Page 23 of Impure Vows

The room feels smaller. I can almost feel his eyes on me, watching, waiting.

I sling the bag over my shoulder and take one last look around the room. The dress, the packages, the constant fear—they're all just reminders of how far I've fallen. I need to move, to breathe, to find a place where his shadow doesn't loom over me.

Stepping into the hallway, I keep my head down, my pace brisk. The creaky floorboards and peeling wallpaper blur together as I make my way to the exit. Each step feels like I'm walking a tightrope, balancing between safety and danger.

I can almost feel the weight of the dress in my bag holding me down. I silently curse, thinking I should’ve just left the fucking thing, but I couldn’t. And I didn’t. And I have no fucking idea why.

The hallway stretches endlessly, each step echoing in the silence. I press the elevator button and glance over my shoulder,my pulse quickening. Nothing. No shadowy figures lurking, no dark silhouettes watching. For now.

The elevator doors slide open with a creak. I step inside, the musty smell making my nose wrinkle. The doors close, and I lean against the wall, letting out a shaky breath.

"What the hell am I doing?" I mutter to myself. The dress feels like a lead weight in my bag, dragging me down, mocking my feeble attempts at escape. But I couldn’t leave it. Something inside me wouldn’t let me.

The elevator dings, and the doors open to the lobby. I step out, keeping my head down, avoiding eye contact with the few people milling about. My legs feel like jelly, but I force them to move, one step at a time.

The cold air hits me as I step outside, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. The street is busy, people rushing by, cars honking. I blend into the crowd, just another face in the city.

I need a plan, something more than just running. But what? My mind races, searching for answers, for a way out of this nightmare.

The dress, the packages, the constant fear—they all point to one thing. He’s not going to stop.

12

ALIYAH

Icheck into another cheap motel, the flickering neon sign outside casting an eerie glow through the grimy window. My eyelids feel like they weigh a ton, but sleep is a luxury I can’t afford. Paranoia is the only thing keeping them open, a gnawing sensation in my gut that he’s out there, watching.

The room is as shitty as the last one—peeling wallpaper, a sagging mattress, smelling of mildew and regret. I drop my bag on the floor and collapse onto the bed, staring at the cracked ceiling. My mind races with thoughts of him, the man who’s turned my life into a living nightmare.

I can still see his eyes, cold and piercing, as he stood over that body. The image is seared into my brain, a loop of terror and fascination. How can someone be so terrifying and yet so... magnetic? The way he moved, the confidence in his stance, it all made me freeze. And now, even with miles between us, he’s still got me trapped.

I roll onto my side, curling into a ball. The bed creaks under my weight, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s already found me again.

My eyes drift to the bag on the floor, where the black dress lies hidden. I can’t believe I brought it with me. It’s like a piece of him, a reminder that he’s always a step ahead. I hate myself for the sliver of intrigue it sparks in me. What the hell is wrong with me?

I close my eyes, trying to push the thoughts away, but they keep creeping back.

The stress and fear wrap around me like a vice, squeezing tighter with every breath. The cheap mattress groans beneath me as I shift, trying to find some semblance of comfort. But there’s none to be found. The dress lies in my bag, mocking me with its presence. I hate that I even touched it, let alone packed it.

A wave of heat courses through me, unexpected and unwelcome. My breath catches in my throat. I close my eyes, willing the sensation to go away, but it only intensifies. My hand, almost moving of its own accord, slips beneath the waistband of my panties. A sigh escapes my lips as my fingers make contact with the warmth between my thighs.

The touch is a desperate attempt to distract myself, to find some relief from the overwhelming tension. But even as I close my eyes and try to focus on the sensation, the thoughts ofhim, the body, and my own helplessness refuse to let go. They cling to me, relentless and suffocating, as I search for a fleeting moment of peace in the chaos that has become my life.

I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be feeling this. But the tension, the fear, the overwhelming sense of being hunted—it all needs an outlet. My fingers circle my clit, the pressure building with each pass. My breath hitches, as relief and self-loathing washing over me.

I can't help but think of him—those piercing eyes, the way he looked at me. It should repulse me, make my skin crawl, but instead, it fuels the fire burning inside me. I hate myselffor it, for the way my body betrays me, but the sensation is too intoxicating to stop.

My hips arch off the bed, chasing the release I so desperately need, every nerve in my body electrified by the forbidden thoughts I can't escape. The more I try to push them away, the stronger they grip me, pulling me into a spiral of desire and shame.

My mind betrays me, replaying the intensity of his gaze, the way his presence commanded the room with such ease. I hate myself for wanting this, for needing this, yet I can't stop. The tension coils tighter within me, demanding to be unraveled.

The sound of my own ragged breathing fills the room, mingling with the creaks of the bed and the rustle of the sheets. I press harder, my fingers moving faster, the tension coiling tighter inside me like a spring ready to snap. My mind is a chaotic mess of fear and arousal, the two blending into something I can’t control.

Every nerve in my body is on edge, my senses heightened, as if the very air around me is charged with electricity. The darkness of the room seems to close in, amplifying my isolation and vulnerability.

A moan slips through my parted lips as images of him intrude. I don’t even know his name, but his face is burned into my memory, haunting me. My body shivers as I relive the way his eyes pierced through me, dark and unyielding.

I pant to the image of him in my mind—the gun in his hand, the pool of blood at his feet. The danger and the thrill of it send a jolt through my core, a twisted mix of fear and desire. I slip my middle and ring finger inside me, moaning at how wet I am at the mere thought of him, at the forbidden allure of the man who’s turned my life upside down.

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