Page 29 of The Tourist

She smiles, but I can see a hint of concern in her eyes. "If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. And if you want to talk... well, I’m here."

"Thank you," I say again, I know Shelby has also suffered at the hands of Richard Armstrong. I’m sure she will be a big help to me.

She leaves me to settle in, and I take a moment to look around. There’s a small desk by the window, perfect for writing, and a cozy armchair in the corner. I walk over to the window and look out at the backyard where several cats are lounging in the sun.

Shelby has a lot of cats, and Diego made sure I wasn’t allergic to them before I came here. Just as I’m thinking this, one of the cats jumps up onto the windowsill.

"Well, hello there," I say, reaching through the open window to scratch behind her ears. She purrs at me. "What’s your name?"

"That’s Betty," Shelby says from the doorway, making me jump. "She’s a stray from Texas. Sweet as can be, but she has a mind of her own."

"I can tell," I reply. "She’s lovely."

Shelby nods. "All the cats are friendly, so feel free to spend time with them. They’re great company."

I devote the next few hours to unpacking and trying to make the room a little more like home. But as much as I try, I still feel out of place. I can’t help my mind drifting to Diego. I think about the warmth of his home and the sense of safety I feel there. Finally, my thoughts turn to what happened between us last night.

The memory of him going down on me is vivid but surreal, like something from a dream. I close my eyes, letting the sensations wash over me once more. His touch was so different from any I experienced in captivity. Instead of fear and pain, there was tenderness and care. Diego was gentle, his movements deliberate, and each touch was focused on my pleasure and comfort.

I recall the way he looked at me, his eyes filled with concern and affection. There was no trace of the cold, detached eyes of my captor. Diego’s gaze was warm, reassuring, and it made me feel safe.

When Diego kissed me, it wasn’t just a physical act. It was a promise—a declaration that I was more to him than a body to be used for his own pleasure. His lips were soft, and his kisses tender. As he moved his mouth toward my core, I felt a mixture of anticipation and fear, but he was patient, whispering words of comfort, letting me know that I could stop him at any time.

The first touch of Diego’s mouth at my center was electric, sending shivers down my spine. It was an odd sensation, feeling pleasure in a place that had previously only known pain. But as he continued, his tongue and lips moving in perfect harmony, I began to relax. My body responded to him, and I allowed myself to feel good.

I can still recall the sounds of my orgasm—my breath hitching, his murmurs of encouragement, and the rustle of the sheets. I remember the way my body trembled, the tension melting away as he brought me to the edge and then over. It was a release not just of physical pleasure but of the emotional burden I’ve been carrying.

Afterward, as we lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms, I felt a strange sense of peace. It was as if a small piece of my shattered soul had been mended by his touch. Diego made me feel human again. He reminded me that I was capable of experiencing joy and intimacy.

Now I’m here and alone, but I do understand Diego’s reasoning. Neither of us can move forward and live freely while Serena is out there, alone and scared. There are still too many things to be resolved.

When evening falls, Shelby calls me to dinner. She’s cooked a roast meal, and the delicious smell fills the house. My stomach growls in anticipation.

I make my way into the dining room, and find Eaton is already seated at the table. He looks up and gives me a smile when I enter and nods as I sit down.

"I hope you’re hungry," Shelby says, setting a platter of chicken, popovers, crispy potatoes, and vegetables in front of me. "I made plenty."

"Thank you, Shelby. It smells wonderful."

We start eating, and the food is delicious. The chicken is perfectly cooked, and the vegetables are seasoned just right. But despite how good it is, I find it hard to eat. My appetite is nowhere to be found, and each bite feels like a chore.

"Is everything all right," Shelby asks, watching me push a potato around the plate.

I nod, forcing a smile. "Yes, it’s wonderful. I guess I’m just not that hungry. I have some days when…"

“You don’t need to explain.” Shelby holds her hand up in understanding while Eaton continues eating in silence.

After dinner, I retreat to my room, feeling more out of place than ever. The house is lovely, and Shelby and Eaton are kind, but it doesn’t feel like home. I already miss Diego’s presence, his warmth, and the way he makes me feel safe, and I miss our conversations. They were easy, and I felt I could tell him anything.

Betty curls up beside me in bed, purring as I stroke her head. It’s a soothing sound, but sleep doesn’t come easily. My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and memories, and when I finally doze off, the nightmares return.

In my dream, I’m back in that dark, cold cell.

The smell of damp and decay fills my nostrils as I struggle against the restraints around my wrists and ankles. I can hear the men outside the door, their voices muffled but threatening. The door opens, and they come in, their faces shadowed and menacing.

They hold me down, and I see the needle. Panic rises in my chest as my master injects the heroin, the burning sensation spreading through my veins. My body goes limp. I’m trapped in a haze and unable to move, unable to fight.

I can feel their hands on me, rough and hard. They pass me from one to another. Each touch is a violation. I try to scream, but no sound comes out.

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