Read Online Pray for Darkness by Virginia Locke - Free Book Online Page B

his way to the bed.
    “You still haven’t put on any clothes.”
    His voice sounds even more dismissive than it did before. You’re still dirty. You’re still dirty. You’re still dirty and I can’t stand you.
    He sits as far away from me as he can while still being on the mattress. We remain like that, me watching the wall, trying to be still and quiet as my nose runs, and him, just sitting, doing nothing. I don’t know what we’d even say to each other. What words are there for what just happened? What words can be used to move past it?
    “Are you going to say anything?” he asks. “Do anything?”
    No . I shut my eyes, trying to shut him out. I focus on the rickety fan above, the sweat cooling on my skin, the sticky, sinful stain he left between my legs.
    His hands slide into my ankles as he leans back. He tenses, as if he’s about to move or expecting me to, but neither of us do.
    “Sasha, please say something.”
    I can’t . It sounds like I’m sniffling when I breathe through my nose. I fucking hate that. But once I open my mouth I’ll have to talk, won’t I?
    Tentatively, he runs his hand over my ankle. He’s seeing how much he can get away with—whether or not I’ll push him away.
    “Do you still want me to stay, Sasha?” His voice, like his touch, is soft. It calms and warms me.
    “No,” I whisper.
    He stops rubbing my ankle. “No?”
    It’s a struggle to speak again. My throat feels raw, like it’s full of broken mirrors, but I have to answer. He’ll stay if I don’t. “I don’t want you here.”
    “I thought you said you didn’t want me to leave.”
    “That was before.”
    His hand tightens around my ankle. I don’t even think he’s aware he’s doing it. “So you wanted me around just long enough to fuck.”
    It’s not a question. He already knows the answer. He just wants to make me say it. So I do. “Yes.”
    “You’re throwing me out?”
    I stare at the wall as he removes his hand. “What do you want me to say?” I ask.
    He exhales a curse as he stands. He gathers his shirt off the floor. His feet slide into his shoes. He doesn’t lace them up. And then he stands there, waiting for something I can’t give him—something I doubt I can even give myself.
    “Fine,” he whispers. “Fine.”
    He shuffles on his feet like he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t. After a few more seconds he walks to the door of my apartment and leaves.
    I hear him stomp down the first few stairs. Then he’s too far away for me to hear anything from him again until the car starts and he pulls out of the lot so fast the tires shriek.
    I roll onto my back and watch the fan above. I kick off the rest of the sheets, spread my legs and rest my hand on my cunt. I don’t push my fingers in. I don’t stimulate it. I focus on how warm my palm is and how my cunt throbs beneath it.
    Yes, he was there. Yes, I was able to take it. And while I didn’t conquer the pain and couldn’t stop myself from falling back into those memories, I’m now empty. Purged. The shame I felt and my disgust over what just happened left when Trevor shut the door, leaving only a dull, physical pain I can endure, and an emotional numbness that obliterates my fears and resentment.
    For a moment I don’t care about what happened and I don’t care about my body. I don’t worry about transcending the pain or redeeming myself. I feel only an emptiness in which horror and pleasure do not exist, in which I am completely alone and perfectly numb.
    For the first time in weeks or months or however long it’s been, I fall asleep and am not woken by nightmares.

Chapter 7
    Trevor
    A day has never passed this slowly.
    A day has never felt this empty.
    I couldn’t sleep last night. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I remembered the feeling of her body so close to mine and I’d start to get hard. I’d remember the circumstances in which I’d taken her and I’d just fucking hate myself. I probably should have