Vivienne just stared at André. He was asleep. God, he was so peacefully asleep. He was utterly lost in slumber, looking handsome and calm, like he hadn't just spent the whole night ruining her. Forget ruining, that was too soft. He had vandalized her body and soul with his mouth and his arrogance.
She felt like a shell. Suffocated and completely used up.
The worst part was his peacefulness. It felt like a slap. It hit her harder than the awful feeling in her chest. He was just resting, totally fine, while she felt like she was about to explode into a million sharp pieces.
The images kept flashing. They were stuck on repeat, right behind her eyes. The way he had leaned in, that smirk on his face, whispering her name. And the utterly pathetic, shameful way she had whimpered. She had moaned like a stupid, helpless idiot. She wanted to slap herself for it.
