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I only know that when it’s over, I’m gripping the sheets and shaking.

I fumble to shut it off. My legs tremble as I drop the device beneath the blanket, keeping it shielded from view.

I cover my eyes with my hands, then drop them to the mattress, fingers splayed wide. My skin tingles all over.

That was…I still can’t quite believe it happened.

Everything inside me feels loose. Melted. Rearranged.

I shift my weight, still breathing hard, and stare at the ceiling.

I should be embarrassed.

Iamembarrassed.

But there’s something else there too. Something new. It feels like a rush of heat and confusion, and I can’t tell if it’s power or panic.

The blanket is twisted around my waist. My shirt’s tucked up on one side, my hair sticking to the back of my neck.

What was I thinking?

Everything about this is too much. The toys. The man who bought them for me. The way my body reacted so quickly, like it was just waiting for me to open a door I didn’t know I had the key to. I feel exposed.

I sit up and curl forward, tugging the blanket across my lap. The sheets are wrinkled. The covers are pulled tight in places where my legs had twisted. I smooth them out with one hand, though it does nothing to steady the hum still echoing in my body.

This isn’t how I was raised. This isn’t what I’m supposed to do.

Good girls wait. Good girls don’t touch. Good girls don’t want.

That voice has been in my head for as long as I can remember.

I lie back again, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

I want to disappear. Or sleep. Or rewind to a version of myself who never said anything on that porch and never opened that box.

Except, deep down, I don’t.

And that might be worse.

I roll onto my side, fists curled beneath my chin. The room feels different now. Warmer and too quiet. I don’t want anyone to knock.

I just want stillness. I also want the spinning in my head to stop.

My eyes burn but I don’t cry. I just breathe and let the weight of everything I did settle into the space around me. I remind myself that it’s okay to want these things.

Eventually, my muscles relax. My thoughts slow. I close my eyes, because keeping them open is harder now. Finally, I fall asleep.

Chapter 8

Finn

Iswear I wasn’t trying to listen. Really, I wasn’t—swear on my life. I was just laying on my bed, reading a book.

But the walls in this place weren’t built for privacy, and the guest room shares a wall with mine.

At first, I thought maybe the heater had kicked on, but the pitch wasn’t right. The sound kept going—a low humming vibration—and then I heard her.

There was a gasp and a broken breath, and all of a sudden, I knew exactly what I was hearing.