Kiden let Laura move, for a moment, not certain where she was going with it; as Laura took hold of her wrists, Kiden reluctantly stepped backwards, uncomfortable already. When she pushed her against the bed, it fully cemented the idea into Kiden's mind that this really was just some incredibly fucked-up dream. One that she wasn't going to wake up from, but a fucked-up dream nonetheless.

Laura was on top of her, straddling her—Kiden wasn't sure if she should've felt sick, but she did, from the pit of her stomach to the back of her throat. Laura was—shit, she had no idea what Laura thought she was doing, what she hoped to achieve, and she didn't even want to think about it too hard.

She didn't want to move, to give Laura any hint that she should continue what she was doing; she didn't want to touch her, to be able to feel her legs clamped down around her.

And so she laid there, heart pounding against her chest, terrified that Sarah was going to walk in at any moment, or worse, that Laura might move, might try something else. Kiden stared at her, hard, not speaking, scared in some foolish way.

She turned her head to the side, eyes fixing on the wall closest to the bed, and said in a very quiet voice, “You need to stop this, Laura. Get off of me.”