Jennifer Hartmann

I keep my eyes closed. I don’t want to see his face in this moment—I don’t want to witness his pleasure. And it’s not because I’m angry or blameful. I’m envious. I’m envious he’s able to find a pocket of happiness, of joy, of authentic bliss, in the midst of our shared nightmare

I remember the goosebumps on her skin when I’d gently caress her cheek, or her hip, or her thigh, trying to bring as much tenderness to the moment as possible. It’s just the cold, I told myself. But sometimes a small sound or squeak would accompany the goosebumps and she’d give herself away.

It was only three weeks, but it’s burned into every cell, every vein, every tainted pocket of my soul.

Forever.

And so is she.

We’re done. Whatever this is, whatever is between us—it’s done. Over. I thought I needed you to heal, but this is toxic… all you’re doing is holding me underwater and I can’t breathe. I can’t heal when I’m constantly reminded of my trauma every time I look at you.” Cora inhales sharp, ragged breaths as she finishes. “I thought you could fix me. But you’re killing me, Dean.”