Beguile

28 Oh dear heavens

When night came, we were all bundled together on one huge mattress.

I was sandwiched between Lucas and Kurt, and Lucas's arm was draped heavily across my waist.

He was a heavy sleeper, and when I tried to sit up, his hand simply flopped to the side, as if it had a mind of its own. He was always the one talking about protecting me, but in moments like this, it was hard to see that strength when he was so utterly unaware of his surroundings.

I carefully eased myself up, trying not to disturb them. But as soon as I moved, I felt a hand touch my arm. I froze, turning to see Kurt rubbing his eyes, his hair a mess from sleep.

"Going somewhere?" he murmured, his voice thick with drowsiness.

I hesitated, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up my neck. "I was just... going to the restroom."

He nodded, pushing himself up.

I panicked, not wanting to drag him out of bed for something so trivial. "It's okay, I can go on my own."

But he shook his head, his expression turning more serious. "It's dangerous to go alone," he said, his voice firm despite the sleep still clinging to him.

The building was clearly unfinished, with walls that barely held together and a restroom that was little more than an afterthought—a bunch of scattered wooden planks where a toilet should have been. I stared at the makeshift setup, feeling a wave of frustration and embarrassment wash over me. This was impossible.

"I can't," I said, shaking my head as Kurt handed me a bucket, his expression calm and unbothered.

He frowned slightly. "You're not going outside. You'd risk getting swept away by the current."

Despite everything—despite the world crumbling around us, despite the horrors we'd faced—I couldn't shake the embarrassment that clung to me. This was too much. The vulnerability of the situation, the knowledge that Kurt was right there... it was overwhelming.

"Can you move farther away?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, but I could already feel the heat rising in my cheeks.

He ignored me, staying put as if I hadn't spoken. I knew how critical moments like this were in horror movies, how people were most vulnerable when they were distracted or in a position where they couldn't fight back. And yet, here I was, wishing for anything but this awkward moment.

Maybe I'd rather get killed after all.

"What's the matter?" He asked, and I could hear the annoyance creeping into his voice, gradually replacing the drowsiness. He wasn't used to me being this difficult, especially over something so mundane.

"I can't," I repeated, my voice small and strained.

His curiosity seemed piqued by my hesitation. He stepped closer, his presence suddenly looming behind me. "I'll help you," he said, the words more a statement than an offer.

"What?" Panic surged through me as his arms came around in front of me, his fingers already working at the knot on my pants. My heart raced, a mix of fear, confusion, and something else I didn't want to name.

"Is it the nerves?" he asked, his tone still maddeningly calm.

It was all too much. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him it was because of him, because he was too close, too present, too much. But I couldn't say that, not when he'd taken the trouble to accompany me out here in the middle of the night.

"I can't pee," I said again, more desperate this time, hoping—praying—that he'd finally get the message and back off.

But he didn't. His hands were already inside my pants, and I flinched in surprise at the sudden, intimate contact. The shock of it made my breath catch, and for a moment, I froze, unsure of what to do, how to respond. My mind raced, but my body felt heavy, unresponsive. This was Kurt, the same Kurt who'd been protecting me, who'd been there for me. But now...

"Kay, stop," I finally managed to whisper, my voice trembling. But he either didn't hear me or chose to ignore it, his focus entirely on what he was doing, as if this were just another task, something practical, nothing more.

"I'll help you," he said again, his voice so calm it almost made it worse. Then, when I felt his fingers brush the edge of my core, a shiver ran through me, unbidden and uncontrollable. The sensation of his fingers—big, cold, and rough against such an intimate part of me—was too much, and I felt a surge of something I couldn't name, something I didn't want to admit.

My mind scrambled to make sense of it, but all I could think was how wrong this was, how much I didn't want this to be happening. And yet, the thought crept in, uninvited and horrifying: if he touched me more, it would help me... and maybe more than just pee would come out.

I shook my head, trying to push the thought away. There was no way I just thought that. This wasn't me—this couldn't be me.

Kurt had thrown all sorts of accusations at me before, calling me a whore, as if it was some label that he could just slap onto me. I'd always brushed it off, knowing it wasn't true. Or was it? The amnesia made it hard to be sure of anything, but I knew one thing: I hadn't been messing around with any boys when I came to this island.

"Did you already pee?" He asked, lifting his slick fingers away from me, and the question sent a wave of heat rushing to my cheeks. I hadn't peed—my body was still locked in this awful, frozen state, and the fact that his fingers were wet had nothing to do with that.

"No," I mumbled, mortified beyond words, my voice barely audible. I couldn't even look at him, couldn't bear to see whatever expression might be on his face. My mind was a storm of confusion, guilt, and shame.

"Or is this..." Kurt lingered, his voice softer now, as if trying to gauge my reaction. I threw my face into my hands, desperately trying to hide my shame.

"Please don't," I said, my voice muffled. I didn't want to hear his words, didn't want to face the reality of what was happening.

I felt him shift behind me, and I bit my lower lip, trying to steady myself. He knows. Of course he knows—he's a boy, for heaven's sake. But it seemed Kurt was determined to make it less awkward, or at least that's what I hoped. He leaned down, his breath warm against my ear, and whispered, "Do you want me to continue?"

The question was almost a relief in its directness, but it only heightened my anxiety. I could feel Kurt shifting his legs behind me, and each time he did, I felt his hardness graze against me. As if he was nervous, as if he was waiting for this for so long.

And here I am. A whore for him.

I didn't lift my face from my hands, but I nodded slightly.