Chapter 14: Sunday Night Confessions

The smell pulled me out of sleep like a hand reaching through fog.

Pancakes. Bacon. Coffee. Saturday morning, same as always.

I rolled over, the sheets tangled around my legs. Light streamed through the curtains, painting stripes across my pillow. My body felt heavy, thick with sleep and something else—a residual heat that hadn’t fully faded.

Juanita’s face. Her throat working. Five men circling her like wolves.

I pushed the image down and swung my legs over the side of the bed.

The kitchen was bright. My mother stood at the stove in her yellow sundress, spatula in hand, humming something I didn’t recognize. My father sat at the table with his newspaper, a mug of coffee steaming beside his elbow.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” My mother glanced over her shoulder, her smile warm and easy. “You were out cold last night.”

I mumbled something about being tired. Pulled out my chair. Let the smell of maple syrup fill my lungs.

Normal. Everything was so painfully normal.

The pancakes were perfect, golden brown, butter melting into the stacks. I ate mechanically, my fork moving without my permission. My parents chatted about their day. Grocery shopping. Maybe a movie tonight. Did I want to come?

“Sure,” I said. “Sounds good.”

My mother beamed. My father turned the page.

And underneath the table, my thighs pressed together as Stacey’s face flashed behind my eyes. The way she’d arched her back when the tall black man shoved his cock into her pussy. The way her lips had stretched around the bearded man’s shaft.