15. Evelyn
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EVELYN
The day’s pain, discomfort, and anger dissolved into a foggy haze. The bedside lamp glowed dimly in my peripheral vision. I thought hazily about turning it off, but it was too late. Too tired, too exhausted, I let my eyes slide closed.
The fog of slumber thickened, blurring the edges of reality. Gradually, a familiar office materialized around me. The leather couch beneath my body felt solid and real. Somewhere nearby, a clock ticked softly, its rhythm grounding me in this dreamscape.
Across from me sat Ian. I’d dreamed he was my therapist before, but now I couldn’t remember what happened or what we’d talked about. I just had a sense that he wanted to help me.
He reclined in his chair, posture relaxed, smiling warmly as if this were just another routine session. The sight of him sent a flicker of relief through my chest. Talking to Ian always made me feel better, even if it had been ages since we last met like this. Had it been ages? How many times had we met? I would’ve said not many but now it felt like we’d been meeting all my life.
I took in his appearance, the dark hair falling artfully over his brow, the hint of black nail polish, the touch of eyeliner accentuating his deep brown eyes. There was something undeniably seductive about him, an alluring edge beneath the cool professionalism. He reminded me of a brooding rock star turned therapist.
“Hello, Evelyn. It’s good to see you again.”
“Ian,” I said, some of the tension already easing from my shoulders at his calming presence. “I’m so glad you’re here. I really need someone to talk to right now.”
He leaned forward slightly, giving me his full attention. “Rough day today?”
The events of the past day bubbled up inside me. The strange happenings, the fear, the helplessness. It all threatened to overwhelm me. But here, in the safety of this space, perhaps I could finally unburden myself. I recounted my tale to my sympathetic therapist.
Ian’s expression turned sympathetic as I confessed the horrible day I’d had.
“I feel like I’m falling apart,” I said as the tears fell. “Like I’m losing control of myself, of my life. I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”
He tilted his head, considering me thoughtfully. “You’ve been carrying a heavy load lately, Evelyn. No one could fault you for struggling under that kind of pressure.”
More tears spilled at his validation. “I just don’t understand what’s happening to me. I feel like I’m not myself anymore.”
He reached out and took my hand, his touch electric even in the dreamscape. “You’re stronger than you know.” His thumb stroked soothingly over my knuckles. “I’m here for you, Evelyn. You’re such a good girl.”
His low, deep rumble wrapped around me like a warm blanket. I met his deep brown eyes and saw flickers of... what? Intensity? Intimacy? Things I had no name for?
“You’re doing so well,” he murmured, his words vibrating against my ear.
A warmth spread through me from his words. Why did they make me feel so good?
“I’m proud of you.”
That made me frown, his words echoing a past memory, a faint whisper at the edge of my mind. I sat back and tried to bring the recollection to the forefront of my mind.
“You know you deserve to feel good,” Ian continued. “You’ve been so strong for so long. When’s the last time you let yourself relax, let yourself feel good?”
“I...I don’t know.” I stuttered, the question catching me off guard. It felt so similar to a dream I had, the one with Father Hudson where I had felt things for a man of the cloth I had no business even dreaming about.
Wait. This was another dream. This wasn’t real. If it was my dream, that meant I was in control. I could change it. I closed my eyes, willing myself to wake, for the dream to change.
“Why would you want to change this?” Ian coaxed, using my own thoughts against me. “You deserve this. You deserve to feel good. It’s okay to let go.”
My eyelids fluttered open to find him sitting so close his leg was touching mine, his presence overwhelming but not threatening.
“I don’t know how,” I admitted shakily.
A soft smile curved Ian’s lips as he carefully caught one of my tears, his finger warm against my jaw, the touch tender and intimate. I watched, mesmerized, as he licked the tear from his finger.
His words, honeyed and persuasive, tugged at me as I battled for control. “This isn’t right,” I protested, trembling. “I shouldn’t be…”
“You’re safe here.” Ian said. “There’s no judgment. No one to tell you what you should or shouldn’t feel.” Ian’s face kept shifting, phasing from his into Father Hudson’s, the dreams blending together in a surreal way.
The words were both Ian’s and Father Hudson’s. Both men made me feel happy and safe, albeit in different ways.
“There’s no judgment here, Evelyn. No one to tell you what you should or shouldn’t feel.” The dreamlike image blurred the lines between their faces, their voices intermingling in a surreal echo.
I squeezed my eyes shut, desperately trying to wake, but the dream clung to me, its sounds and sensations overwhelmingly real.
Ian/Father Hudson’s voice was closer now. “That’s why I’m here. I’ll guide you.” My resistance began to crumble under his words, my body leaning toward him as if drawn by an invisible force.
The combination of Father Hudson’s soft speech and Ian’s strong delivery became tender yet commanding.
“You’re doing so well.” His hand brushed lightly over mine, leaving tingles behind it.
A wave of heat followed the tingles, my heart racing. Despite my hesitation, I let him slowly unbutton my blouse, the soft cotton yielding under his fingers.
