Flower in the Flame (The Scattered Series - Book #1)

Chapter Eight

Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault 
My DMs are always open if anyone ever needs to talk and I've linked some sites at the end of this chapter that might be a help to any survivors. 
As someone who has experienced this themselves, I feel I am in good standing to write about it and hopefully this will be an empowering process for me (and maybe some readers) as Nadia grows and heals. 
This doesn't go into horrible detail, as I see no need for that, but if you're still uncomfortable then DM me and I'll be happy to summarise what happens before and then send you the remainder of the chapter which doesn't include the SA. 

I love you all, stay safe. 

8 | Nadia Spencer

Baths might be my favourite thing in the world. Or waffles.

Waffles in the bath, now that would be heaven.

I like my me time, I think it's the most important thing, something everyone should value. If you cannot be comfortable alone, then you can never truly be comfortable with someone else. Finding security in solitude wasn't easy at first, in my teen years I was quite self-loathing, but little by little, I learned to love every inch of me.

Our bodies are gifts, forged from abundant elements like carbon, oxygen, hydrogen and nitrogen to form this beautiful whole being. We have only one chance to care for our body, keep her safe and healthy.

Submerged in the water; I close my eyes. I like to picture everything bad escaping my skin in the bath, all the icky bad thoughts and doubts seeping from me until I'm no longer fogged with murky insecurities.

Negative thoughts cannot diffuse from my body into the bath water, but believing it makes me feel better, allows me a fresh confidence.

I stay in the bath until the water becomes cold around me and I fear moving will allow more of my body heat to escape. Pulling the plug, I stand and step out of the tub. 

Stood flush before the mirror, I allow my eyes to roam my body. The slight slope of my shoulders, the lines of my collarbones, the perk of my breasts, the shine of the blue navel piercing, the curve of my waist.

My mother was a curvy woman, she carried her weight in her thighs, waist and cleavage in a way that enchanted men. I was not blessed with such a body, in fact, I'm a loyal member of the itty bitty titty committee. I don't hate it though, I came to terms with my body a long time ago, and now I love it.

I wipe the droplets of water from me with the towel and change into my bed clothes – sweats and a t-shirt. A safe option, can't go wrong with that.

Carter has been absent since he caught me swimming with Benjamin, and he's not in bed when I climb in and pull the duvet up to my chin.

I'm drifting between sleep and wake when he slides into bed beside me. He radiates heat and the goosebumps on my skin settle immediately. He's slow and deliberate when he moves closer and his hand closes on my waist. I nestle into the pillow, somewhat at ease to know he isn't mad at me.

And then his hand inches lower. His fingers slip beneath the waistband of my pants.

I shift away from him, "not tonight, Carter, I'm tired."

He doesn't reply. His hand moves lower. His fingertips brush where he knows I don't want him to touch me. "You will not swim with Benjamin again." He rubs me. I wince. His nails are sharp. He's hurting me, I think he knows he's hurting me.

"Carter stop." I can barely get out a whisper. Panic claws at my throat when he doesn't stop. "Carter please." I hate him. I hate him so much. "I love you, Carter, stop." I choke on my sobs. He doesn't draw away. I can feel him hard against the back of my thigh. A fat tear rolls down my cheek. I can taste the salt on my lips.