12
Noah holds me for a few hours at my parents’ cottage, burrowing into my bed with me in the tightest cuddle ball we can manage.
But when he has to leave to do his nightly perimeter check before he returns to sleep for the night, I try my best not to show my fear as I say goodbye.
Giving him a weak smile, I squeeze his hand. “See you soon, love.”
Noah pauses at the front door, his fingertips delicately brushing my hair behind my ears. “I’ll be back in less than an hour, okay? Then we’ll fall asleep together.”
I nod, giving him the best smile I can manage.
After a kiss goodbye, Noah shifts at the forest’s edge, disappearing into the darkness.
When I shut the door, I’m faced with a huge problem.
Not this fucking lock.
Twisted all the way open to the left, the front door’s brass lock taunts me with my worst fears: Steven will come back someday, and it”ll be all your fault.
Again.
A rage boils inside me like I’ve never felt, spouting to the surface in violent, sloshing bubbles. It’s so much worse now that I’m alone; no one’s here to distract me long enough, or to create enough social pressure to shove my PTSD below the surface. I’m terrified of the agitation stirring in my body, begging me to release it.
What if I lose control and hurt myself this time by accident?
I’ve never lost control before, but I can recognize whose voice this is. OCD is teaming up with PTSD to trap me even deeper.
But naming it doesn’t make a difference tonight. My distress feels too powerful to manage with acknowledgement, my first line of defense, which terrifies me even more. Worse than being alone, I’m being attacked within my own body, unable to stop reliving my worst moments.
How could you let this happen to yourself, Aliya? How could you let Steven do that?
That brutal, doubtful thought stabs a hole in my soul. Was it actually my fault?
No, I’ve been over this. This was done to me. He was intentionally shocking, horrific, and out of my control.
I’m not sure that’s any better. The truth is so ugly, burning acid through my veins with each staggering pump of my heart. How could he do this to me?
Rushing to my couch, I grip the nearest pillow to scream into. My voice ripples through the cotton, escaping from the seams until it fills the room despite my death grip muffling it.
But it just makes me angrier.
I still can’t believe that man changed me so severely, and now his actions are affecting Noah. I hate feeling like I’m walking poison, spreading my pain to everyone in my life thanks to Steven. As vivid chunks of his break-in replay, I wish I could go back in time and bite him to shreds.
Guilt gnaws at my stomach for thinking of hurting someone.
See? You’re twisted, Aliya. A fucking monster.
But even deeper, I’m more than simply angry at Steven, at myself, and at life. My hands shake, eyes darting back to that door. Waiting for him to come back to hurt me again, just like I’ve anticipated for years.
I’m still so fucking afraid of him.
“I hate it!” I scream, filling the silent cottage with my rage. I don’t want to live like this for the rest of my life.
But I don’t have a choice. Steven forced this on me, and now his brutality is superglued to my DNA.
I chuck the pillow across the room as hard as I can. It smashes into one of Mom’s candles above the fireplace—a slow-motion rocking that ends in a heavy topple.
I gasp as the candle crashes to the ground, snapping clean in half.
It wasn’t anything special. But just like the rest of the decorations covering the entire cabin, it was Mom’s.
Aching sadness breaks me out of my panic. The room is eerily silent as I pant, filled with emotions I don’t know how to hold.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I need to calm down.
Noah’s concern ripples through our bond. Omega, I was on my way back, but now you seem—
No, please continue with your work. I’m actually glad you didn’t have to witness my ridiculous outburst. I’m going to force myself to lay down now.
By the time I reach my room, my heaviest emotion is embarrassment. I strip my clothes as quickly as I can, begging for this night to end.
Picking up Noah’s shirt from last night, I inhale his lusty scent from just before he had sex with me. My core pools with heat—a welcome shift in sensation as pleasurable memories fill my mind.
Slinking into his shirt, I grip the closet shelf like I did last night, reaching between my legs.
As I rub myself over the thin fabric of my panties, I imagine Noah’s hands all over me, unable to contain his moans as he slunk into my core from behind, bare.
“Ah...” My breath escapes me as a moan, a rising urge to feel something, anything except pain overtaking my mind.
