Free Sample
Preview from chapter one
She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling.
Saturday. Thank God, Saturday. No need to get up, no need to go anywhere, no need to put on that armor of a suit and heels. She could just lie there. Just zone out at the ceiling. Just pretend that nothing had happened.
But her body wouldn't let her pretend.
She was lying on her back, and the sheet chilled her skin — not just in the usual spots, but everywhere. It felt as though her skin had grown thinner, far more sensitive, like after a long sleep in an awkward position. Her nipples reacted to the fabric of her nightgown — a strange reaction, nothing like a sudden spark of arousal. It was as if they remembered something unique, something she desperately wished to forget.
Somewhere deep in her lower abdomen, something heavy and foreign stirred — a trace left by someone else, a feeling she couldn't quite put a name to. Like after a grueling run, when your muscles still ache with the exertion long after you've sat down to rest.
She closed her eyes, as if that could help.
It didn't.
The first thought arrived quietly, like a thief:
Fuck. What have I done?
She rolled onto her stomach and buried her face in the pillow. The pillow smelled of fabric softener and something else — not her scent. Someone else's. Or maybe she was imagining it. She didn't know. She didn't want to know.
The second thought was louder:
Why the hell did I even invite him over? An intern. A boy who was sitting at a school desk just a year ago. Bitch, I’ve gone completely insane.
She clutched the pillow so tightly her knuckles turned white. She couldn't remember why she’d asked him in. Or maybe she did remember, but refused to bring it to mind. Something about work? Or was it just that she felt utterly alone and needed someone, anyone, nearby? She couldn't tell. She only remembered that he had come. And then...
And then, what the fuck?
She didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to remember his hands. Didn't want to remember the smell. Didn't want to remember what he had done. And worst of all — she didn't want to remember what she had felt.
The third thought was the quietest, and the most terrifying:
And what now? I just live my life, fuck it, like nothing happened?