was still on top of me, but I couldn’t hear him, couldn’t make sense of what he was saying.
Lameuix.
Noah had told me it was just nonsense, that it meant nothing, but now he was getting a text from someone with the exact name.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t speak.
Everything in the room sank underwater, turning everything that was happening into a dreamlike scene that moved in slow motion.
Noah was still moving inside of me, his grip on my collar tightening.
I reached for it, my hands gripping his.
I was choking.
My brain turned in on itself, betraying me, and suddenly I was back at Force with Professor Worthington the night he cut my clothes off and climbed on top of me, the night he slashed Noah wide open with a knife.
“Red,” I whispered, but I wasn’t sure if I’d actually said it or if I’d just imagined it.
I felt like I was suffocating, like my windpipe was being crushed. I could smell the fear and the twisted desire of Force in the air, could feel the tight grip of horrific fear I’d felt.
I reached down with one hand and grabbed Noah’s hip, wanting to tell him to stop, that I was dying. My hand touched his scar, and as soon as it did, I was jolted back to that moment, the moment where I thought he was dead, lying there on the ground, bleeding.
So much blood.
The paramedics pumping his chest.
“Noah!” I screamed. “Noah, please, stop, Noah!”
He was off of me in a half a second, pulling out of me, bending down to unshackle my ankles seemingly before I’d even stopped screaming.
“Charlotte,” he said, standing up and unfastening my collar. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay.” He reached for me, pulling me close to his chest. “It’s okay. You’re here. You’re safe.”
My heart rate was starting to slow, but it was all relative. It had already been so high that even with a slowdown, it was still through the roof.
“No, I’m not safe,” I cried, pushing him away. I tasted salt on my lips, and I realized I’d started to cry. “Why didn’t you stop?”
“What?” Confusion marred his face. “I did stop.”
“No, when I safe worded.” But I wasn’t even sure I’d said the word out loud, and if I had, it might have been whispered so softly he couldn’t hear it.
“I didn’t hear you. Oh my God, Charlotte, I… ” He shook his head, the devastation apparent on his chiseled features.
“You should have stopped,” I said. I was really crying now, the tears coming faster, my chest heaving.
I buttoned my shirt back up and reached for my panties, discarded in a tangle on the floor. Noah reached down and picked his own shirt up, went to put it on me, to cover me, but I elbowed him away. “Don’t.”
I was scared and confused.
About the safe word, yes. Had I said it? Had I imagined it? It was obvious I’d had some kind of flashback, but what about that text?
Lameuix.
The word reverberated through my head.
“Charlotte—”
“Please,” I said. “Please, Noah, just take me home.”
----
W e rode back home in the limo.
The city had started to wake up, shaking its limbs and wiping the sleep from its eyes. It was in the middle of its morning stretch, the early morning gym goers heading down the street with their gym bags, headphones slung around their necks, waving through the throng of businessmen heading to work in a never-ending race to be the first to office.
The back of the limo was cold, and I reached over and turned the heat on full blast, the air whooshing out and into the backseat.
But it didn’t help.
I was still freezing.
I was wearing Noah’s shirt, and even though it came down to right above my knees, I still had nothing but that damn g-string on the bottom. My whole body was broken out in chill bumps.
I knew it wasn’t just the temperature.
I’d been wearing the exact same outfit all night, and there were times I’d been scorching hot.
“Charlotte,” Noah said. “Please, talk to me.”
“I don’t feel like talking.” I
Lameuix.
Noah had told me it was just nonsense, that it meant nothing, but now he was getting a text from someone with the exact name.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t speak.
Everything in the room sank underwater, turning everything that was happening into a dreamlike scene that moved in slow motion.
Noah was still moving inside of me, his grip on my collar tightening.
I reached for it, my hands gripping his.
I was choking.
My brain turned in on itself, betraying me, and suddenly I was back at Force with Professor Worthington the night he cut my clothes off and climbed on top of me, the night he slashed Noah wide open with a knife.
“Red,” I whispered, but I wasn’t sure if I’d actually said it or if I’d just imagined it.
I felt like I was suffocating, like my windpipe was being crushed. I could smell the fear and the twisted desire of Force in the air, could feel the tight grip of horrific fear I’d felt.
I reached down with one hand and grabbed Noah’s hip, wanting to tell him to stop, that I was dying. My hand touched his scar, and as soon as it did, I was jolted back to that moment, the moment where I thought he was dead, lying there on the ground, bleeding.
So much blood.
The paramedics pumping his chest.
“Noah!” I screamed. “Noah, please, stop, Noah!”
He was off of me in a half a second, pulling out of me, bending down to unshackle my ankles seemingly before I’d even stopped screaming.
“Charlotte,” he said, standing up and unfastening my collar. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay.” He reached for me, pulling me close to his chest. “It’s okay. You’re here. You’re safe.”
My heart rate was starting to slow, but it was all relative. It had already been so high that even with a slowdown, it was still through the roof.
“No, I’m not safe,” I cried, pushing him away. I tasted salt on my lips, and I realized I’d started to cry. “Why didn’t you stop?”
“What?” Confusion marred his face. “I did stop.”
“No, when I safe worded.” But I wasn’t even sure I’d said the word out loud, and if I had, it might have been whispered so softly he couldn’t hear it.
“I didn’t hear you. Oh my God, Charlotte, I… ” He shook his head, the devastation apparent on his chiseled features.
“You should have stopped,” I said. I was really crying now, the tears coming faster, my chest heaving.
I buttoned my shirt back up and reached for my panties, discarded in a tangle on the floor. Noah reached down and picked his own shirt up, went to put it on me, to cover me, but I elbowed him away. “Don’t.”
I was scared and confused.
About the safe word, yes. Had I said it? Had I imagined it? It was obvious I’d had some kind of flashback, but what about that text?
Lameuix.
The word reverberated through my head.
“Charlotte—”
“Please,” I said. “Please, Noah, just take me home.”
----
W e rode back home in the limo.
The city had started to wake up, shaking its limbs and wiping the sleep from its eyes. It was in the middle of its morning stretch, the early morning gym goers heading down the street with their gym bags, headphones slung around their necks, waving through the throng of businessmen heading to work in a never-ending race to be the first to office.
The back of the limo was cold, and I reached over and turned the heat on full blast, the air whooshing out and into the backseat.
But it didn’t help.
I was still freezing.
I was wearing Noah’s shirt, and even though it came down to right above my knees, I still had nothing but that damn g-string on the bottom. My whole body was broken out in chill bumps.
I knew it wasn’t just the temperature.
I’d been wearing the exact same outfit all night, and there were times I’d been scorching hot.
“Charlotte,” Noah said. “Please, talk to me.”
“I don’t feel like talking.” I
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