Page 54 of Vow of Vengeance

I can’t believe I’m no longer a virgin. Would my mother be proud? She bought me an IUD. She told me to kiss a lot of boys. Somehow, I think losing my virginity to a man almost twice my age the night after he abducted me isn’t what she had in mind.

Blowing out the candles on my cake when I turned eighteen, I felt no closer to entering the real world. But this primal, fiery encounter has shattered any doubts about my entering adulthood. I am a woman in every sense of the word now, my body ablaze with desire and satisfaction.

He collapses against me and rolls us to the bed, grinning. He looks as fulfilled as I feel. All he can say as he quietly brushes my hair back from my face is, “Damn.”

A placid grin spreads over my face. I tilt my face up to him, wanting to celebrate this milestone with a kiss.

He takes my face in his hands, kissing me deeply. He nuzzles his cheek against mine. Then he whispers hotly in my ear. “Now that I’ve had you, there’s only one thing left to do with you.”

Now that I’ve had you?

The words hit wrong.

The trust we had worked so hard to build now hangs by a thread. In his presence, I feel alluring, foolish, and unsure of where our interactions will lead. A heartbeat ago, I was basking in my self-assuredness and contentment. His words make me feel cheap and disposable, like a plastic pawn in a chess game. Once again, doubt invades my mind.

The fear of my ruin grows stronger.

His words make something burn bright inside me, and finally, I have the will to do what I should have done when he first brought me here.

Fight back.

Tearing myself from the lock of his warm embrace, I sit up, staring daggers down at him. “Now that you’ve had me? You mean now that I’ve let you have me.”

“That’s what I said,” he lies.

“Only one thing left to do with me?” I demand. It sounds like he’s planning on taking me out like a bin of trash. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only that…” Satisfaction fills me as the cocky smile drops from his lips. Is that—regret on his face? Does he feel bad? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” He goes from a lethal shark to a soft bunny, shaking his head at himself. “I’m fucking this up every way from Sunday.” He softly traces a fingertip up and down my bare arm. “I just meant that I may have some plans for you.”

I’m so confused. I need space. I untangle myself from his arms.

He stares up at me. “Where are you going?”

“Bathroom,” I say, grabbing my rumpled quilt and pulling it around my body. It feels silly to cover myself up after what we’ve just done, but I don’t like feeling exposed to him after what he’s said to me. “I need a shower.”

As I go to leave, he grabs an end of my trailing quilt, tugging me back to him for a quick peck. “Don’t be long.”

His sweet action is almost enough to make me stay. His sweetness is at war with his entitlement, confusing my head and heart. I rush to the bathroom, exhaling as I close the door. To my surprise, I’m sore under the hot, steamy water as I gently wash him away from me.

I can't help but question if it will all come crashing down. Despite this inner turmoil, a part of me wants to stay andsee what could possibly arise from this touch-and-go inferno between us.

Wrapped tightly in a fluffy towel, I return to the room to dress. He’s not here. My bed is perfectly made, the feather duvet tucked tight around the corners. Obviously, I like that he’s made my bed with care. It’s kind that he’s given me privacy to dress.

Still, my stomach does a little twist. I’m disappointed that he left. Like, even kinda upset.

You take my virginity, then run the first chance you get?

The thoughts are not rational. This is so not like me. I’m not one of those girls who creates drama where there is none. Shaking my head at myself, I go for the comfort of my favorite gray sweatpants, a tee, and a hoodie. I open the top drawer for panties.

Instead, I find my necklace.

The best part of turning eighteen was being gifted these pearls. I love having something connected to my past; it makes me feel stronger. I lift them from the drawer, holding them to my face.

The cool beads rest against my skin. I close my eyes, trying to remember the woman who once wore them. I want to meet her, see her face, and hear her laugh. I want her to tell me the story of that day.

The real one.

Because I feel I’m not getting anything close to the truth out of my family.

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