Sometimes I lie awake at night thinking about how different my life could’ve been... wondering if I’ll ever feel wanted the way I crave. Not just as a body to use, but as someone who’s desired completely. I used to dream of being touched slowly, fingers tracing my hips before slipping between my thighs... someone who’d make me shiver just by whispering how badly they needed to taste my pussy. Now I just stare at the ceiling while Aaron fucks me like I’m an afterthought—quick, quiet, and gone. He never even looks at my face.

But God, I still remember how it felt that one summer before him, when a boy kissed me under the stars and his hands trembled unbuttoning my dress. I was shaking when he finally pushed inside me, and he kept saying my name like it was sacred. That’s all I want again—to feel like I’m not just a warm hole to empty into.

(And yes, I know how pathetic that sounds. But tonight, I’m too tired to care.)