11
Sara
Peter carries me upstairs, and I hide my face against his shoulder as Ilya walks into the kitchen below. I don’t want to know what Peter’s colleague thinks about this madness, don’t want to think about anything at all. I bared my soul to my captor because I wanted him to forgive me, but now that I have, I feel raw and broken, a mess of shame and need, rage and desire. I hate myself for what I’m feeling, and at the same time, I can’t stop myself from clinging to him, from wanting him as much as he wants me.
When we get to the bedroom, he deposits me on the bed and begins to undress, and I watch him through half-closed eyelids. I feel strangely out of it, as if I’m still drugged, but I know it’s just the need he awakens in me, the dark, potent desire he evokes in my body. My yearn
