The house was quiet when I stepped in too quiet. Not the peaceful kind, but the type that made her heartbeat quicken just a little. The kind of silence that remembered.
She placed the certificate on her shelf, next to her sketchbook, like it was a promise to herself. A reminder: You made something beautiful.
But the feeling didn't last long.
She heard Josh's door creak open. That same slow creak that once meant nothing but now meant everything.
He stepped into the hallway, wearing that same casual look, that same air like nothing happened, like he hadn't taken pieces of her she never gave.
Heard you did some painting magic at the park, he said.
His voice held a smirk.
Purity didn't reply. She didn't flinch either. She just walked past him toward the kitchen, the rhythm of her steps as steady as she could make them.
He followed.
You're really changing, you know, he added, a little quieter now. You've grown into… something else.
She grabbed a glass of water. Drank slowly. Carefully.
Then looked at him.
I didn't change. I just remembered who I was before you confused me.
POV: There's a kind of strength that doesn't yell. It just walks straight through the room you tried to break it in.
Josh said nothing after that. He just stood there for a moment, like her words cracked something open. Then he walked away.
And for the first time, she didn't look back to check if he did.
🔞🔞🔞
Later in the night, Purity lay on her bed, brushing a damp stroke of paint off her forearm from earlier. The smell of acrylics still clung to her skin. Her winning moment kept replaying Anna's laugh, the strangers clapping, that man who said, You've got a gift in your hands, girl.
It was the kind of praise that didn't feel fake. It felt earned.
She took her bath and do other stuff before lying on her bed
She curled deeper into her blanket, holding onto that warmth like armor. But armor doesn't stop memory. And memory had its own key to the room.
A soft knock came on her door.
She stiffened.
Josh.
It's me," he said through the wood, voice low, too calm. Can I come in?
She didn't answer. But the door creaked anyway.
POV: Silence should be safe. But some people don't knock to ask they knock to remind you they still can.
He stood at the entrance, hands tucked in his pocket, head tilted slightly like he was confused by the distance she'd built.
I just…wanted to say you looked really happy today, he said. It suited you.
She looked at him blankly.
And? she asked.
He took a slow step forward.
Nothing. I guess I miss when you used to you used to talk. Before… everything got complicated."
Her jaw tensed.
Things didn't get complicated, Josh. You made them that way.
He didn't argue.
Instead, he just stood there, staring. And for a second, she hated how familiar he still felt how her body, traitor as it was, remembered his warmth even while her mind screamed don't.
But she watched him get closer
Are we going at , she said, voice calm but firm.
And this time, he replied with a smile.
He turned, slowly, like he was waiting for her to say she's ready for him. But she didn't. She watched him closed the door behind him.
His hand slid around my waist, fingers splaying over my stomach like he was claiming what was already his. I didn't flinch.
You didn't say no downstairs, he said softly.
You didn't give me a reason to.
He pressed closer, his breath against my neck. That's because you didn't need one.
I exhaled, slow and shaky. My hands gripped the edge of the table in front of me, steadying myself as his other hand slipped lower, teasing the edge of my thigh, then under my skirt again like it belonged there.
Maybe it did.
Maybe I'd let it belong.
His fingers found me already wet. I hated that he knew me this well what pace my body responded to, how fast it surrendered. But I hated more how right it felt when he started to move.
His fingers found my inner thighs, warm and slick again. He smirked. Still wet.
He pushed two fingers inside without warning, slow but deep, curling them instantly. I clutched at his shoulder, biting down a moan. My back arched against the wall, hips moving without my permission.
My breasts bounced with every motion. He pressed his chest to mine, lips brushing my neck.
You were made for this, he growled. You feel too good not to be used again.
I knew I should stop him. I knew it.
Because right now, nothing felt more real than his hands inside me and the way I was falling apart all over again this time but I didn't.
Slow at first. Purposeful. Deep.
I leaned into him.
Say it, he whispered. Say you want it.
I swallowed hard. Shame thick in my throat. But my body betrayed me again, arching toward his hand.
I want it.
More.
I want you.
He spun me around and kissed me rough and hungry. I moaned into his mouth as he lifted me onto the table. My legs wrapped around him instinctively. I didn't even think.
When he entered me, there was no hesitation. No flinching. Just heat and fullness and the kind of pleasure that burned and healed at the same time.
I held onto him like he was the only thing keeping me grounded. And maybe he was.
He moved like he'd missed me. Like every thrust was him remembering what my body felt like and reminding me that I was his.
My stomach tightened. Heat rushed straight yet
I knew I should stop him. I knew it.
But I didn't.
And in that moment... I let him have me.
Not because I was weak. Not because I didn't know better.
But because part of me still wanted to disappear in him.
And that part was louder than my fear.
Twice.