“Good girl.” The praise echoed in my ears and stole the air from my lungs. “You’re so brave, Evelyn. Just let go.”
I squeezed my eyes shut against the hazy shapes of Ian and Father Hudson swimming before me. The boundary between dreams dissolving as my body responded instinctively to his touch, overwhelmed by a rush of strange sensations. My mind struggled to make sense of it all, a low hum of anxiety vibrating in my ears.
With each word, a gentle pull. The voice guided, weaving a spell around us.
“You’ve never done this before, have you?” he whispered.
Shame and a thrill of anticipation quickened my breath even more as I shook my head.
“That’s okay. You’re doing perfectly.” His fingers traced the delicate curve of my collarbone and down around my birthmark—a tiny, crimson raspberry nestled between my breasts—his touch a soothing caress. “I’ll take care of you. Just follow my lead.”
As he slid his hand down into my shirt, I jolted awake, my body shaking, overwhelmed with sensations, pleasure, shame, all crashing into me at once. I blinked, adjusting to the dim light of my room, only to find myself face-to-face with a terrifying sight: a monstrous demon looming above me, his skin dark inky blue, slick, and pulsating, his eyes fixed on mine with a terrifying intensity. His body was heavy, pinning me down.
I looked between my legs to find an enormous penis, but it was unlike anything I’d ever seen in real life working in the church nursery or in the medical texts and sex education classes. His member was as dark blue as the rest of him, but behind the initial bump of the head was a series of dull ridges. They were almost like soft and blunted barbs. I shrieked in fear as he pressed the tip against my vaginal opening. He barely had entered me and it felt like my core was being split apart.
“You’re so tight,” he growled, his blue lips curling into a snarl. Slowly, he pushed deeper, stretching and filling me inch by inch. It hurt, the walls of my passage protesting and resisting. The thick sensitive folds within my vagina rubbed against him, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my entire body. I couldn’t help the gasp that escaped when he finally stopped. I tilted my head to look down only to find only his barbed penis inside me. But by the feel of it, he couldn’t go in any further.
I didn’t want this, I’d never wanted this. Or so I told myself, I even opened my mouth to scream for help, to call someone to tear this…this thing off of me, but deep down, some dark and forbidden part of me yearned for it, desired it.
His hips snapped forward and he grabbed onto my thighs roughly, digging his massive alien fingers into me before starting to pound into my body.
I screamed again. I was wrong. He could go farther.
My mind scrambled to make sense of the situation, but my body reacted on its own. I screamed and thrashed, but found my wrists and ankles bound tightly to the bedposts with unyielding restraints.
The demon laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through my chest. The laugh, the voice. I was familiar, too familiar.
“You’re mine now, Evelyn,” he said with mockery and a chilling sense of possession.
Was that... Ian? No. It couldn’t be. It looked nothing like him. This was some kind of monster. A demon from the bowels of hell, and he was shoving himself into me, and for some reason my body, rather than being horrified, was responding in a way I couldn’t understand.
Even then, I screamed and struggled against the restraints, my panic escalating as the monster’s massive… thing moved inside me. To my horror, it wasn’t smooth. The shaft was lined with dull, barbed ridges that scraped against my inner walls with each thrust, sending jolts of pain mixed with an unbearable, unfamiliar pleasure.
To my dismay, desire pooled in my belly, and my fear was quickly overwhelmed by the mortifying sensation of arousal. The demon leaned in close. “You’re fighting it now, but you’ll be begging for it soon.”
He drove himself even deeper, to the hilt, his monstrous testicles pressing hard against me, and I cried out, partly in pain, but mostly in humiliation as my hips arched up to meet his, the sound of our bodies pounding against each other in a brutal rhythm echoing in the room. My disloyal insides clenched around him, milking his monstrous thing . I couldn’t even think of it as its proper name. Not while it was doing what it was doing. The pleasure intensified, obliterating my thoughts, as the demon violated me relentlessly, his grip on my hips unyielding.
The shame consumed me, but so did the pleasure, and I hated myself for it. His rigid shaft dragged over spots inside me I didn’t know existed, and with every thrust, I moved closer to the edge of a precipice I’d only felt once before, in the middle of the street.
“That’s it.” He grunted, his breathing ragged. “Let me have it, Evelyn. That’s a good girl.”
My world exploded. My body convulsed, and I cried out, a climax tearing through me like a wildfire. So much pleasure that I could barely think, or even understand.
The demon, whose dark blue skin sheened with sweat, leaned close. “That was just the beginning, little nun. Next time, I’m taking your ass.” My terror spiked, but I had no chance to process his words as he continued to pound into me.
How was this happening to me, a woman of God? The very thought of him... there ... was too much to bear. My mind shook as he resumed his relentless assault, plunging into me again and again. His grotesque member invaded me, tearing into my very soul as it did my body.
Distressed whimpers escaped my lips, degenerating into sobs as another climax began building. My body didn’t care what I felt or thought, only that what he was doing felt so good.
