The footsteps stopped right outside my door. I held my breath. For a second, I thought the handle would turn. Instead, Mum yelled through the door. “Tamara! Will you stop making so much noise? It’s three in the morning, for Christ’s sake!” “Yes, got it,” I called back, my voice barely audible. “Sorry.” I lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling and trying to steady my breathing. My whole body was still shaking. The dream had been too vivid. His voice, his hands on my hips, the raw weight of him in the car it felt like it had actually happened. I stripped the sheets off in the dark, balled them up angrily, and shoved them into the hamper. The walk to the bathroom felt heavy with shame. I took a long, cold shower, but it did nothing to cool my skin. The ache stayed right where it was. By six, I was in the studio, desperate for any distraction. The strong smell of paint stung my eyes as I poured too much onto the tray. My brush dragged across the canvas in hard, frantic
Zuletzt aktualisiert : 2026-07-18 Mehr lesen