It hurts,” I whimper.
“Good.”
He stretches me until I know there’s no coming back from this. The pain bleeds through my seized-up muscles. I shake. Whimper. I force myself not to cry when I feel him sink deeper. But then...
Fuck.
His hand snakes around and he touches my sensitive bud. The pleasure starts as a deep aching feeling in my stomach but then blisters into something extreme. Pleasure, like light is bursting through me. A moan slips free. I try to hide it in the cushion, but it’s too late. I know he’s heard it.
He stills for a second but then thrusts. Hard. Fully. All the way in until it smacks something deep within me, and the ache blisters through. He pulls out, all the way until I’m shaking from the loss, but it’s momentary. He plunges back in just as fast. Without mercy. He takes me. Consumes me.
“Fuck,” he growls. He tenses hard. His grip tightens. He slams into me over and over and something primal leads me like I’ve been here before like I know what to do. My hips raise and meet him with brutal precision before I can stop him.
He squeezes my bundle of nerves. Pleasure swarms me without permission. The tide sucks me under. My toes curl. The orgasm drowns me, setting every nerve alight until nothing feels real.
My throat hurts like I’ve howled, but the sound disappears under the rushing of my blood in my ears. It loops too long; it doesn’t peak. It just...holds me there, high and suffocating. I can’t come down.
Minutes go by. Or is it hours?
I forget how to breathe. My head is hot. Lungs are screaming.
“Breathe,” I hear a voice, but it’s too distant. My brain lulls. Lips tingle. A thick blanket of numbness holds me down, as though every muscle is turning itself off. I’m heavy. Drifting.
The world slows down.
Then, slap. The noise comes first. It pulls through the numbness, delayed. And then the sharp pain joins. My left ass cheek. It’s followed by another, equally devastating blow.
Slap. Pause. Pain.
I gasp, shock tearing through me. It’s not enough. My lungs will not obey.
“Fucking breathe.” The command lands like punishment.
My eyes water. I’m struck again. And again.
This time, I scream. The pain is blinding and it tears through the pleasure like a dagger through fog. Oxygen floods my lungs, and things rush into place.
I blink, and suddenly I’m no longer face down on the sofa. He’s leering over me, glaring. The muscles in his neck are angry, tight and furious.
He grinds his jaw together violently. “Don’t you dare do that again.”
The blood rushes through my ears. “What?”
His nostrils flare. His chest is rising too fast. He grabs my chin cruelly. “You do not get to disappear on me like that.”
His thumb presses hard against my bottom lip, watching the colour force its way back beneath the pressure.
A shiver works its way down my spine.
I breathe again. On purpose.
He watches.
And this time, I don’t look away.