Twisted Lies by Nora Cobb

Chapter 30

Astrid

 

I count the money in the bathroom with the doors locked. I definitely don’t need Gemma walking in and seeing me sitting on the floor next to a running shower, counting Bryce Shelton’s cash. I don’t need Roni to see me either. Besides, she wasn’t in her bed because she’s probably with Terri. He’s probably fucking her because he loves her, not because he wants to use her. Who knows, and who cares?

 

I should have thrown the money in his face. No…I should have grabbed him by the back of his neck and push his face into that envelope. Rub the grubby money into his face as he struggled to get out of my grip.

 

That fucking asshole. He paid me. I hold my head in my hands. Like I was some whore.

 

Five hundred dollars for my dignity. Did he even know that he was my first? I bawl as I toss the dress on the floor and kick the shoes across the room. The scalding water stings my skin, but I’m determined to wash every last touch of him off my skin.

 

I don’t know what I had expected. For him to be gentle? I laugh at that, but I hadn’t expected him to take his emotions out on me. Not like that. My fingers slide into my slit, separating the folds as I touch the soreness he left.

 

Shame and anger wells up when I realize that I still ache from him—that I still ache for him.

 

I gasp as I imagine him in me again, and my fingers begin to move.

 

In my mind, his face is contorted as his gaze softens and traces my lips. I see the way he hid his face against my shoulder when he moaned my name.

 

It can’t be hatred, can it? He didn’t want me to see his raw emotions. Why hide his feelings from me? Why then?

 

My hand moves faster, and I recall whimpering at his touch—practically begging him. I remember the moment of brief panic that was replaced with the sweetest hurt when he pushed himself into me.

 

I recall his frenzied motions as he buried himself to the hilt—plunging into me again and again. I am close. The memory of his tortured voice uttering my name as he filled the space between us—throbbing and hot—sends me over the edge.

 

I gasp and then bite my lip, concealing a pitiful moan as my cries shake my shoulders.

 

No. Please don’t. I beg myself to not recall my final humiliation, but my brain forces the image back in front of my closed eyes.

 

The envelope. The cash. The cold way he thanked me for the evening.

 

Like it didn’t even matter. Like I didn’t even matter.

 

I don’t stop the tears that stream down my face, instantly washed away in the water.

 

I have been used again, and they will never stop using me until they are done.

 

I have no control over anything, not even enough to hate.