CHAPTER NINE
RAVEN
The room is quiet now, except for his slow, steady breathing. He’s sprawled beside me, his arm draped possessively over my waist, his face relaxed in sleep. My body is tired, my bones ache, and I’m worn out—but my mind is still buzzing, refusing to rest.
I stare at the cracked ceiling, eyes wide, throat tight. My skin still tingles where he touched me, and I hate that I can’t forget how it felt—how it still feels.
“You let him in,” a voice whispers in my head, sharp and accusing.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to drown it out, but the thoughts claw their way in anyway.
“You wanted him to catch you.”
I curl up tighter, pulling the blanket over my shoulders, but it smells like him—like leather, smoke, and something darker. My heart races, and I feel sick.
“You didn’t fight hard enough.”
I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms, forcing my breathing to steady.
I fought. Didn’t I? I tried to push him away. I tried to say no…
“But you opened the door.”
My chest aches. I bite down on my lip, fighting the scream building in my throat. I feel like I’m drowning, sinking under the weight of my own confusion.
He shifts beside me, murmuring something in his sleep, and I freeze. He doesn’t wake—just tightens his hold on my waist, pulling me closer like I’m some kind of comfort.
“You’re disgusting,” the voice sneers, and I want to claw it out of my skull.
I swallow hard, pressing my palm to my forehead.
“You liked it. You begged for it.”
I shake my head, teeth gritted, but the memories flood in anyway—how his hands felt on my skin, how his mouth dragged moans out of me I didn’t want to make. I curl into myself, desperate to disappear.
“You’re just as sick as he is.”
No. That’s not true.
He’s the one who broke in, who pushed, who wouldn’t leave me alone. I didn’t want it. I didn’t.
“Liar. You never blocked his number. You wanted him to keep texting you.”
My stomach twists. I press my hand against my mouth, choking on a sob.
I could have called the police. I could have told Sam. I could have run farther, hidden better.
“But you didn’t. You enjoyed being hunted. You enjoyed feeling wanted, even if it was twisted and wrong.”
Tears sting my eyes. I blink them away, refusing to let them fall. I can’t break down now. Not while he’s still here.
I shift slowly, trying to edge away from him, but his arm tightens around me, pulling me back against his chest. His lips brush the back of my neck, even in sleep, and I shiver—hating the way my skin prickles with awareness.
“You let him inside. You let him ruin you.”
My breathing hitches. I dig my nails into my thigh, needing the pain to ground me. I want to scream at the voice to shut up, but it’s relentless, whispering all the truths I don’t want to face.
“You’re not a victim. You’re a willing participant. You wanted him to force you. You wanted to feel helpless.”
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter.
No. I didn’t want any of this. I didn’t ask for him to stalk me, to invade my life, to push me until I snapped.
“But you didn’t say no. You never really meant it.”
A sob tears from my throat. I press my face into the pillow, hoping he doesn’t hear. I can’t let him see me like this—weak and unraveling, torn apart by my own twisted desires.
“You’re broken. Just like him.”
I shake my head, whispering, “No… I’m not. I’m not like him.”
But the truth slithers in, vicious and sharp.
I didn’t stop him. I could have fought harder. I could have screamed for help.
But I didn’t.
Deep down, in that dark, sick part of me… I wanted him to take it. To make me feel something other than fear. To push me until I couldn’t think. Until I couldn’t fight.
I bite down on the pillow, muffling my sobs. He shifts behind me, and I go still, terrified he’ll wake up and see the mess he’s made of me.
“You’re addicted to him,” the voice whispers, softer now, almost mocking.
I choke on a breath, because I know it’s true. The fear and the thrill are tangled together, impossible to separate. I can still feel his hands on me—rough, possessive—claiming me like I’m his to break.
And the worst part?
A part of me wants him to do it again.
“You can’t get rid of him now,” the voice hisses. “You let him inside. He’ll never leave. You belong to him, and you love that you do.”
A shiver runs through me. I’ll never admit it out loud. I can’t.
I can’t let him know how deeply he’s sunk his claws into me.
His arm tightens again, pulling me even closer. I feel his breath on my shoulder, warm and steady. I don’t know if he’s awake or still asleep, but he murmurs something I can’t make out, his nose brushing the back of my neck.
My body betrays me, relaxing into his warmth despite the chaos in my mind.
I hate him. I hate that he’s made me need him, even when I know I should run.
“You’ll never run,” the voice whispers, dark and satisfied. “You’ll let him catch you every time. Because you don’t want to be free. You want to be caught.”
I press my hands to my temples, desperate to quiet the voices, but they keep clawing at me, ripping me open from the inside.
I hate myself for craving him.
I hate him for making me love the fear.
