Chapter 27: Midnight Confessions

February 7, 1994, 2:17 AM

I jolted awake in the dead of night, heart poundin’ in my chest like a fuckin’ drum, sure I’d heard somethin’ skitterin’ through the silence of the ranch house, a sound that didn’t belong in the heavy stillness. The room was pitch black, save for slivers of moonlight slippin’ through the cracked blinds, castin’ faint, jagged shadows across the bed. Outside, the Texas wind howled low and mournful, rattlin’ the old windowpanes with a restless edge that set my nerves on fire, every creak of the house amplified in my half-dazed state. To my left, Martin and Lilly lay tangled in a mess of limbs, their breathin’ slow and deep, skin still slick with the night’s filth. The air hung thick with the musky reek of mixed cum and bodily fluids from last night’s depravity, a raw reminder of our twisted escape as I shifted, feelin’ the bed sheets cling to my bare skin, soakin’ wet and sticky under me, a damp testament to hours of unchecked lust. My mind flickered back to the blur before I’d drifted off—Martin fuckin’ me first, his cock slammin’ into my cunt with brutal need, then turnin’ to Lilly, her moans echoin’ as he pounded her, my eyes growin’ heavy as I lost track of how long or what else they did, exhaustion claimin’ me while their bodies slapped together in the dark.

Careful not to wake ‘em, I slid out of bed, naked as always, my bare feet hittin’ the cool hardwood with a soft thud, skin pricklin’ in the chill night air as I steadied myself, the ache between my thighs a dull pulse from the night’s excess. My bladder screamed, a sharp need cuttin’ through the haze, so I shuffled to the ensuite, the door creakin’ slight as I pushed it open, the tiles icy underfoot. I sat on the toilet, pissin’ hard into the bowl, the sound a loud hiss in the quiet, relievin’ the pressure as I rubbed my eyes, tryin’ to shake the fog of sleep and lust, the faint stink of cum still clingin’ to my skin. Flushin’ with a groan, I stepped back out, but as I hit the landin’, I froze—there it was again, a sound, faint but real, a muffled sob driftin’ up from downstairs, tuggin’ at somethin’ raw in my chest. Naked still, I followed it, bare feet silent on the creaky steps, hand grippin’ the worn banister as I descended into the darker belly of the house, the wind outside a constant wail, each cry from below spurrin’ me on ‘til I reached the kitchen.

I flicked on the light, the harsh bulb buzzin’ to life, castin’ a stark glow over the room, and there she was—Jessica, sittin’ hunched at the kitchen table, her face buried in her hands, shoulders shakin’ with quiet sobs. She was dressed in sheer French knickers, the delicate black lace huggin’ her hips, paired with a matchin’ camisole, the thin straps slippin’ off one shoulder, her fuller curves barely contained, skin flushed beneath the fabric from cryin’. Her eyes, red and swollen, flicked up to meet mine, glassy with tears, mascara streakin’ down her cheeks in dark trails, the sight hittin’ me like a gut punch. I crossed the cold tile quick, my own nudity forgotten, and dropped to my knees beside her, pullin’ her into a tight hug, her tremblin’ body pressin’ against my bare chest as I murmured, “Oh, sweetie, what’s wrong? Talk to me, darlin’.” My hands rubbed her back, feelin’ the heat of her through the silky camisole, her tears wettin’ my shoulder as she choked on sobs, shakin’ harder in my arms.