ELEANOR
Armando’s grunt pulled me from my thoughts, grounding me in the reality of what I'd just witnessed. My heart hammered as I tried to process the swirl of emotions that had forced themselves on me—a strange, nauseating blend of anger, embarrassment, and a sickened curiosity I didn’t want to admit to.
I didn’t know what to feel. Part of me was disgusted with myself for even feeling anything at all.
The whole thing was insane, but I couldn’t stop myself from feeling something.
Armando poured himself a glass of whiskey, downing it in one go, his head dropping towards the floor and his face expressionless. He seemed elsewhere, as if lost in thought.
For a moment, I thought he’d forget about me—bound and gagged on his bed, until he turned around—without a word—and tossed a wad of