And I hate knowing that, no matter what happens next… I’m never going to let him go because the truth is, I don’t know how to exist without him anymore.
The room feels like it’s caving in, the walls pressing closer, suffocating me. I can’t breathe right, my chest tight and aching, and his arm around my waist feels like a chain locking me in place.
“Look at you,” the voice sneers, dripping with mocking sweetness. “All curled up like a pathetic little pet. Did you purr for him too? Maybe he should get you a collar.”
I clamp my hands over my ears, but the voices are in my head—they’re not going anywhere.
I squeeze my eyes shut, praying he stays asleep, praying he doesn’t hear how broken I am.
“You wanted it,” another voice coos, almost like a lullaby. “All that fighting was just a show. You wanted to be taken. To be ruined. And guess what? You got exactly what you begged for.”
“Poor little spider,” a third one laughs, darker, sharper. “Caught in your own web. Didn’t think it would be this easy to break you, did you? He didn’t even have to try that hard.”
I want to scream at them to shut up, but the words are stuck in my throat.
I feel like I’m being split open from the inside. My nails dig into my scalp, desperate to claw the voices out.
“Maybe you should thank him,” one voice purrs. “He did you a favour. No more pretending you’re the good girl. No more hiding how sick you really are.”
“Sick little spider,” another voice chimes in, almost laughing. “You loved every second. Did you see the look on his face when you screamed his name? Pathetic. Begging like the desperate little slut you are.”
Tears prick my eyes. I bite down on my lip so hard I taste blood. I need them to stop. I need to think.
“Think? You? That’s cute,” the voice snickers. “You’re not made for thinking. You’re made to be used—to let him break you over and over. You’re just a toy, and you love being played with.”
I’m spiralling. My thoughts collapse in on themselves, and I can’t tell what’s real anymore.
“Face it,” another voice sneers, colder, crueler. “You’re his now. You’ll never be anything else. You’ll never get away, because you’ll always come crawling back. You’ll keep letting him rip you apart because you need it. You’re addicted.”
I choke on a sob, pressing my forehead to my knees, trying to drown them out, but they just get louder—overlapping, taunting.
“You know what’s really pathetic?” one says, voice dripping with contempt. “You could’ve run. You could’ve fought. You didn’t. You stayed. You opened the door. You asked for it.”
“And now you’re stuck,” another laughs. “Stuck with the monster you begged to ruin you. You’ll never be free, because you don’t really want to be.”
My breathing turns shallow. Panic claws at my throat. I feel like I’m suffocating.
“You’re going to stay here,” the voice hisses. “You’re going to let him break you again. You’ll love every second, and then you’ll cry like a little victim. It’s pathetic.”
I can’t take it anymore. I need to get out. I need air.
I can’t think with him so close, his scent wrapping around me like a noose.
Slowly, carefully, I slide out from under his arm, holding my breath as he stirs, muttering something in his sleep. I freeze, muscles locking, but he doesn’t wake. Inch by inch, I slip off the bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floor.
“Where are you going?” one voice mocks. “Running again? He’s just going to catch you. You love it when he chases you. Makes your heart race, doesn’t it? Makes you feel alive.”
I ignore it, grabbing my discarded clothes and pulling them on. My hands shake so badly I can barely tie the drawstring of my sweatpants. I glance back at him—still asleep, one arm stretched across the bed where I was lying.
“Leave while you can,” one voice urges. “Or stay and let him fuck you again. You know you’re wet just thinking about it.”
I grit my teeth, shoving the voices down, forcing my legs to move. I grab my phone from the bedside table. My fingers brush his jacket draped over the chair, and the scent of leather makes me dizzy.
“He’ll find you,” one voice purrs. “Maybe you want him to. Maybe you’re just making it more fun for him.”
I bite back a sob, turning the doorknob as quietly as I can. The latch clicks.
I slip into the hallway, cold air hitting my face like a slap.
I don’t know where I’m going. I just need to move. I just need to get away from the way his touch still burns on my skin.
“Run, run, little spider,” one voice sings. “He’ll catch you. He’ll drag you back, pin you down, make you admit that you’re his. Isn’t that what you really want?”
I break into a run—down the stairs, out into the night. My breaths tear out of me like I’m being strangled. The city lights blur around me, and I just keep going, pushing through the panic, the shame, the twisted ache that refuses to fade.
“You’ll come back,” the voices whisper, echoing in my skull. “You’ll crawl back to him, begging to be hurt again. You’re just as sick as he is.”
I don’t stop running, even when my legs ache, even when tears blur my vision.
I can’t go back. I can’t let him see me like this—broken, unhinged, lost in my own twisted desire.
But the voices are right about one thing.
He’ll catch me and the worst part?
I think I want him to.