Page 81 of Deliria

I kick out. I lash out.

My hands make contact with absolutely nothing.

He rips the t-shirt right off my skin, and the cool air leaves me shivering with more than just fear.

Two fingers penetrate me. I can feel the way his nails drag against my insides, and then he pulls them out, clearly slick with the evidence of what I did. “You fucking bitch.” He snarls right into my ear. “You filthy little whore. First my father, now my brother…”

Something sharp pierces my neck, and then an icy cold nothingness seeps into my veins. Seeps into me.

I know it’s the drugs.

I know he’s sedating me.

And I know I should be afraid of what awful things he’s going to do while I’m unconscious.

But for the first time I lean into it, I welcome it. I let my mind slip back, let the Old Scarlett die and the confused, broken one return, while I pray to God that this plan will work.

That this will end the way we want.

That all of this horror will at least be worth it.

Scarlett

It’s freezing cold.

Bright.

The room is illuminated as if the sun is rising right there, outside my very window.

I screw my face up, wincing, but as I try to roll over, my body won’t respond. Can’t respond.

Fear explodes in my chest.

I have no idea what is going on. My eyes dart around the room, blinking rapidly against the brightness because let’s face it, that’s the least of my worries now.

The wallpaper is flowery, old fashioned. The space feels opulent. The mattress I’m on is so ridiculously comfortable, if I wasn’t tied to the bed frame, that is.

I’m tied to the bed frame.

I’m fucking tied up.

I let out a gut-wrenching scream as reality slaps me around the face like a cold fish.

My legs are secured to the corresponding bed knobs by some nasty rope that bites right into my ankles. I’m naked. Completely starkers, and spread wide open.

My hands are free. My upper torso isn’t held down in any way, but it means very little because the way my legs are bound renders me utterly defenceless.

I don’t know what the fuck happened yesterday. I don’t know what the fuck is going on.

Where the fuck am I? Have I been kidnapped? Was I out drinking at some bar and then my drink got spiked?

My mind races with every awful possibility and I sit up as best I can, my fingers scrambling to try to undo the knots.

The door opens. Two sets of footsteps reach my ears and my fear escalates.

And then Alex of all people walks around to stare at me.

“What is this?” I gasp. “What the fuck is going on?”

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