Page 49 of Do It For Me

“Calm down that slut.”

I scream louder when someone spreads my legs open and thrusts inside me.

I don’t want this.

Help.

Their faces blur through my tears.

Please, someone save me.

Please…

I wake up drenched in sweat, gasping for air. My wrists are pinned to the bed, and panic surges as I thrash and kick with everything I have.

“Sweetheart, it’s me. You’re okay. It’s okay.”

Dante.

His voice is like a switch that turns off my body’s frantic resistance. I go limp on the mattress as he wraps me in his arms, holding me tight and rocking me gently.

“It was just a nightmare. You’re okay,” he whispers.

But it wasn’t just a nightmare. It was real. I’ve lived through it, over and over, for three long years I’ve been reliving that nightmare.

I wasn’t raped just those weeks. I’m still being raped every night. Every single bloody night.

Silent, desperate tears well up as I bury my face in his chest.

They destroyed me. They’ve taken everything. I’ll never sleep peacefully again. I’ll never feel safe, not truly—not with Dante’s touch, not in his arms, not even here. The danger isn’t just outside; it’s inside me. They’re in my mind, waiting, lurking. Every night, they come back to haunt me. Their laughter echoes in my dreams, just as twisted and cruel as that day, taunting my pain.

No amount of time can heal this. Even if they’re dead—though I doubt it—they’ll never truly leave. They’ve built a home in my nightmares, laughing at me, at my suffering.

People think freedom begins the moment you escape, but they’re wrong. You carry the trauma with you. You’re still trapped, even while breathing fresh air or spending time with people you love. Sometimes they even control your reality. I even hit my mum once, believing she was one of them.

Will I ever be able to sleep well again?

Dante can’t know. He can never know about the nightmares, the truth of what’s inside me. He’d hate me if he knew. He’d see me as broken, disgusting, damaged.

I can’t let that happen.

I want him to want me, no matter what I’ve been through.

I want him.

“Amore—”

“I’m s-s-sorry,” I whisper.

“Why?”

“Because I woke you up. I didn’t—”

“Oh,vita mia,you didn’t wake me.” He strokes my arm gently. “I was working in the living room when I heard you scream. I got scared and came to check on you.”

“You weren’t sleeping with me?”

“No… Do you want me to from now on?”