His Private Swim Sessions - Chapter 13: Chapter 13
You are reading His Private Swim Sessions, Chapter 13: Chapter 13. Read more chapters of His Private Swim Sessions.
The darkness swallowed the empty room whole.
My bed looked like a war zone—sheets twisted and tangled, as if someone had wrestled them into submission.
A cold sweat drenched my skin, leaving the mattress beneath me damp and clammy.
I fumbled for my phone on the nightstand, gulping down water like I'd been stranded in a desert. The unbearable thirst finally eased, but my nerves were still shot.
My pajama top had ridden up, crumpled under my neck, leaving me half-exposed to the chill of the room.
The phone screen blazed to life, mocking me—only thirty minutes of sleep.
And then, that godawful ringtone sliced through the silence again.
Vincent Roland.
My stomach lurched.
Why now?
His words from earlier clawed at my mind: Do exactly as I say.
No time to think. No time to breathe.
The second I answered, his voice oozed through the speaker, slick and smug.
"Well, well… Still up at this hour? Couldn't get me off your mind, could you?"
My throat tightened. No words came.
Not that he cared.
"You know what I've been doing? Watching those videos I took—damn, they're good. Couldn't help myself, so—"
A low, grating laugh cut him off.
My jaw locked, teeth grinding so hard I thought they'd crack. Every muscle in my body coiled with the urge to scream, to rip him apart. But I stayed silent.
"Oh, and don't forget—class tomorrow. Be on time, my dear assistant…"
The call died before I could even exhale.
Disgust churned in my gut. I hurled the phone onto the bed, unleashing every filthy curse I knew.
Then I curled into the corner, shattered all over again.
Sleep never came back. By morning, exhaustion clung to me like a shadow.
I dragged myself to the Aquatic Center on an empty stomach, my body trembling, my mind barely holding on.
My bed looked like a war zone—sheets twisted and tangled, as if someone had wrestled them into submission.
A cold sweat drenched my skin, leaving the mattress beneath me damp and clammy.
I fumbled for my phone on the nightstand, gulping down water like I'd been stranded in a desert. The unbearable thirst finally eased, but my nerves were still shot.
My pajama top had ridden up, crumpled under my neck, leaving me half-exposed to the chill of the room.
The phone screen blazed to life, mocking me—only thirty minutes of sleep.
And then, that godawful ringtone sliced through the silence again.
Vincent Roland.
My stomach lurched.
Why now?
His words from earlier clawed at my mind: Do exactly as I say.
No time to think. No time to breathe.
The second I answered, his voice oozed through the speaker, slick and smug.
"Well, well… Still up at this hour? Couldn't get me off your mind, could you?"
My throat tightened. No words came.
Not that he cared.
"You know what I've been doing? Watching those videos I took—damn, they're good. Couldn't help myself, so—"
A low, grating laugh cut him off.
My jaw locked, teeth grinding so hard I thought they'd crack. Every muscle in my body coiled with the urge to scream, to rip him apart. But I stayed silent.
"Oh, and don't forget—class tomorrow. Be on time, my dear assistant…"
The call died before I could even exhale.
Disgust churned in my gut. I hurled the phone onto the bed, unleashing every filthy curse I knew.
Then I curled into the corner, shattered all over again.
Sleep never came back. By morning, exhaustion clung to me like a shadow.
I dragged myself to the Aquatic Center on an empty stomach, my body trembling, my mind barely holding on.
End of His Private Swim Sessions Chapter 13. Continue reading Chapter 14 or return to His Private Swim Sessions book page.