Page 31 of Searching for Hope

“The flashes didn’t start until I went to live with my mother. Physically, I was healed but every now and again, when things got too much for me, or someone would start talking about what happened, my father or—” I let out a deep breath.

Even now when I talk about it, my heart races a little. I feel this tension. This bubbling under my skin like something is there and it’s itching to get out but there is no way for it to escape. Anxiety simmers and I mentally count to five before continuing.

“When I’m feeling anxious, or if I’m confronted with memories I don’t want to think about, I get these flashes in my mind. It’s almost like a photograph appears in my memory. One second it’s there and the next, it’s gone. They started off with these images of men doing things to me.”

“What men?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Just men. It’s like they don’t have faces. Their features are there but I can’t make them out, almost as though someone has blurred them.” I pick at the loose thread on the bedspread. “The men aren’t important. The flashes are quick. Someone grabbing at me. Someone’s tongue running over my skin.” I dart a look his way. The set of his jaw hardens. “I’ve learned that if I distract myself, repeat the first five ballet positions, it helps.” I swallow. “If I don’t, they can get worse and worse until I’m curled up into a ball on the floor crying and unable to breathe.” I don’t look at him when I say the next part. “Since I’ve been here though, they’ve changed.”

“They’ve got better?” he asks.

I bite my lip. “Not better, just different.”

“Different how?”

“Now, in my flashes, the man is always you.”

He pulls away slightly. “Me? I’m doing horrible things to you in your head. I’m hurting you?”

“Not exactly.” I swallow my nervousness and let out a little laugh. “I mean, the things that pop into my head can be pretty dark, but…” I clear my throat. “During the flashes, I—It’s like I can feel them and well…” My voice drops low. “I like them.”

Suddenly it feels too hot under his arm. I sit up, turning to face him, cross-legged. “I feel weird now.” I flash him an awkward smile.

“What sort of things do I do to you in these flashes?”

My internal pep talk of convincing myself I could tell this man anything seems far away. My cheeks redden. “I don’t want to say.”

He straightens, his legs moving along the covers as his back hits the headboard. “Tell me.” He waits a while, his eyes narrowing, brows bunching together. “Do you like what I do to you in these flashes?”

I lick my lips. “Yes.”

“So why don’t you want to tell me? I mean, after last night…” He leaves the rest unspoken. There’s a slight smirk on his face.

I clear the discomfort from the back of my throat. “They’re not nice.”

“You only want nice sex. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“No.” I shake my head and shuffle forward. “What I’m trying to say, is that even though my body’s response to these flashes seems favorable—”

“Favorable?” Jericho turns onto his side, head propped on his hand. His smile is in full smirk mode now. “Earlier, each time you screamed, was that your body responding favorably?

I whack his arm. “Stop it. You’re the one who asked the question.”

He adjusts his smile. “True. Tell me, what sort of things happen in these flashes?”

“You tying me up.”

His left eyebrow twitches but otherwise he remains expressionless.

“Things like you spanking or whipping me.”

This causes him to close his eyes and draw in a deep breath. I wait until he looks at me again before continuing, although I find it difficult to say the words out loud. It makes them more real. It takes them out of my head and exposes them.

“You choking me.”

I drop my eyes. They fall to his now hard cock. He does nothing to hide it as he lounges on the bed.

“And these flashes happen how often?”

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