Page 76 of Wanted

“I hate you so much.”

I frowned. His words caused more damage than a hard fuck would have. “What’s the matter with you? You promised rough. This is… This could be Alex fucking my ass. No offense.”

“None taken, baby.” He ravished my pussy with his fingers.

“I can’t.” I heard Fylox’s voice break, and I fought to climb out of my position. Fylox’s cock slid out of me as I turned around to face him. I pulled him in for a hug, feeling his trembles.

“It’s okay. It’s just us…” I whispered words of comfort into his chest, massaging the tense muscles on his shoulders. “Shh. It’s fine. You’re with us now…”

Somehow, we ended up on the floor. Alex turned off the water, and he joined us. We were stark-naked, the three of us. There were no further words exchanged. I sat on Fylox’s lap, soothing him with my touch. He didn’t twitch. There was no embarrassment between us. I held his heartbeat in the palm of my hands. Alex held my feet, toying with my toes to pass the time. He watched me with his friend. I could help Fylox because I was the queen of disaster. I didn’t realize that I had grown out of being the traumatized party and into the leveled up version of myself.

Fylox didn’t look at me. He studied the piles on the floor.

We were a strange bunch, and I hoped that Jordan didn’t get any ideas. He should stay locked in his cellar with his secret stalker programs.

“What can I do to make it better?” I asked, tracing the lines of the scars on his chest. “I can always suck your dick if you want to. I’m pretty good at that. I’ll make you forget all of your troubles.”

Alex let out a low chuckle.

“I know you can, but there are things that I can never forget,” Fylox said. I swallowed. I’d said that to Alex once. I nodded, understanding. He took a deep breath. “Let’s just sit here for a moment.”

“Okay.” I gazed at his beautiful face. There was so much hurt inside of his brain. I couldn’t even begin to comprehend it. “Can I touch your hair?”

“Why do you want to touch my hair?” Fylox asked, flaring his nostrils.

“I just do.”

“Whatever.”

I reached out, running my hand through his wet hair. I let the tips of my fingers linger. He closed his eyes, and I felt him relax underneath me. “You know my mom was found dead in a bathtub, right?”

“You tell us every other day, so, yeah, I’m aware,” Fylox responded, and his voice sent chills down my spine. My fingers brushed his skull.

“I once tried to commit suicide in one, too,” I revealed. I heard Alex gasp. “My brother found me in time… There’s something unnerving about these places for people like us, isn’t it? Alex can step in here, wash and walk out all fresh and clean.”

“We’ll never be clean,” Fylox added, opening his eyes.

I nodded. “We clean and put everything where it’s supposed to be. Single corns of dust can derail us. It’s obsessive.”

I inhaled, breathing Fylox and Alex in. I liked being here with them. It eased my mind. Alex massaged my foot while I spoke. I continued, “All because others have defiled us. We can scrub ourselves clean, rub our skin bloody until everything is washed off. But we never realize that it’s all in our head.”

“They shaved my head during my first day in their captivity, and they kept that up until the very last day. I changed owners every three months or so. I don’t recall exactly. I didn’t have a concept of time back then. But they all did the same thing. I had no hair, and I was hosed down with water as cold as ice in the shower. Then they rubbed aromatic oils unto my skin, or they sprayed me with colognes they wanted to smell on me. I fought back, so they shoved me down and put a rag on me to cover my face, pouring water…”

My heart plummeted. I could barely breathe while listening to Fylox talk about what had happened to him. He had only been a child.

“Don’t cry, princess.”

“But why. Why would you hurt a child like this?”

“Why did your father do what he did to you?”

I swallowed back a sob. Alex remained silent throughout. Fylox moved his hand on my thigh.

“Who gave you the scars?” I asked, feeling nauseous. His upper body was filled with lines and cuts. He didn’t have any on legs. The scars started fading out near his hips.

“They did. Every single one of them. It was their way of branding me, quite simple and cheap. That way, I also look like a suicidal maniac.”

“I’m so sorry,” I blurted out, turning around. I didn’t want him to see me cry. My chest heaved, and I struggled to breathe. We had the same concept in Katantia; the only difference was that we went to tattoo parlors to brand our objects. I felt sick.