🧵 Chapter 5 - Thousand Watching Eyes
The Thread Between Worlds: Book One of The Thread-saga
I didn’t fall in love with her.
I fell in love with how safe she made me feel.
This chapter is about refuge — the kind you build when your body doesn’t feel like home, and love becomes a transaction of survival.
If you’ve ever said yes just to feel protected — this one might meet you there.
“You’re very welcome here, sweetheart,” Cathy said, opening her arms
wide.
I willingly accepted her warm embrace and lingered for a few moments.
She felt safe.
The atmosphere here was incredibly different from what I was used to
back home.
While my mother would indulge me with the occasional hug,
there was very little warmth or real love for family —
at least, that’s always how I experienced it.
Instead of falling in love with Ann,
I fell in love with her family and their interconnectedness.
A day didn’t go by without heartfelt laughter and playful banter among
the three of them.
Ann’s father had been out of the picture since she was a little girl,
and her grandfather had long since passed away.
The only men in the family were uncles and cousins who came around
from time to time —
but overall, it was a woman’s world in Cathy’s household.
And it felt, somehow, like a sanctuary of sorts.
It became quite apparent to me early on
that these women had all suffered from patriarchal oppression and
trauma
in one way or another — something I myself was painfully familiar with.
While there was often squabbling and arguing among them,
it always came back to love —
and the deep appreciation they shared for one another.
I felt an overwhelming need to stay with them.
It felt safe and familiar,
even though I was thousands of miles away from my actual home.
The night I arrived,
a blizzard blanketed the entire state of Massachusetts in snow,
shutting down most of the grid.
I had made it into the country just in time.
It was the first time I had ever seen so much snow fall in such a short
amount of time.
It felt magical.
A surge of freedom ignited all my senses
as I stood at the window of the upstairs apartment that belonged to Cathy.
Ann’s mom had agreed to stay downstairs during my visit,
so Ann and I could have some privacy upstairs.
The apartment was small and furnished in a warm, worn 70s style.
It radiated coziness.
The entrance to the front door was through a steep, narrow staircase
covered in a worn beige carpet.
It felt a bit claustrophobic making my way up,
and I briefly imagined how difficult it must be for Cathy.
It was no real surprise she spent most of her time downstairs
and only came up here to sleep.
The front door opened directly into a small kitchen,
outfitted with an old-fashioned white stovetop and oven —
which could also heat the room if needed.
A small table and chairs sat next to the entrance,
with a modest kitchen unit and sink to the right.
The floor was lined with yellow-brown linoleum.
A door to the left of the kitchen opened into a tiny living room,
furnished with a modest TV and a worn loveseat.
There was a fair amount of clutter — storage boxes stacked in the corners.
It didn’t feel very lived-in.
This was the room where we would be sleeping.
It wouldn’t feel right to sleep in Cathy’s bed, I thought.
During the car ride home from the airport,
Ann had kissed me for the first time.
I went along with it,
but felt no spark,
no real connection.
If anything,
there was a slight reflex of repulsion that scared me.
Later that same night,
Ann proposed marriage to me.
I was caught completely off guard — shocked.
I had only just arrived.
I wasn’t even sure how I felt about the girl I had spent over a year pouring
my heart out to online —
let alone prepared for her to drop to one knee before me.
But I knew how I felt about being here.
I felt safe.
Protected.
Free.
Independent.
A thrilling sensation,
something I had never experienced before,
coursed through me.
And engulfed in that wave of emotion,
I said yes.
But deep down,
I knew I would never be sexually or romantically attracted to Ann.
A pang of shame and sadness hit me —
the second time that day I had questioned my decisions.
“Am I sure this is a good idea?” I thought.
But my heart overruled my mind,
and I stepped forward into my new chapter.
For years,
I would blame myself —
thinking it was unwise, immature, even selfish to have misled Ann.
But the truth of it all is far more complex,
and yet also simpler,
than I could ever fully explain here.
Ann, on the other hand,
was physically very attracted to me —
and she desired me that very night.
She had spent a big chunk of her paycheck
on a beautiful princess-cut diamond set in 24-karat titanium,
and slid it onto my finger with quiet determination.
She kissed me,
pushing her tongue into my mouth.
Ann often bragged about her double tongue-piercing,
claiming it enhanced sexual pleasure for her partners.
But all I could think was how much I hated the way it looked —
and the way it felt.
So I tuned out.
I let her have her way with me.
It was nothing new.
I had tuned out throughout my childhood
whenever I was touched without my consent.
It had become second nature — a form of self-protection.
In the short time I had known Ann,
I had concluded that she was a much safer option for me
than staying at home with my family.
“I can learn to love her,”
I told myself the moment I said yes to marriage.
“I can learn to be attracted to her.”
After all,
she was kind.
She was caring.
I adored her family.
She was American —
and with her,
I believed I might have a real shot at citizenship,
and a real life.
Or so I thought.
“You are so beautiful,” Ann said softly.
“I can’t believe you’re going to be my wife.
My male friends are going to be so jealous of me,”
she added with a grin.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” she whispered,
running her long, chubby fingers down my chest,
circling my nipples.
I froze.
And mentally checked out,
as she proceeded to take what she needed from my body.
I had always consciously considered myself a virgin —
but subconsciously, I knew the truth:
My innocence had been taken from me,
without consent,
over and over again,
by those closest to me.
I couldn’t deal with that knowledge consciously —
not yet.
When Ann tried to insert her fingers inside me,
my body locked up completely.
No matter how gently she spoke,
no matter how slow she moved —
I could not let her in.
Ann grew discouraged and disappointed,
though she tried to hide it.
I tried to convince her —
and possibly myself —
that I just needed time and patience.
My previous girlfriend had taught me ways to please a woman,
and I felt much more comfortable giving pleasure than receiving it.
The thought of taking my clothes off —
of letting someone touch me —
filled me with silent dread.
Shortly after midnight,
Ann turned off the lights,
and we cuddled together on the pull-out loveseat.
Even though the lights were off,
the whole apartment was bathed in an eerie white glow —
the full moon,
combined with the endless snowfall,
illuminated the world outside
and cast a soft radiance onto the ceiling above us.
Thoughts and visions of my new future danced before my eyes,
keeping me from restful sleep.
It felt like standing under a silent audience —
a thousand watching eyes behind the sky.
As if the world knew something I didn’t yet.
Nothing would ever be the same again.
📖 Next chapter:
Chapter 6: Where Everything Shines
Even safety comes with a cost.
© 2025 Alex Blumberch. All rights reserved.
The Thread Between Worlds is part of The Thread Series, a multi-volume soul memoir exploring collapse, awakening, and timeline convergence.
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This isn’t just a story.
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And it’s only just begun.
— Alex