Page 93 of Deliria

Echoes are calling, walls can speak,

And as the hunted hides, the strong grows weak.”

Ican’t breathe. I’m going mad. I’m losing it.

That awful verse rings in my head over and over like it’s meant to mean something. Like I’m meant to understand. And I need it to shut up. I need everything to shut up.

After they finished forcing me to come for them, they pulled out, covered me in their arousal and then left me there, like some dirty piece of trash.

I can feel the way it’s stuck to my skin. I can feel the way it’s marking me.

I feel like a piece of furniture they’ve pissed over.

The air in the room is thick with the scent of my own fear, and the ropes dig into my skin with each frantic movement. I’m tied to this bed, a prisoner in a place that my husband dared to call a place of safety.

My mind is a whirlwind of terror and confusion, each thought more fragmented than the last.

I’m losing myself, piece by piece to the madness that claws at the edges of my sanity.

Something deep in my stomach aches. It’s a pain that’s been steadily growing and I don’t know what it means, but I know it’s not good.

And then something inside me snaps and that scream that’s been getting louder and louder in my head as each awful minute passes, suddenly explodes into a rage I can’t contain.

I start jerking, thrashing, using every last bit of strength I have to fight. The rope I’m tied with tears at my skin, it rips off great chunks around my wrists, but I don’t care. I don’t stop.

I shake my head, acting every bit as out of control as this god damn situation is.

The door creaks open, the maids come in, the same old pair that have tormented me now for days. In one of their hands, I can see that syringe and I swear to God I will rip my own arm off if that’s what is needed to ensure they don’t drug me again.

I scream, a raw, animalistic sound that tears from my throat.

I fight with all the strength I have left, and the ropes that have held fast up to now give just a little. Just enough.

One of them climbs onto the bed, trying to hold me still while the other comes at me with the point aimed right at my face.

I buck, I jerk, I headbutt the bitch holding me down and she topples off, losing her balance as she hits the floor cursing.

“Stupid bitch.” She says, glaring at me.

“Fuck you.” I scream back.

The other maid sniggers like this is all some sort of joke, and clearly she wants to try to be the hero here. She closes the distance, and I wait till she’s near enough and I lash out, sending that needle in her hand spinning across the room.

It clatters to the floor, skidding across the polished wood, taunting us all with that sound.

“For fucks sake.” Syringe girl snaps.

“I’m so fucking done with this.” The other mutters.

I know I shouldn’t goad them; I know technically that I’m not in any position to truly fight but I let out a laugh, a manic half-formed sound that’s as broken as my soul now is.

In unison they pounce, like two jackals fighting over a corpse. Only, I’m not dead yet. I snatch at the syringe, yanking it from the girl’s hand and I jab, using it like a dagger, burying it in her throat. She screams, falling backward, but not before I can push the plunger down, giving her the full fucking dose.

The other girl jumps on my back, using her full weight to bring me down. My legs give way, my body collapses and she’s slapping me, one hit, then another across my face.

I know I’ve lost all my senses when my response is to laugh. To cackle.

“You fucking bitch,” She shrieks, rearing back.

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