Page 11 of Moth to a Flame

Over two hours have passed since we ended our conversation. Two hours that I haven’t been able to sleep. Not because I wanthim so much. Because I’ve been waiting to see if I have some sort of a reaction to him.

I’ve come up blank. He doesn’t even scare me like I hoped my match would.

It’s not his fault. Marshall isn’t ugly or something. He was a little crude, but mostly he was okay, I guess?

Okayisn’t the word I’m searching for. He just isn’t it for me.

For my particular need, I was looking for someone both respectful and dominant on Moth to a Flame. A man with a presence.

Someone to play out a rape scene with me.

My heart palpitates a little faster at the wordrape. My fingers clutch on to the edge of the table instead of stroking it. My knuckles turn white.

You’re fine, Regan, I hear my sister’s voice in my head. The words she repeats to me whenever I start freaking out.I’m right here, right across the hall. One scream, and I’ll come running.

We don’t have latch locks installed for that reason. In case someone breaks in through the fire escape or anything like that.

She’s a light sleeper, so I know she’ll be here if someone tries to rape me. Again.

He can’t hurt you. I’ll kill the motherfucker. Fucking gut anyone who touches you.

Those last affirmations help. That and Jigsaw, my gun. My Ruger stares at me from where I left it on the table, always loaded, ready to fire at whoever gets too close.

“I have you.” I reach over to grab it, cradling it in my palm. The gun is heavy and warm in my hand. My personal bodyguard shines in the soft glow from the floor lamp behind me. “I have Rosemary.”

What happened to me when I was fifteen will never happen again.

The Ruger grows slightly heavier in my hold as if voicing its agreement. Other than my sister, it’s been my most trusted companion for the past ten years.

A decade.

That’s how long it’s been since that awful night in Central Park. My body and soul will never recover from what that monster took from me.

But I have to move on. I refuse to miss out on so many things because some sick fuck’s idea of fun was to rape and sodomize a fifteen-year-old girl.

I’m ready for my life to finally start. For that to happen, I need closure. A do-over. A rape scene where I know the man on top of me isn’t out to hurt me. That it’s just sex for both of us. A transaction that won’t leave me scarred emotionally and physically.

This state I’m in, it can’t go on. Crying when I try to touch myself is awful. So is the fact that I’ve never been kissed.

I want that. I want an orgasm. I want another man’s lips on mine.

But when I think about dating, I shut down.

Consensual rape. That’s the answer I’ve come up with. A way to address my problem. I’m ready for it.

Moth to a Flame was supposed to be the platform to help me with that. Of course I’d vet the man before doing anything remotely sexual with him.

I’ll do everything the right way. Rosemary would come with me on the first date. Dad said to spare no expenses on investigators and a bodyguard when I go meet him, whomever he is I choose to date.

A smile tugs at my lips at the thought of our unconventional family. Dad is a renowned horror author, my favorite genre. Rosemary and I grew up to his scary stories before bed, to Mom yellingBOO!at the end of each of them.

By the time I turned ten and Rosemary was twelve, we already knew how to hide a body. Where the femoral artery is. What acid works best to melt bones.

That was the fun part.

That, and the being honest with each other. They’ve always insisted on it.

We’ve kept both even afterthatnight.

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