Page 87 of Deliria

I swallow hard, nodding even though I know he can’t see me. The pickup point. It’s a relief that we had the foresight to pre-agree a safe place before any of this shit went down. “Yes, yes, I can do that. But?—”

“Just get moving, Scar. I’ll be there as fast as I can,” he replies.

I hang up, taking a breath to steady myself.

The evening is already giving way to night. Maybe it’s my imagination, but that darkness feels like it’s already creeping into my skin. It’s like the Forster’s are reaching out, ensnaring me in their trap and try as I might, there won’t be any escape.

The maids come.

Fear. Shame. Humiliation.

There are no words to adequately describe the horrific emotions I feel as they flit about, freshening the space, cleaning the bathroom, filling up a bowl of warm water and washing me down like an animal.

I beg them. I plead.

They don’t speak a single word back to me.

Oh, I knew they were complicit. I knew from the beginning, but this proves it. This proves that they’re not hoodwinked into believing some false narrative about me being sick. No, they know the truth. They know what is really going on, and they clearly don’t give a shit.

As one of them places a bowl between my thighs, I tense up.What fresh hell is this?

She glances at my face and at least has the decency to blush as she produces a razor blade and starts shaving my entire genital area.

Christ, I didn’t think this could get any worse, and then it did.

“How long have I been here?” I ask. Surely, they’ll answer that.

The girl between my thighs pauses, glancing at the other one hovering far too fucking close for my liking.

Neither of them speak.

“How long?” I ask again. “Jesus Christ, I barely know my own name, whatever you tell me, I’ll forget it the moment you’ve walked out the door…”

“Four months.” The girl not shaving me says while the other instantly hisses.

Four months. Four fucking months.

“Have I been tied up the entire time?” I don’t know why I ask that question. There’s no real need. Memories have been coming back. Fleeting moments. Flashbacks that seem to fade in and out as the day slowly dissipates around me.

I know my brother is dead. I know that they’re responsible. I know that Alex has been pretending that I’m sick, telling me that I have some sort of brain damage. I know that the doctor is in on it, that he’s been granted ‘full-access’ rights to me and has been fucking me while I’ve been drugged up to my eyeballs.

And Rafe - I know he’s involved too. That he chased me through the woods, that he forced me to get on my knees and beg for help before he made me suck him off.

I shut my eyes, fighting the tears as the maid performs her final sweeps with the blade.

I’m being prepared like a piece of meat. All cleaned up and made pretty for another round.

God knows what I actually look like down there. God knows what damage Vincent did when he fisted me.

I used to like that.

I don’t even know where that thought came from. Is that true? Or is that another thing I’ve convinced myself of to get through this horrific situation?

My breath turns rattly. My heart seems to hammer harder and harder.

I don’t know who I am. Who I was.

I’m so fucking lost.

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