Completely naked.
In the hallway.
Right outside my best friend’s room.
Marked.
Claimed.
Sticky.
Humiliated.
And the worst part?
I was wet all over again.
He didn’t say anything at first.
He just looked.
Down my body.
Over every bruise he’d left.
Every red fingerprint.
Every drop of slick clinging to the insides of my thighs.
Then he said it again.
“Walk.”
I blinked. “W-walk?”
He tilted his head, slowly, like a wolf sizing up something it had already caught but wanted to play with before it sank its teeth in.
“Walk to your room, Lyra. Slowly. No covering yourself. Let the shame burn through you with every step.”
I couldn’t breathe.
But I moved.
One foot in front of the other.
Bare soles on cold wood. Wet thighs brushing. My chest rising and falling too fast. I didn’t
