"Why are you so gloomy today?" Elena asked, her tone light, almost pyful. "Was it because of our activities? Sydney isn't my bully anymore... well, sort of, but it shouldn't matter. You made me happy st night."

  The way she said it—cheerful, satisfied—made something twist uncomfortably in my stomach.

  I kept my eyes on the ceiling.

  Hearing her sound proud about what happened, about me being pushed into something I hadn't even fully processed yet, felt wrong.

  The Elena I had fallen for wouldn't have smiled like that. She wouldn't have reduced it to something casual, something amusing.

  But this Elena did.

  "Everything's okay..." she continued after a moment, stretching zily under the bnket. "How about you go make me some breakfast?"

  There was nothing sharp in her words. No yelling. No visible cruelty.

  But something about the way she said it—expectant, entitled—irritated me more than if she had snapped.

  It was like my feelings weren't even part of the equation.

  "Alright..." I replied quietly.

  I slipped one leg out from under the bnket, the air against my skin making me shiver slightly. My body protested as I stood, soreness fring with even the smallest movement. My muscles felt heavy, like I hadn't rested at all.

  I didn't look back at her.

  I walked toward the kitchen slowly, every step reminding me of the night before. The apartment was quiet, sunlight spilling in through the windows like nothing had happened.

  From the bedroom, I could hear her humming to herself.

  Happy.

  I rested my hands on the kitchen counter for a moment, staring at nothing.

  I felt hazy. Not just physically, but mentally—like I was trying to convince myself that everything was normal when it clearly wasn't.

  I reached for a pan eventually, forcing myself into routine.

  Crack the eggs.

  Turn on the stove.

  Move forward.

  Even if something inside me didn't feel right anymore.

  Right as I was about to crack the first egg, something wrapped around me from behind.

  At first, I assumed it was Elena.

  But the grip felt different.

  Stronger. Firmer. Possessive in a way that made my shoulders stiffen immediately.

  "Last night was so good, Miguel..." a familiar voice whispered into my ear.

  My stomach dropped.

  Goosebumps spread across my arms, not from affection—from unease.

  Her hand slid along my torso, slow and deliberate, like she had every right to touch me whenever she wanted.

  I froze for half a second before finding my voice.

  "Stop... or I'll tell Elena," I said, trying to sound firm despite the tightness in my chest.

  She didn't move away.

  Instead, she let out a soft, almost mocking ugh close to my ear.

  "Are you kidding? She wants this... whore."

  The word hit harder than the touch.

  Whore.

  It dragged up memories I had tried to bury—street corners, cold nights, women who didn't see me as a person. The tone was the same. The ownership. The dismissal.

  My hands tightened against the counter.

  "That's not what I am," I said quietly, more to myself than to her.

  But my voice cked the strength I wanted it to have.

  The kitchen suddenly felt smaller. The morning light that had seemed peaceful moments ago now felt exposing.

  I didn't feel wanted.

  I felt used.

  And the worst part was the confusion twisting inside me—because Elena had smiled about it earlier. Like it was something good. Like it was proof of affection.

  But this didn't feel like affection.

  It felt like being pushed back into a version of myself I had fought to escape.

  "Don't touch me," I said, clearer this time.

  Even if my hands were shaking slightly.

  Even if part of me was afraid of what would happen next.

  "Hush now... she said it's okay," she whispered, her voice low and commanding as she pressed her rge, rough hand over my mouth.

  Her fingers gripped tightly, digging into the soft fabric of my pajamas, the pressure almost bruising against my lips.

  "God, look at this... such a cute little dick," she muttered under her breath, her tone dripping with a mix of mockery and desire as her other hand roamed down, groping me through the thin material of my underwear.

  Her strokes were deliberate, rough, uncaring of my discomfort, each movement sending an involuntary shudder through my body.

  "Mommy's gonna enjoy pying with you again," she purred, her hot breath grazing my ear as her grip tightened, pinning me in pce with an unyielding strength.

  I struggled, my hands pushing desperately against hers, fingers digging into the smooth, unyielding skin of her wrists as I tried to pry them away from my crotch.

  Panic surged through me like ice water, my nails scraping futilely against her, leaving faint red trails that she didn't even seem to notice. But it was hopeless—her grip was like iron vices, her muscles taut and immovable under my frantic cwing, her strength overwhelming mine in a way that made my stomach twist with helpless dread.

  The realization hit me heavy and cold, sinking into my bones: there was no point in fighting anymore, no escape from the vise of her control, her body pinning me with effortless dominance.

  "Get away, please, Sydney," I gasped, my voice cracking as I twisted harder, muscles burning from the effort, but she only ughed—a low, mocking sound that sent chills racing down my spine.

  "Just shut the fuck up, Miguel. You're only good for being a rapeslut," she hissed venomously, her words slicing through the air like a bde, bitter and cruel.

  Bile rose in my throat, hot and nauseating, nearly making me retch right there as the degradation sank in, twisting my gut.

  That shattered whatever resistance I had left. The fight drained out of me in an instant, my limbs going limp as defeat washed over me—I knew I wasn't going to win this, not against her.

  I let my body go sck, allowing her to shove me down, my knees buckling until I hit the cold, hard floor with a thud that jarred my spine.

  She didn't waste a second. Her weight crashed over me like a storm, hands rough and insistent as she tore at my clothes, the fabric ripping with sharp, echoing sounds in the quiet room.

  She forced herself onto me, her movements brutal and unrelenting, every thrust a viotion that burned through my haze of submission, leaving me gasping, broken, and utterly cimed.

  "Help..."

  ——

  I'll do my best to post the other three chapters today, thanks to whoever donated this morning.