What's home, if not the first place you flee from? What's love, if not that blazing, unexplainable feeling born from the ashes of hate?
Reputable for her appeal, servility, and obsession with cartoons, Alaina is a workaholic immigrant doctor who's s...
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The Weeknd ft. Swedish House Mafia - Moth To A Flame.
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I HAVEN'T FELT LIKE THIS. EVER.
My legs are weighted like meat on butcher hooks, my muscles protest every breath, my skull throbs behind my eyes, and my chest feels freshly excavated—hollowed out by grief and swollen with rage. And beneath all that ache, my core pulses with the ghost of yesterday's ruin.
It still stings from the memory of his mouth—my boss. That monstrous man with a tongue trained to punish. My breasts throb from the bite marks he scattered across my skin like violent petals. No matter how viciously I scrubbed, his cologne still ghosts over me, bold and smug, laughing at the soap's failure. His jacket hangs in my closet like a crucifix, daring me to forget.
I need another shower.
I need to sandpaper every inch of me.
I need to gouge out every whisper of his touch—his scent, his taste, the way his breath fractured me.
I need to forget how easily lust made a fool of me.
I need to exile every feeling I ever had for him, especially the ones still clawing at my ribcage.
I just want to be numb.
I want to see him and feel nothing—not hunger, not guilt, not that sick, familiar heat that creeps between my thighs. I want to exist near him without my body betraying me, without old flashbacks swallowing me whole.
That's impossible, Ina.
It is not!
It is. You know it is.
Ugh!
I shouldn't have let him touch me.
I shouldn't have let him talk me open.
I should've screamed 'Taylor' until my throat cracked.
But instead...what did I do?
I sighed yes against his mouth.
I moaned louder than my conscience.
I told him how much I liked it. How much I needed it. Needed him.
God, I'm a fucking disaster.
I've fucked around with the man who razed my world. The first man to ever lay his hand on me. The first to make me question not just my morals, but my sanity. Mr. Ash—the storm I invited in.
Never again.
I cannot do that again. I shouldn't do that again. Not after proving to him that he was wrong about me from day one. Not when I finally have a way out. Not when I could pack my shame and leave this house behind. Not when I can never see his face again.
