Chapter Nine – His Touch, Her Doubt
It started happening more often now. Ziora would find herself in Damian's room — on that same brown couch or curled up on his bed, her clothes somewhere between on and off, her thoughts tangled between pleasure and panic.
She never imagined she'd become this girl — the one who said she wasn't ready, yet gave in… over and over again. The one who used to pray for real love but found herself in something that felt like both heaven and a slow-burning fire.
Damian's hands were familiar now. His kisses came with heat and hunger, always pulling her in deeper before she could catch her breath. He touched her like she belonged to him, like he had a right to every inch of her skin. And sometimes… she let him. Willingly. Silently. Her body responded to him even when her heart whispered warnings.
But afterwards, when he'd roll away and reach for his phone or talk about training the next day, Ziora would lay beside him, staring at the ceiling. Wondering.
Was this love?
Or just lust in disguise?
They'd been seeing each other for a few months now, but nothing ever felt stable. They fought over little things — a comment he made, a girl she saw on his Instagram, a voice note that sounded too friendly. Ziora didn't trust easily, and Damian didn't explain much. His favorite line?
"You overthink too much, babe. Chill."
And maybe she did. Maybe it was her fault.
But how could she not overthink when her friends still believed she was untouched? When they laughed and teased her about still being "Pastor Z," while she carried secrets in her chest that made her feel older than her age?
She hadn't told them. Fola would lecture her. Chioma would raise her brows. Halima would start saying "I told you football boys are all the same."
So she smiled. Lied. Kept it all hidden.
Even the crying.
Because sometimes, when she was alone at night, the pain would hit like a slap — cold and sudden. She'd cry. Quietly. Into her pillow. Wondering why Damian didn't treat her the way she hoped love would feel. Wondering why she still felt empty after giving so much.
And yet, she couldn't leave.
Not really.
Because in the middle of the chaos, he still had moments — little ones — when he'd hold her hand while she was overthinking, when he'd kiss her forehead instead of her lips, when he'd say "I miss you jare," like she was more than just a body to him.
She clung to those moments.
Even if they were rare.
Even if, deep down, she knew…
Her love might not be enough to heal his scars.