Little Lamb

26 ❦ bruise me

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As I fell asleep, my mind drifted back to a different time. I was standing in front of a mirror, adjusting the neckline of a simple dress. It was modest, covering my shoulders and falling just past my knees, designed to make me feel less exposed.

But when the door creaked open, the illusion of safety shattered. My mother's heels clicked sharply as she entered, her voice slicing through the quiet.

"What are you wearing?"

I glanced at her reflection in the mirror. The glare on her face was unmistakable.

"It's just... a dress," I said softly, as if speaking louder might provoke further wrath.

"Just a dress?" she echoed, stepping closer to inspect it. "This isn't appropriate for tonight. You know better."

My heart tightened. "But—"

"Don't argue with me," she snapped. "You know who's coming over. These are your stepfather's most important clients. You need to look the part. Wear something that shows off your figure."

Nausea roiled in my stomach. It wasn't about me it was about the clients, about the way my mother and stepfather wanted them to see me.

Wordlessly, I retrieved the more revealing dress my mother wanted me to wear. It clung tightly, emphasizing every curve. My mother's satisfaction was evident as she watched me change.

"That's better," she said. "And for God's sake, smile tonight. Your stepfather won't tolerate any sulking."

As she left, I stared at my reflection, now in a costume of sorts. The laughter and murmurs from downstairs felt like a distant echo. I was just a part of the evening's display, admired but never truly seen.

Taking a deep breath, I forced a smile and descended the stairs. I drifted through the evening, now seated at the dinner table.
I was placed next to one of my stepfather's clients, a man with a cold smile that made me uneasy.

As the night wore on, the man's hand brushed against my leg, gradually sliding up with each movement. I froze, my breath catching in my throat. Shock overwhelmed me, tears threatened, but I blinked them away, fighting to keep my composure as his hand lingered.

Suddenly, I jolted awake, the vivid memory of the man's touch still fresh. I was in the tent again, heart pounding, sweat sticking my clothes to my skin. I needed to escape the suffocating air and the weight of that dream.

I stumbled out of the tent into the cold night.
I was only a few steps away when a strong arm encircled my body, pulling me back.

Riggs's voice was a low, harsh whisper against my ear. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I have to use the bathroom," I muttered, already dreading the response.

Riggs's dark eyes flicked to me.
"There's a bucket," he replied bluntly, nodding toward the corner of the tent.

I wrinkled my nose in disgust. "I'm not going to pee in a bucket. Where's the toilet?"

He snorted, the corner of his mouth lifting in a humorless smirk. "You think there's a toilet just waiting for you out here in the middle of the woods, Lola?"

I hesitated, glancing at the flap of the tent that led into the pitch-black forest. The thought of going out there, in the dark, sent a shiver up my spine. "I don't want to go out there," I mumbled, trying to sound casual, but my voice cracked slightly.

Riggs raised an eyebrow, watching me with that cold, calculating gaze of his. "It's either out there or the bucket. Your choice."

I bit my lip, hating how trapped I felt.
"Fine, take me."