Your mom wasn't... the best.

Your mind is suddenly cast back to when you were just a kid under your mom's roof. You'd never known your father, but your mom had filled his absence with no shortage of men and women. There was rarely an evening under her roof when you actually got to sleep in the one bed she owned. She'd always claim it for her and her latest passion. You'd inevitably sleep on the couch, if you were lucky enough not to be 'accidentally' locked out. That was fine, you got used to that.

For obvious reasons, you and your mother weren't exactly close.

You weren't in the habit of putting effort into interpersonal relationships. Your studies were everything. The things you learned were facts and ideas that would not, could not lie to you. You progressed through curriculums with an immense fervor, graduating earlier than anyone else your age, right in the summer you turned 16. The things you'd learned allowed you to legally emancipate yourself from your mother and take a scholarship opportunity to go to college for a couple of years for free. You found some work to earn money outside of tuition, enough to cover your needs beyond the scholarship's measly allowance. You started to relax, and ended up accepting a few invitations to social events. At one of these, you met a girl. It happened to be your 18th birthday exactly.

You don't remember her name. You barely remember what she looked like. You just remember...

The smell of chloroform. A collar. A blindfold. A gag. Bindings. Touching. Orders. Pain. Pleasure. Her voice.

And an omnipresent feeling of helplessness. A feeling exactly like the one overwhelming you right now.

The hand sliding down your chest pauses as you whimper again. You take a deep breath and straighten your legs, spreading them. You shut your eyes tight, resigning yourself to the nightmare, experience telling you that it was both pointless and painful to resist. You hope that, whatever it is that's happening right now, whoever this woman is, that she gets what she wants out of you and leaves quickly.

Oddly enough, she seems to be hesitating. The hand remains on your chest, and breath remains in your ear, but she doesn't continue. You speak up, trying to be compliant. "I won't fight you, I promise. Please don't hurt me too much."

You hear a small gasp, and the hand withdraws. The voice in your ears whispers quietly. "Who did this to you?"

You hesitantly open your eyes. Of course, you see nothing. "Wh-what?"

"Don't play dumb, Chris. Someone hurt you. Was it Ashley?" Real venom entered the voice on the last word, startling you.

"N-no! Ashley doesn't... She's not interested in me!"

A doubting grunt, then a sigh. "Don't worry, Chris. I won't hurt you."

You look down, and realize that your shirt is unbuttoned, revealing the scars from the nightmare. It's a series of crosshatched raised welts, carved into your skin by repeated whipping. The dim light only lets you make out the vague outlines, but you know them well. Pink and thin, they cover most of your body.

It's your most painful, most private secret.

Tears form in your eyes as you beg. Though sincere, your voice never surpasses a whimper. "Please, miss, I'm sorry! Please don't tell anyone! I'll do whatever you ask, just don't tell anyone about them!"

There's the feeling of a hand on your head, stroking your hair. Unlike yesterday, the feeling is actually... vaguely soothing. "Shh, it's alright, Chris. You're alright."

Tears overflow from your eyes and you start sniffling. You're just so scared. It's all so much. You curl up and quietly cry. All the while, the woman's voice and touch gently soothe you.

Eventually, you fall back asleep, your rest deeper than it's been for years.