Sneak peek?
Micah's Point Of View
"What time is it?"
Karl and I both laughed. "It's time for you to be fucked," I say.
Her eyes widen and she looks at the two of us. I'm not sure if she's scared or if she's just unsure. I know we're going to have t...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Inside the small confines of the cubicle, I let the tears cascade down, each one a silent testament to the humiliations I recieved. The coolness of the walls was a stark contrast to the heat of my flushed skin and the hot tracks of my tears. Clade’s voice, muffled by the door, reached me, and I couldn't help but to cry softly.
“Amara, sono Clade. Sono qui se hai bisogno di qualcosa," he said, his tone gentle, a stark contrast to the harshness I had just endured. (“Amara, it’s Clade. I’m here if you need anything.")
Clade, the handsome stranger with the kind eyes, was a cousin to those who seemed to take pleasure in my pain.
How could someone related to them seem so different? I wondered, my thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and hurt. Is he just another one of them, wearing a mask of concern?
I pressed my forehead against the cool metal of the door, trying to ground myself. Why did I think today would be any different? The hope I had felt this morning seemed foolish now. They’ll never see me as anything but a clumsy girl, will they?
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my shaking hands.
The sting from the coffee burn was a cruel reminder of the morning’s events. I gingerly touched my shoulder, wincing at the tender skin that had turned a shade of angry red. My stomach wasn’t spared either; the fabric of my blouse clung to the sensitive area earlier and I was lucky that I took my blazer and blouse immediately.
“Ahia,” I muttered under my breath, biting my lower lip to keep from crying out. The pain was a stark contrast to the soft concern in Clade’s voice that still lingered in my ears. Could someone related to Karl and Micah really be so different? (“Ouch.")
The thought was a small flicker of hope in the back of my mind, but I quickly squashed it. Don’t be naive, Amara. People like that don’t change.
Yet, as I looked at my reflection in the mirror, a part of me couldn’t help but wonder about Clade. His kindness seemed genuine, his touch had been nothing but gentle, and his voice… there was something there that made me want to believe he was different.
With a sigh, I dabbed at my skin with a damp paper towel, the coolness a temporary relief. I need to get back out there, I thought, steeling myself. I can’t hide in here forever. Ugh.
Clade’s voice came through again, soft but insistent. “Amara, parlami. Di che cosa hai bisogno? Come posso aiutare?" “Amara, talk to me. What do you need? How can I help?”
I hesitated, my pride wrestling with practicality. Finally, I mustered the courage to speak. "Clade, io... ho bisogno di una maglietta." I said, my voice barely above a whisper. (“Clade, I… I need a shirt.”)
Taking a deep breath, I unlocked the cubicle door and cracked it open. Clade’s eyes widened in surprise as he caught a glimpse of me in my bra, the blush on my cheeks deepening. Mortified, I quickly slammed the door shut again.
