Three Days

I was awake before dawn, sitting rigidly on the edge of my bed, seething.

I didn't move for hours. Just sat there in the grey pre-dawn light, my jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might crack, replaying everything that had happened in the alcove over and over in my mind.

He'd touched me like he owned me. Like my body, my responses, my very breath belonged to him.

And the worst part was that I’d let him. I’d said the things he wanted to hear because his hand had been squeezing my thigh and I’d been drowning in sensation and fear and something I absolutely refused to identify as desire.

And then he'd just... stopped. Called Claire like I was a problem to be managed and then forgotten.

I hate him, I told myself fiercely.

I hated his face and his voice and the way he looked at me like I was something to be conquered.

A knock on the door interrupted my internal tirade.

"It's Claire," a small, nervous voice called from outside.

"Come in," I called back, forcing some semblance of cal