My muscles tensed in anticipation of the forbidden pleasure that I knew awaited me. The sinful sensations swirling within me were a stain on my purity, a mark on my very soul. I thrashed against him, begging him to stop, but my words were lost in my moans of despair… and ecstasy.
The demon’s thrusts became more frenzied, driving me closer and closer to the edge of the abyss that awaited. I prayed for deliverance, for this nightmare to end, but the darkness only closed in around me, blotting out the meager light of day. The world spun away from me, consumed by the flames of my own depravity.
As the climax washed over me like a scalding tide, I was vaguely aware of a distant sound. A chirping, like that of a... a...
My eyes flew open, adrenaline coursing through my veins as I looked over at the alarm. The bedside clock read six in the morning, the digital numbers blinking in sync with the chirping alarm.
I looked back up at the demon but… there was no demon. I was alone, untied, fully clothed in my nightgown. The feeling of fullness, the unbearable sensation of being stretched and used, vanished abruptly, leaving me empty in a way that was disturbingly real. My thighs were soaked, the sheets underneath me damp with arousal.
As I sat up slowly, I was horrified by the sticky, creamy substance clinging to my inner thighs. It was tinged pink with what had to be my blood. My hands trembled as I reached up and touched my forehead, feeling the bandage still in place.
My mind raced. Was it real? Was he here? Tears sprang as the guilt crashed over me. “What is happening to me? Why am I like this?” My thoughts were frantic and chaotic.
The insistent buzzing of my alarm clock reminded me of my commitment to the homeless shelter. I had work to do today.
The musty smell of sweat hung heavy in the air as I silently freed myself from the sheets clinging to my limbs like a shroud and padded to the bathroom, discarding the clinging, sweat-stained nightgown and carefully peeling off the bandage.
Climbing into the shower, the water hit the brand seared onto my forehead, and a jolt of pain shot through me as tears streamed down my face. I tried to wash away the lingering stain of the nightmare, scrubbing between my legs with lavender soap, its calming scent doing little to soothe my frazzled nerves.
Avoiding my reflection in the mirror, I dried myself off before finally mustering the courage to confront the image staring back at me. I was met with haunted, bloodshot eyes and a pale complexion, but surprisingly, the burn looked much better. Faster than expected, the angry red edges of the wound had faded, leaving behind only a few faint, dry scabs, the skin underneath smoother. With a sigh, I applied the slightly-medicinal smelling burn cream and re-wrapped the bandage tightly. Then I dressed, pushing away the lingering images of my dreams to concentrate on my tasks and the day ahead.
The images of my unsettling dreams, sharp and vivid, clawed at my conscience, leaving me too weak to face my sisters’ disapproving glares and the unspoken condemnation hanging heavy in the air. I slipped away, avoiding the meal hall and the harsh judgment within. With each brisk step toward the shelter, the cold air stung my cheeks, a welcome distraction from the shame and shock swirling in my mind.
The smell of coffee brewing filled the air as I greeted the other volunteers and began the familiar, comforting task of setting up breakfast for the homeless. Once that was done, I’d continue working on the brief to request a variance for the new shelter.
With the delicious smells of freshly brewed coffee and toasting bread swirling around me, I carefully arranged breakfast trays filled with steaming oatmeal and dried fruit. Suddenly, a voice made me jump.
“Evelyn, right?” Turning, I found the man who’d leaped in front of the car, saving the child and who’d helped me when Frank Brown had attacked me.
His warm expression didn’t quite mask the authority in his eyes, a commanding presence that filled the room. “I don’t think we’ve officially met.” He extended a hand. “I’m Aziz.”
My face warmed, and I hesitated before accepting his offered hand. When I did, a shiver danced across my skin, a strange warmth blooming low in my belly.
“It’s nice to officially meet you,” I said politely, “and thank you again. I really appreciate what you did the other day.”
“Honestly, it was nothing. The important part is that you weren’t injured.” Aziz’s deep, smooth baritone, like warm honey, caused an unsettling warmth to spread through my body.
My nipples stiffened beneath my blouse, and as I felt wetness between my thighs, I squeezed them together in shame. What is wrong with me? A cold sweat broke out on my skin.
Something was off. This wasn’t normal, this wasn’t right. His charisma was overwhelming, his allure unnatural, and a terrifying certainty echoed in the back of my mind. A whispery instinctual voice gurgled up from deep in my subconscious. Demon.
A tight smile stretched across my face, a mask to hide the turmoil within as I nodded politely to Aziz. His words were just a drone, a meaningless hum against the cacophony of my racing thoughts. Something was wrong.
Even as I distanced myself from Aziz, a burning, desperate need for him pulsed within my most intimate areas, a symphony of longing and guilt, but I steeled my resolve to avoid him as much as possible.
Saving my soul was more important than anything else.
I returned to serving breakfast, with the words echoing in my mind that something was indeed very, very wrong.