But then He stopped. He just stopped. He rolled away from me, onto his back, lying flat at the edge of the bed. The silence that followed was unbearable. I stayed still, stunned. My heart thudded in my chest as my thoughts spun with panic. Why did he stop? Did I do something wrong? Did he see through me? Did he sense the hesitation I tried to hide, the shame I couldn't scrub off no matter how many times I played pretend? Maybe he could feel that I wasn't used to being touched as I mattered. The minutes ticked by, thick and heavy. An hour passed, maybe more. I kept my eyes on the ceiling, afraid to move, afraid to breathe too loudly. He didn’t say a word. Just when I started to believe he’d fallen asleep, his arm reached out and wrapped around my waist. He pulled me into him, his chest warm against my back. “Just sleep,” he whispered, his voice like gravel in the dark. “I don’t think I want to have sex with you.” My heart cracked. The words weren’t cruel, but they lande
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