TW: Slapping, choking, hitting. Nipple play. Chest play. Mentions of drugs. Female is tied. Dubious consent. Humiliation.

It's crawling through me. In my veins, under my skin, beating right behind my ears. Heat and delirium. I feel like I'm dying, but also more alive than they've ever allowed me to be. It's the high I’ve been craving. The chase.

I roll over and gasp, throat bone-dry, then suddenly too wet, as if I’ve been swallowing sand and drowning in syrup all at once. My hand comes up to my neck, fingers pressing, squeezing, searching for air I can’t quite find. My lips tremble, slick with spit. I lick them, slow.

My legs twitch. The bedsheets cling like vines, wrapping around my ankle when I toss again. It feels like something’s trying to pin me down. Suffocate me. I panic for a second, heart pounding against my ribs, then the feverish warmth hits again. My mouth falls open.