Fake Dating The Bad Boy Chapter 24: Past Traumas

June's POV:

{TRIGGER ALERT!!!!)(YOU CAN SKIP TO THE END OF THE TIGGER IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE I HAVE INDICATED THE END OF THE TRIGGER)

"Please, Daddy, it hurts. I'll be good, I promise. I'll be a good girl, don't punish , please..."

The words spilled out, a plea born from a place of fear. I rember the fight at school. Another girl had called "Miss Good Tissue," and the whole class had started chanting it, over and over, until I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't an to hit her. I didn't want to hurt anyone, but the anger bubbled over and I smacked her on the head. I never wanted to be bad, because when I was, Daddy would punish . And when he punished , it hurt.

He always said it was because he loved . But the pain made feel anything but loved.

I hated the punishnt. I hated how he said it was for my own good. I hated how he made feel like I was the one in the wrong. But there was always a part of that believed him. That believed I could sohow avoid the hurt if I just did everything right. If I tried hard enough to be good.

But the other kids—at school, —they didn't make it easy. And the voices— the voices in my head, they told to fight back, to hit them, to stand up for myself. But standing up never seed to turn out well.

I rember Daddy picking up from school that day. He seed happy. The teacher had told him what happened, about hitting a kid. He didn't seem angry at first. But I knew what he would say.

He told the teacher that he would take care of it at ho, and I knew that ant I would be punished. I tried to beg him, to promise that I wouldn't do it again, but he just looked at with that cold, distant expression and said, "Bad girls need to be punished."

I prefer when he told to play with his candy or when he told to lick it and suck it like I did all the candies he bought for than when he put it inside , because its always hurt when he put it inside through the little hole I use to pee. The first ti he put his candy in is because I had knocked down his favorite statue and it broke into many pieces. He was really mad and said he would punish differently. I rember bleeding and daddy said he was cleaning my hole with his candy. It was so painful because he was really really mad.

When we got ho, he told to take a shower and wear the red dress he had bought . He told not to wear any panties. I knew what that ant. I usually where the red dress when he said he wanted to clean my peeing hole. I always tell him that I wash it when I bath but he never cares. I prefer my little mouth hurt from sucking his candy than the other one.

I did what I was told quickly, hoping it would make things go smoother. I didn't want to make him angry. I didn't want the hurt to be worse because its always more painful when he is mad.

Later, I rember him coming into my room. I sat on the bed, my heart pounding, my mind spinning, trying to escape what was about to happen. He sat on the bed and told to sit on his lap, and I didn't want to, but I knew I had no choice.

"Daddy, please... it hurts. Please, make it stop," I begged, feeling the familiar sting of helplessness as he enter .

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(END OF TRIGGER)

I opened my eyes in a panic, only to find Justin looming over , his expression filled with concern. He held an empty glass of water in his hand, and I felt the coldness on my face, a sharp contrast to the heat of the nightmare still clinging to .

He sheepishly backed away, his voice soft. "You weren't waking up, June. You were crying so much... I had to splash water to get you to wake up."

I didn't feel anger. Instead, a wave of relief washed over . His presence, his effort to pull away from the horror of my nightmare, was the only comfort I had right now.

The cold water on my face was a jolt, but it didn't completely erase the lingering dread of the nightmare. My heart was still racing, and I could feel the sweat on my skin, a silent reminder of what had just unfolded in my dreams. It wasn't the first ti — the nightmares, the mories, they always ca back.

I hated them. I hated how they crept into my thoughts, uninvited, every ti I closed my eyes. No matter how hard I tried to push them away during the day, the mont I fell asleep, they'd return. The sa old scenes, the sa old pain. And no matter how many tis I told myself I was stronger now, that I didn't need to live in the past, it always found a way back into my head.

That was why I hated sleep. Because every ti I closed my eyes, I risked reliving those things again — the things I'd spent so many years trying to forget. So many nights I'd spent awake, pretending to sleep, only to crash with exhaustion and face whatever my mind threw at .

I learned the hard way that if I didn't set an alarm to force myself awake after an hour, I would stay trapped in the nightmare, lost in the darkness that followed. A part of resented that I needed it, but it was the only way to protect myself from the mories I could never escape.

I turned my head, feeling the comfort of Justin's presence nearby. His worried gaze t mine, and I could see he was trying to be understanding, trying to be there in a way that didn't press too much. And for a mont, I was grateful. Grateful that, at least for now, I didn't have to go through it alone.

I forced my mind to think about today instead, pushing away the nightmare, the mories I never wanted to relive. But the mont I did, my face turned red—burning hot.

Flashes from the party crashed into , one after the other, like a film reel I couldn't pause. I saw Bart—my ex—forcing himself on a girl. She had fought back, slapped him, kneed him where it hurt most, and escaped. She was strong. Stronger than . Stronger than I had ever been.

Because I never fought back.

I never kneed my father when he ca into my room.

I never escaped.

A wave of nausea rolled through as the realization settled in my bones like ice. Bart was no different from my father. He was a predator, just like him, and yet, I had been blind to it. I had been so caught up in my own pain, in my own demons, that I never saw the monster I had been dating.

I had been so upset after seeing it, so shaken, that I lost myself. That was when I found Justin. That was when I—

Oh, God.

I slapped a hand over my mouth as the mory of what happened next slamd into .

I had straddled Justin.

I had made out with him at the party.

And then—

Oh my God.

I had banged Justin. In his car.

I gripped the sink, my knuckles going white. What the hell is wrong with ?

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to breathe through the rising panic. I needed help. I needed to get a grip before I completely lost my mind.

I had wanted to forget. And he made forget.

Fuck.

And he was really, really good at it.

I let out a shaky breath, gripping the edge of the sink as the reality of what I had done hit full force. What now? How the hell was I supposed to act around a guy who just banged into oblivion in his car—a guy who, up until yesterday, was nothing more than my fake boyfriend?

From barely talking to him... to straddling him at a party... to screaming his na in the backseat? That was one hell of a shift.

My reflection in the mirror stared back at , wide-eyed, flushed, completely lost. What the hell was I supposed to do now? Pretend like it didn't happen? Act normal? What even was normal after sothing like this?

One thing was clear—I had absolutely no clue how to handle this.

I washed my face again, letting the cold water ground .

Well, it happened.

It happened, and there was no use beating myself up over it.

And it's not like I hated it. It's not like I regretted it.

My grip on the sink tightened as flashes of last night rushed through my mind—Justin's hands gripping my waist, his mouth against my skin, the way he completely wrecked . My face burned. Damn it.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to shake it off. No overthinking. No spiraling. I needed to get a grip before I completely lost it.

I had bigger things to deal with than the fact that Justin was dangerously good at making forget.