Make Me Moan, Daddy-Chapter 25

REINA

The moment the call ended, the silence that followed was unbearable.

It wasn’t peace—it was punishment. The kind that hums in your chest and won’t let you breathe.

I stared at my phone like it had just betrayed me, my fingers shaking as I dropped it on the bed. I could still hear his voice echoing in my head—low, rough, commanding—words I shouldn’t have listened to, promises I should’ve ignored. But I hadn’t. I never did.

And now he was coming.

"God," I whispered, pressing my palms against my face. My skin was still hot, my heart pounding so hard I thought I’d be sick.

I needed to move. To run.

I got up so fast the bedsheet tangled around my legs. The familiar room, my old room, still felt the same. Like I had left it two years ago. My things were still there, my old clothes.

My body moved on instinct—grabbing the nearest clothes in the closet, shoving things into my purse, my breath shallow and fast. My reflection in the mirror looked like a stranger. My hair was messy, my cheeks flushed, my lips swollen. I looked guilty.

"Pull yourself together," I muttered, dragging a brush through my hair. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t erase the look in my own eyes. That wild, terrified glint that said you’ve gone too far this time.

I couldn’t face him. Not after what I’d done.

If only he would give me some days, maybe two days apart to think things through. I didn’t want to continue like this. Doing something my body wanted one minute, and regretting it the next minute.

I slipped on my shoes and slung my bag over my shoulder, planning to get to the nearest hotel and just hide until morning. Maybe longer. Maybe forever.

But when I reached the living room, I stopped.

The light was still on. My aunt sat on the old floral couch, glasses perched on the tip of her nose, a thick photo album resting open on her lap. Her ginger hair glowed under the lamplight, and there was something so peaceful about the sight that my heart softened for a second.

"Reina?" she said when she noticed me standing there. Her voice was calm, warm, familiar. "You’re already awake?"

I forced a breath and tried to smile. "Couldn’t sleep."

"Come here," she said, patting the seat beside her. "Look what I found."

I hesitated, glancing at the front door. I could almost feel him drawing closer, somewhere out there in the night. But I couldn’t just brush her off, not after everything she’d done for me. So I exhaled, dropped my bag quietly by the chair, and sat beside her.

The album smelled faintly of old paper and dust. When she turned the page, my heart gave a tiny ache.

There I was—twelve years old, small and awkward, standing on the porch the day I moved in with her. My smile looked forced, my eyes too big for my face.

"Oh my God," I murmured, almost laughing. "I remember this day."

"You were so shy," she said fondly. "Didn’t even want to look at the camera. You clung to that little pink notebook for dear life."

I chuckled. "I used to write letters I never sent."

Her eyes softened. "Letters to your mom?"

I nodded, swallowing. "And sometimes to people who didn’t exist. I think it was just easier that way. Talking without anyone talking back." telling them how much I hated my father. How much damaged he had done to my mother, pushing her to marry that demon who later pushed her to her death.

But I couldn’t tell my Aunt those. I didn’t want to break her heart.

She smiled gently. "You’ve always had a big heart, Reina. Always thinking, always feeling too much."

She turned another page. My middle-school picture—awkward smile, braces, a ridiculous haircut I wish I could erase from history. Then my first year in high school, with my arm around a group of friends I hadn’t seen in years. Only Tessa was the face I still recognise. My best friend.

"Look at this," she said, laughing quietly. "You were growing into such a beautiful girl, and you didn’t even know it. I used to tell you that one day, boys would line up for you."

"Yeah, and I didn’t believe you."

"You never did."

Her laughter filled the room, light and comforting. For a few minutes, I forgot the panic pressing at the edges of my mind.

She flipped a few more pages, and my breath caught when she stopped at a photo that turned my blood to ice.

My prom night.

Andrew, my ex-boyfriend, the boy who’d once sworn he loved me, stood next to me in his tux, one arm snug around my waist. We were smiling for the camera, but it wasn’t real. It never was. My smile was tight, rehearsed. His hand was already too possessive.

"Oh, that night," my aunt sighed, nostalgia softening her voice. "You were glowing, Reina. That blue dress, those little silver earrings... I remember how nervous you were."

Nervous. That was one way to put it.

I stared at the photo, my stomach churning. I remembered it all too clearly—the awkward dance, the fake laughter, the way I kept tugging at my dress like it could hide the fact that I didn’t belong there. Andrew had been charming back then. Sweet. Patient. The perfect gentleman.

Until midnight.

Until the music faded and the night turned ugly. Until he took what wasn’t his to take—my virginity—and vanished like I was nothing more than a pit stop on his way to manhood.

The memory clawed up my throat, bitter and raw.

I didn’t even know my aunt still had this picture. If I had, I would’ve burned it years ago—ripped it into shreds, crushed it under my heel, set it on fire and watched it curl into ash just to make sure that smile, that lie, never existed again.