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TRISTEN

I finally had the strength to stand up on wobbly feet and sit back on the bed. What the hell was wrong with me? I thought the side effects were gone by now, but this paralysis-like feeling stayed with me.

I got scared, but then I remembered that it might have something to do with the type of sex I had last night. Goosebumps raised on my skin when the memory resurfaced yet again. I also remembered that shaky feeling that I had and thought it was a seizure. Wilder said it was an orgasm.

I never experienced anything like that with Stacie or any other girl. I mean, I had orgasms before, just never so intense like that, and never felt it through my whole body.

I took the phone from my nightstand and opened up Google. I winced as I typed the words 'Anal Orgasm.' The results that showed up were... interesting.

Damn. I kept scrolling down. So that's what this is.

My legs were weak because of this new orgasm thing. I had an intense one last night and its effects stayed with me till this morning.

I placed the phone back on my nightstand, face down. The things I read were so graphic. I felt my cheeks blush. It was a whole new world for me. I felt guilty reading it. I shouldn't indulge in such sinful acts.

I put my palms together and closed my eyes. "Forgive me, Jesus."

I washed my sins away with the cross gesture and got up again. This time, my legs were strong enough to carry me to the bathroom. Although, the pain in my ass was still there. It made me limp and hiss as I walked. At least I wasn't bleeding.

I stood under the shower, roughly washing my skin in exaggerated movements. I felt icky. Every inch of my body looked dirty. To be covered in cum and sweat and God knows what else made me gag. It felt different when I was a bit horny by the juice. It felt less severe, but now, everything seemed so gross.

Washing myself this morning wasn't an easy task. Everything hurt. It felt like I was in a boxing class and I was the punching bag.

God, why does it hurt everywhere?

When I washed the soap off, I caught some discolorations on my wrists. I raised them to my eye level and saw that they were in fact bruises, red and fresh. Then I noticed my arms. There were little circled bruises like fingertips on them.

"What the fuck?"

Did he do this to me? How? Why?

As the soap washed off the rest of my body, I looked down and my eyes went wide.

Holy shit!

My legs and thighs had bruises. My inner thighs had teeth marks. Fucking teeth marks! Why would he fucking bite me there?

My face paled. I placed a hand over my mouth as a rush of saliva gathered around my tongue. I swallowed and slowly sat on the wet tiles, hands clutching my head to calm myself the heck down.

No matter how hard I cleaned myself, I remained dirty. The marks were there to remind me that I'm always dirty.

Tears pricked my eyes. My chest heaved with unsteady breaths. My eyes, my throat, and my nose burned with suppressed sobs. I wanted to scream and let it all out. Without even realizing it, I was pulling at my hair, groaning as anger swelled within me.

Every limb of my body was marked by his touches and bites. I hated it. I was brutally marked by Wilder like some sex slave. I hated him.

I was so mad at him. So fucking mad!

Finally, I clasped my head hard and screamed. I screamed with all the anger in me. I screamed so harshly that I was sure I damaged my vocal cords.

Then my scream faded into sobs. I crossed my arms and hid my face between my knees. All the pain I was feeling went straight to my heart. It hurt to be treated like that by my best friend. To be treated roughly like I was some casual lover.

I wasn't used to these things. I never experienced with another man, and after the brutality of last night, I sure as hell never want to.

"Shit, Wilder," I sniffled as I wiped my face. "What did you do to me?"

After letting it all out, I stopped crying and got back to my plan.

I got dressed in casual clothes—jeans and a long sleeve shirt to cover the bruises on my arms. Then I started packing in a hurry. I was determined to leave the apartment before Wilder gets back. I stuffed my belongings in one rolling suitcase, a laptop case, and a backpack. I couldn't fit everything in them but at least I packed the important things.

I ordered an Uber to drive me to the Goldwin Hotel and managed to get out of the apartment in record time. When my ride arrived, the driver helped me get my things in the trunk. I was looking over my shoulder, fearing that Wilder might come back and see me leave. The fresh air of relief washed over me as I got into the car and left the area.

The whole time I was in the car, the driver kept glancing at me through the rear-view mirror. My eyes caught him staring a few times and it made me nervous.

Was there something on my face?

I rubbed a hand on my nose, chin, and cheeks, praying that whatever it was on my face was gone now. The driver kept glancing. I gave up and just stared through the window.

