The feeling that things were finally falling into place was almost addictive. For the first time, I was beginning to feel like the house was breathing with me. Like it was no longer holding its breath. but sometimes it feels so unreal
Josh had changed or so I thought.
He was softer, present. We chatted in the evenings, sometimes cooked together, and watched random movies when Uncle Benny wasn't around. There were no long talks, just small, quiet moments that made the house feel less cold. And when Uncle Benny was home, he'd smile at the sight of the three of us eating like a family something I never imagined I'd have.
It started to feel safe. Warm, even.
He asked about my day, helped with assignments, made dry jokes that sometimes made me laugh. There was a calm rhythm to it all until it shifted.
The first shift was subtle. I didn't even notice it for what it was.
Purity, he said one evening, you look bigger than your age. How old are you again?
I told him the truth.
He tilted his head. You don't look it. You look older. In a good way.
He smiled like it was a compliment. I smiled back, unsure if it was.
The questions came slowly, always during calm moments.
Do you wear a bra?
Is that your real shape?
What size of underwear do you even wear?
Do girls in your old street get kissed a lot?"
They came like whispers, followed by laughter, as if they didn't carry weight. I answered lightly at first because Anna had told me not to overthink it.
Maybe he's just being protective," she said when I brought it up.
You two didn't start off on good terms. He's older probably sees you like a sister.
Relax. You deserve the attention. He's warming up to you.
So I relaxed. I let my guard down.
Some evenings, he'd brush past me and tap my back, or place a hand on my shoulder longer than needed. I told myself it was nothing. I wanted it to be nothing.
Anna visited on weekends. We'd do assignments together, eat snacks, and laugh over things that didn't matter. Her presence gave me peace a kind of friendship I held close, because it was real. I visited her too. We were becoming part of each other's routines.
I thought I had found balance school, Anna, a quieter Josh.
Until it cracked.
That weekend, the house held a silence I couldn't name.
🔞🔞🔞🔞
Uncle Benny had left early. Josh and I were alone. The weather was dull the kind of dull that presses itself into your skin like heat with no flame.
I didn't expect him behind me. But I felt him.
It began with a brush his arm against mine in the hallway, then a hand on my back. Soft. Slow. Familiar.
I shifted. His fingers didn't.
He didn't speak. His presence filled the space behind me like smoke. Quiet. Thick. Dangerous.
Then, like it was a game he'd rehearsed, his hand slid lower not with hesitation, but with the kind of confidence that says I know you won't stop me.
I stiffened. My breath caught. But no word left my mouth.
When I turned, he was closer. Too close. He didn't ask. He didn't wait. He just touched me.
His palm found my chest fingers curling like they had a memory of me I didn't give. I gasped, sharp and sudden. His eyes didn't change. His hand tightened, pressing into me until I felt pressure, then pain.
He cupped me again, slower this time dragging his thumb over fabric like it meant nothing.
I tried to back away.
He moved with me.
And then I felt it his other hand, behind me, unclipping my bra in one fast motion. The strap fell. My breath broke.
He stepped forward.
And I... froze.
He pulled the fabric away like unwrapping something he bought, something owed.
Then he leaned down.
His mouth took one breast whole tongue, teeth, lips all at once. Not gentle. Not curious. It was hunger. It was control. He sucked like he wanted something to come out of me. Something to break.
I whimpered. He moved to the other side, never making eye contact.
He bit this one harder, dragging skin between his teeth like it belonged to him. His hand was on my back, firm, keeping me steady, like I was meant to stay still while he consumed me.
I whispered stop. Then louder. Then with tears.
But he didn't stop.
When he finally stepped back, my body throbbed, not just from touch but from the betrayal, the confusion, the helplessness.
He looked at me, expression flat.
That, he said calmly, is what it means to be smooched."
I stood there, sore and stunned, too full of silence to cry.
POV: If this is what they call love, then I've met its most violent form.
POV: He didn't just touch my body. He rearranged my silence.
That night, I didn't eat. I didn't tell. I didn't cry.
I just laid there, staring at the ceiling, wondering what part of me had been taken and how long it would echo inside me.
I stayed in my room longer than usual.The walls didn't speak. Neither did I.
I sat on the floor, not the bed. The bed felt wrong. Like it had witnessed something and chose to stay quiet. I pressed my knees to my chest and tried to feel my body like it was mine again but I couldn't.
I could still feel his mouth. His hands. The heat of his breath. The way he looked at me, like I wasn't even a person.
I kept telling myself, It's okay. It's over. But it wasn't. It stayed with me in my skin, in my chest, in the corners of my silence.
I wanted to tell Uncle Benny. I wanted to tell Anna.
I wanted to scream. Break something. Bleed it out.
But I just sat there.
Because I didn't even know what to call what happened.
Because he didn't hit me. He didn't shout.
Because he smiled afterward like I should be thankful.
Because part of me still wanted to believe it didn't happen the way I remember.
POV: The worst kind of pain is the one that makes you doubt yourself.
And so, I said nothing.
I didn't know how I'd look him in the eye tomorrow. Or if I even could