chapter five -the dream

The night presses heavy.

I turn for what feels like the hundredth time, sheets dragging across my skin like restraints. Every breath seems too loud, shallow and shaky, as if the silence of the room has sharpened into something watchful.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Nothing. I open them again. Darkness blinks back.

But the air is wrong.

It isn’t just the restless heat beneath my blanket anymore. It’s thicker, colder, humming as if the shadows themselves have taken a breath.

My body stiffens.

I know, before I see him.

The floor beneath me is no longer the mattress I collapsed onto hours earlier—it is stone, slick and cold, seeping into my bare feet. My sheets have vanished, and in their place stretches a vast chamber cloaked in shadow.

The silence is absolute. No hum of the fan, no ticking clock. Even my heartbeat seems muffled, as though the chamber itself is swallowing sound. The air smells of iron and damp stone, heavy and ancient, pressing against my lungs.

Only him.

He emerges from the dark as if it has been hiding him, tall, shoulders squared, every step measured. The mask gleams faintly, its hollow expression unreadable, yet I feel it fix on me like a blade.

My breath falters, catching in my throat. I try to step back, but the stone floor tilts beneath me, forcing me forward instead.

The space between us shrinks slowly, unbearably slow—each stride of his hammering to my chest.

I want to scream, but my lips only part soundlessly.

When he reaches me, the shadows cling to his figure, and still I can’t see his face behind the mask. But I can feel him—heat radiating from his body, suffocating, magnetic.

A gloved hand lifts.

He doesn’t touch me. Not yet. The leather hovers inches from my cheek, the air between his hand and my skin vibrating with anticipation. The longer he waits, the more my body betrays me—knees trembling, breath spiraling into shallow gasps, my chest tightening with a need I don’t want to name.

Finally, the glove closes around my wrist.

Firm. Unyielding. My skin burns beneath the leather, pulse hammering wildly against his grip.

He tugs, sharp and certain, and I collide with him. My gasp slips free, muffled against the hard plane of his chest.

The mask tilts down, cold edge grazing my temple, while his breath spills hot along my ear.

“You shouldn’t crave what hunts you,” he murmurs, low, velvet and dangerous.

My eyes flutter shut. The words strike like sparks, igniting places inside me I thought were locked.

His other hand curves around my waist, dragging me closer until there is no space left, only his heat and my trembling.

The mask brushes my jaw, a teasing scrape. His breath ghosts my lips, close enough to taste but never granting the kiss.

“You want this,” he whispers. “Don’t lie.”

I don’t answer—can’t. The sound that escapes is no denial, just a broken whimper, raw and desperate.

His chuckle rumbles through me, vibrating where our bodies press. The gloved hand slides lower, gripping, claiming. My thighs clench instinctively, heat surging, unbearable.

“Mine,” he says, the single word rough and final, sealing me like a brand.

The chamber dissolves.

I wake up with a jolt.

Sheets twist around my legs, clinging damply to my skin. My chest rises and falls in frantic bursts, lungs dragging air like I’ve been drowning.

The room is real again—but my body isn’t. It pulses, restless, aching, unsatisfied.

A sob catches in my throat as my hand drifts down, trembling, betraying me. My movements are frantic, desperate, chasing the ghost of his grip, his voice, his heat.

The rush comes hard, too hard, snapping through me until I shake against the mattress, biting into the pillow to swallow my cry.

Relief. For one small, fractured moment.

But then—

“Mine.”

The word still rings in my skull, filthy and sweet. Louder now, sharper, as if the walls of the room themselves are whispering it back to me. My thighs clench, betraying me all over again.

I try to fight it, try to bury the sound, but the more I resist the deeper it digs in, vibrating through me until my whole body is strung tight, helpless. My hips move on their own, needy, shameful, chasing the echo.

Mine. The syllable ripples through me.

Mine. Heat pools low, unbearable.

I bury my face in the pillow. My lips move before I can stop them, whispering it back into the dark.

“Mine…”

The word leaves me broken, a confession, and the moment I say it, the dam shatters.

The second wave hits harder, tearing through me until I shake violently, clawing at the sheets. It isn’t gentle, isn’t merciful—it consumes me, raw and brutal, leaving me gasping, sobbing into the fabric as my body surrenders to the word I should never have wanted.

When it finally ebbs, I collapse, sweat-soaked and trembling, too emptied to move.

And that is when the shame arrives—merciless, bone-deep.

I curl on my side, dragging the sheet over me as though it can smother the truth of what I have just done. I shouldn’t want him. I shouldn’t. But I whispered it—I begged for it—and my body obeyed.

The echo lingers, cruel and intoxicating.

“Mine.”

This time, it isn’t just his voice I hear. It is mine too.

Tears burn hot against my cheeks. The sound replays like a curse, and the more I try to silence it, the louder it grows. I think of Annette—her smug smile, the way she leans too close to David, the shameless hunger in her eyes. I judged her, despised her. But aren’t I worse? At least she wants someone real.

What does that make me?

If David ever knows if he sees me like this he will never look at me the same. He will be disgusted. He will leave.

The thought hollows me out completely, leaving only the ache. My body throbs with betrayal, my mind rots with fear. I press the pillow over my mouth and let the sobs take me, hating myself, hating the way some part of me still wants to whisper it again.

Wanted to feel owned. Wanted to be hunted.

The word still echoes—Mine. It pulses through me like a curse and a craving, leaving me restless long after my body has collapsed into trembling exhaustion.

……