I dig through my closet for a long-lost sex toy, desperate to cling to my desire while I still feel good.
When I see my dildo, I have to laugh. I used to think this was too huge for me, but that was before I had a Lycan mate to lick me silly.
As I close my eyes, sitting myself over it, I imagine it’s Noah.
But for some reason, it stings. That hasn’t happened for many months.
My heart spikes with fear, amplifying the pain. Yanking it out, I quickly soothe myself with gentle strokes, redirecting my focus to Noah.
My mate. If he were here, he’d start by rubbing me back and forth until I couldn’t stand it.
I rub my clit in small circles, pleasure returning to the surface. Inhaling Noah”s shirt, I flush hot. Within a few minutes, I’m almost as wet as he makes me.
Oh, duh. I should’ve been using lube. Digging through my toy bin, I find the bottle with shaking hands. Breathe, Aliya.
I apply a generous amount to the toy before using the rest to thoroughly coat my labia, leaving me breathless. But when I press the toy’s tip into me, a sharp pain shoots up my spine just the same.
Panting, I pull it back with a wide, petrified stare. This is just a temporary trauma response, right? No, I don’t know that for sure. It might not be temporary at all.
I’m losing the good feelings by the second.
This time, I ditch the toy altogether, settling on using my own hands. These are my fingers, I remind myself. I”m safe, and in control of this moment.
As I slip one finger in, I pause, waiting to feel pain. When it only feels better, my cheeks flush as I remember Noah’s desperate breath in my ear last night. I imagine myself backing up over him, shoving him deeper.
“Ah, Noah...” My legs squirm, remembering how hard he came into me, filling me until I overflowed onto the carpet—and leaving us to giggle after as we wiped it up before bed.
Curling my fingers against my favorite spot, my hips arch for more as I replay the memory.
“Noah... Don’t stop—”
But the second I come, a heavy, sinking despair re-enters my soul. I deflate against the carpet, my heart still pounding as I stare at my failed attempts to feel better—just another mess to clean up before bed.
After cleaning the toy and myself, I climb into bed, pulling the covers over my head. The second I fall limp, a thought flashes through my mind.
Did you lock the door, though?
“Shut up!” I growl.
I close my eyes, feeling immediately foolish for yelling back at my intrusive thoughts.
Okay, let”s try that again. Maybe I locked the door, or maybe I didn’t. I don’t know. Right now, I’m resting in bed. Waiting for Noah. That”s all I have to accomplish at the moment.
Redirecting my thoughts to the present allows any remaining intrusive thoughts to brush past me. After a few minutes, I notice my back and neck aching.
I’m so tired. I forgot how draining trauma can feel.
My eyes zip open. What if I”m pregnant and all this stress is hurting the baby?
Fear worms its way back into my mind, stirring my limbs in hot acid. Hugging Noah’s pillow against my stomach, I burrow into his scent, allowing it to soothe me.
I’ve slept with Noah most nights, trading beds and houses every few days since we still haven’t moved in together. Now that I think about it, I haven’t had a PTSD nightmare since I met Noah, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence. I feel so safe beside him.
I let my mind seek Noah”s wolf in our bond, forgetting everything else for a while. I don’t know where he is exactly, but I can feel his paws rushing across the forest floor. As my eyelids droop, I live through his wolf, filled with his determination to return to his mate’s side.
But he”s not here yet. It”s too early to fall asleep.
My eyes jerk back open. Noah, I’m afraid to fall asleep and have flashback nightmares.
Our bond ripples in shared pain, pushing a whimper out of me.
Oh, sweet Omega... I’ll be there soon. Just rest, and don’t be so hard on yourself, okay? Everything will be okay. Maybe not great, but okay. We’ll find a way to get through whatever happens, together.
I cling to his words as tight as I hug his pillow, unable to respond from how exhausted I am.
But then I have the dream. Not the good one with Noah, and not the bad one where my parents are dying again. The one about the lock. I know exactly how this dream ends, but every time, it makes me scream.
Because I know it’s not just a dream. It really happened.
When I wake up already shrieking, I want to believe I’m still dreaming. There’s a shadow of a man in my dark room.