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Her lashes flutter, then a low, drawn-out moan falls from her lips as I brace my knees and adjust the angle of my next thrust.

Rosy’s brow creases, and her breathing turns ragged as her other hand fists the hair at my nape. “I’m…close.”

Fuck. Desperation crowds me, demanding I push her over the edge, have her walls grip me tightly and never let go. Sliding a hand up the back of one of her thighs, I push it up, splitting her open.

“Do it. Come all over my dick, honeybee. I need it. I need you.”

She bites down on her lower lip. I don’t hesitate and lean in, clamping down to suck it into my mouth before pushing my tongue inside hers.

The next thrust in, I grind against her clit, not letting up when her walls clench. Her body locks up as her orgasm hits, and it pushes me over into mine. My lungs seize, fingers clawing the wall I have Rosy up against as I fill her up, the moment between us suspended and static.

When my mind resurfaces, it’s to the sound of our harsh breathing. Her chest brushes against mine with every heaving breath.

I shove down the thought that she might be regretting this, thinking what we did was a mistake, and lean in to kiss her, needing the reassurance that this meant something to her, too.

THIRTY-SEVEN

ROSY

“It’s as if everything’s stagnant. I’m not able to forget and move on. I can’t leave here. I can’t go a day without thinking about him. None of them treat me the same. They won’t touch me. I’m stuck in this bullshitty place, and I don’t want it anymore.” My rant finishes, chest heaving and fists clenched as I hold back the tears.

Six weeks. That’s how long it’s been since my life took a deep, dark dive and changed completely. And here I am, in yet another therapy appointment. Time’s moving too fast and too slow, or perhaps I’m just going a little stir-crazy from not leaving here since I visited the rescue. I miss it so much that the guilt is eating me alive.

Linda’s head tilts, and she nods slowly. The silence lingers between us for a moment. The longer it draws out, the more I want to snatch back the words and shove them inside, then keep pretending that I’m okay.

“What’s making you feel stagnant?”

I never like these sorts of questions; the ones that ask you to delve in and figure out the reasoning and meaning behind something. The ones that crack you open and release all the things you try to keep locked away.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t feel as though I’m getting any better. I still fear going outside. So I’m stuck wanting to leave while feeling too scared to.”

“Have you had any more updates from the detective? Perhaps getting more understanding would help, and we can speak with him about a short visit somewhere,” she suggests.

My insides twist. “Yeah, okay.”

“Tell me how you’re feeling about the idea.”

I stare out the window. The world is the same as it was yesterday, and the day before, and it’ll be the same tomorrow. For me, at least; everyone else will be living freely, without fear.

“Petrified,” I whisper, keeping my gaze fixed on the window rather than looking at whatever expression she wears.

“What you went through was traumatic, Rosy. Feeling this is okay, so you need to allow yourself to feel the emotions rather than trying to avoid them and push them away. Your reactions, your emotions, they’re all to be expected after what you went through. If you want to speak to the detective and you’d like me on the call with you, then I can join. Equally, if you’re not ready, then that’s okay, too,” Linda says, sounding all sorts of supportive.

I should appreciate her offer, but I don’t know how I feel anymore. “Okay.”

“Can you tell me more about why you think they aren’t treating you the same? Who are you referring to?” she asks, moving the subject along.

I regret telling her that. It’s a stupid thought. I can’t tell if it’s in my head, something I’m doing, or they just aren’t interested in me anymore. None of those options are what I want to hear, so I’d rather skip this conversation.

This is how it’s been during our weekly sessions for the last few weeks. Me feeling uncomfortable.

“The guys…” I admit. “But I can’t tell you exactly what it is. Things just feel…cautious. Like they’re waiting for me to cry, to explode…something. So they hold back. They smile, though there’s still doubt. They hug me, but it’s not tight. They kiss me, but it’s brief.”

The words stop. My mouth snaps shut to prevent more spilling out, so I don’t admit that none of them have initiated intimacy since…I took advantage of Max. I’d been mortified by his confession, by his plea for me to not use him, and I realised I almost had. It cracks something inside me every time I think about it. Smiling Maxi, who’s been hurt in the past, and I managed to hurt him, too.

So I haven’t tried anything with any of them, and they haven’t wanted anything to do with me.

“Have you voiced any of this to them?” she asks.