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It was just sex. Just a body. Just whatever…
Of course I wasn’t dying beneath constant fear of living in this place.
It was just a castle. Just monsters. Just another day…
Of course I wasn’t living in constant stress or misery or panic or horror or pain or worry or, or, or…
Of course not.
Of course—
Lies.
Pretend.
Coping mechanisms.
As Henri slowly climbed out of his ashes and the deadness in his eyes transformed into vicious life, he stole all my distractions. Tore apart all my careful lies and forced me to see just how much I wasn’t okay.
It’d been so long since I felt safe.
So long since I could take off my mask and be honest.
And as his arms came around me, cocooning me in a safe harbour, I folded inward, gave in, and let go.
Victor raped me.
I felt him. Even now. Inside me. Moving.
I cringed away.
I tried to run.
But my mind popped the corks of every moment I’d bottled up. Every horror I’d shrugged off and every sleepless night I’d shoved away.
It was too much.
I wasn’t alright.
I wasn’t.
I was afraid and lonely, lost and dying day by day.
My brave face for Peter and the jewels.
My determination not to let evil win.
I was exhausted.
Barely hanging on.
Drowning…
I hated Henri for showing me that.
Hated that I’d been so alone.
Hated how wonderful it was to suddenly have someone. Someone who threw up a shield between me and horror and kept me hidden just for a moment.