We arrived at the hotel. I was planning to take a room until I find a new apartment. I thanked the driver for helping with my things until I was inside the lobby. He didn't have to do that, but he was nice enough to offer help after he saw me limping. I tipped him and said goodbye.

In the lobby, people stared at me funny, just like the driver. I thought it had something to do with my limp. My shoulders stiffed at their rude gazes. I tried to walk as normally as possible, but the shooting pain in my lower back prevented that.

Then something weird happened. A couple of dudes walked past me. One of them looked at me from the corners of his eyes and whistled.

"Dayum."

While the other one smirked and said something to his friend that made me flush.

"Homie got some crazy-ass action last night."

What?!

How did they even know that I had sex lately? Was there a telling sign on me?

When I turned around, the guys had already left. Just like that, they dropped that bomb on me and left. Not that I could do anything about it. I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling so uncomfortable.

I shrank after that, avoiding people's faces at all costs. I dragged my things to the front desk and waited for the receptionist to finish a phone call.

I kept stretching my neck. It hurt. I rubbed it and it hurt even more. I must have sprained it pretty badly. It wasn't stiff, just painful. The pain intensified when I put pressure on some parts.

When she was done with the phone, I asked her for any rooms available for tonight. Her cheeks turned red when her eyes met me. She gave me the same awkward glances that I had been getting from everyone since I left the apartment.

What the hell is going on?

"I'm sorry," I started with a displeased chuckle. "Is there something on my face?"

"Oh, no, no, not at all, sir," she nervously replied, averting her gaze. 

She stopped staring after that. Good. I've had it with the rudeness.

After booking a room, she handed the card key.

I rubbed my neck and asked her, "Do you have a pharmacy nearby?"

"Of course, sir." She gave me a polite smile and pointed. "It's right around the corner to the left." Then she sighed and stared at my neck. "But I think some ice packs could actually help you with that."

"Really? Ice for a sprained neck?"

"Um." She shook her head lightly, confused. "I don't think you have a sprained neck, sir."

"What do you mean?" I removed my hand from my neck. "Then what is it?"

"I-uh. Sorry." She exhaled and gave me a sympathetic look, then leaned forward and whispered, "Have you looked at yourself in the mirror this morning?"

Panic shot through my nervous system. My mouth went dry. My eyes grew wide. I had a feeling that I know what she was talking about, but no, no, please, God, don't let it be...

I froze in shock for a moment before I jerked my phone up and opened the camera, flipping the lenses toward me.

"Jesus!"

I pulled the collar of my shirt up and shrunk further on myself. I glanced around me in humiliation and disgrace.

All those people, this whole fucking time, were staring at the dark red spots on my neck. They were staring at a crazy amount of hickeys. My whole fucking neck was covered with them. Some were big and red, others were huge and purple.

Everyone was staring at a clear sign that someone fucked the shit out of me.

Heat traveled to my face. My breathing turned erratic. I was on the verge of having my first ever public panic attack. I took my luggage and stormed towards the elevators. 

"Sir," I heard the receptionist calling. "Don't worry. I'll get some ice delivered to your room."

"Oh, my God," I snapped. "Just shut up!"

I couldn't wait to get the hell away from all the prying eyes.

I got into the elevator alone and pressed the fifth floor. I hugged myself as shyness, bitterness, and sadness all made me shudder. As soon as the elevator arrived at my floor, I jumped off and searched for my room—room 505.

When I finally got to my room, I shut the door behind me and placed my back against it. My breathing was audible and fast. I slid down and seated, resting my arms on my knees. I tried to shake this embarrassment off of me, but it was too much.

I ran my hands down my face and puffed out air. It was the only way I thought of to let out some steam without screaming. I breathed and breathed, but the feeling didn't go away.

When nothing worked, I buried my face between my legs and cried.

To be humiliated in front of all those people was a new low for me. 

How am I supposed to show my face outside after that?

How am I going to attend classes looking like this?

I curled up on myself and sobbed over losing what was left of my dignity.

Damn. Now that's a seriously bad case of hickeys😮

Poor Tristen 😞

And Wilder, are you really incapable of controlling yourself, huh? Giving Tristen all these marks, huh? Huh? Shame on you😠

NEXT CHAPTER: Private Matters  >

Coming out Monday