Paranoid

She returned every night to reclaim what was stolen, the strap around her throat turned violation into choice, pain into power. Legs spread wide, fingers deep, she arched until the body screamed louder than the memories, betrayals once disguised as love, now carved into her nerves. Each orgasm ripped through like confession, but only fed the fracture deeper.

The mirror showed the truth, her eyes splitting open, the woman she was dissolving while something colder stared back. The voices were not ghosts, they were her own, whispering that pleasure and ruin had fused forever. Tightening the strap, she chased blackout to silence them. It never came, only sharper hunger.

Curled on damp sheets, legs still parted, strap loose like unfinished business, she smiled, small, empty, serene. The trauma had already won. She kept it alive because letting it die meant dying with it. The mirror never looked away, neither did she.

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