The next night, Iris told herself she wouldn’t go. She sat in her small bedroom, fully dressed, the clock ticking too loudly on the wall. The time he’d set came and went, but she didn’t move. She wrapped her arms around herself like that could hold her together. She didn’t owe him this. She didn’t owe him her body.
But when her phone vibrated on the nightstand, her breath caught.
I don’t like waiting. — D.W.
The message wasn’t long. It didn’t need to be. Her entire body tensed, her heartbeat thrumming against her ribs like it was trying to break out. She stared at the screen until the words blurred. She could stay. She could ignore him. But somewhere deep inside her, beneath the fear, was a burn she couldn’t shake. It had started the moment he touched her, and it hadn’t gone away since.
