His Voice Alone

Chapter 18

Leia’s POV

Normal tastes like ash now. Even when it’s sweet.

After Ezra branded me, I told myself I could hit reset. Just once. Try to slip back into something clean, harmless. So when an old classmate asked me for coffee, I said yes.

It was stupid. I spent too long getting ready, makeup layered thick to hide bruises that still ached. Jeans pulled over skin that pulsed like it remembered the brand too well.

I looked in the mirror and forced a smile.

"You’re fine," I whispered to my reflection. "Just breathe. Just be normal." Lie.

He met me at the café down the block. Polite, and smiling. The kind of boy who used to feel safe. He opened the door, asked about my classes, said something about coffee blends and his favorite band.

I nodded, laughed, said all the right things. But under the table, my thighs pressed together. The mark beneath my waistband throbbed, angry, needy.

Like it knew I didn’t belong here. His voice was soft, gentle. I wanted to claw my skin off. And then he touched me, just a brush of fingers across the back of my hand. I flinched hard.

“Leia?” he asked, confused. “Are you okay?”

My voice cracked before it even left my throat. “I- I need to go.”

I stood too fast, and the chair screeched. His hand lifted as if to stop me, but I was already gone. Back in my dorm, the door slammed behind me like a final word.

The silence hit me like a body. I didn’t turn on the light, not needing to. The shadows already knew me.

I stripped, kicked off the jeans. The brand breathed again. Like it had been waiting. Hours passed, no sleep. Just heat crawling under my skin. Then- Ding!

One new email, no subject, and no sender. My throat dried as I opened it, a photo. Me. Sitting at the café table. Smiling like a stranger.

A red X slashed over my face, violent, deliberate. Four words beneath it. Normal isn’t yours anymore. I stared at the screen. My chest rose, fell.

The burn between my thighs answered first.

“God… Ezra,” I whispered, voice shaking. “You knew. You always knew.”

I didn’t cry, or panic. I lay back in bed with the glow of the email still lit beside me. The photo burned into my sight. Shame curled low in my stomach. But it didn’t feel like shame anymore.

My fingers slid beneath my waistband, already slick, already aching.

“You’re watching, aren’t you?” I whispered into the dark. “You saw everything. You saw me try.”

My breath caught as I rubbed slow circles over my clit. The red X pulsed behind my eyes.

“I wanted to forget you,” I gasped. “I tried. But this, this is who I am now. You made me…” My back arched, my fingers worked harder.

My free hand gripped the edge of the phone, knuckles white.

“I want you to see me like this,” I moaned. “Ruined. Marked. Yours.”

I came with a cry, legs trembling, slick soaking my fingers, sheets twisted in my fists. The screen dimmed beside me. The photo didn’t disappear, I didn’t let it. My voice broke in the silence.

“Please,” I whispered. “Come back. I don’t want to pretend anymore.” And the worst part? I swore I felt the air shift. Like he heard me, like he was already close.