Page 78 of The Italian Reckoning
Comfortable.
Safe.
I like it here.
But… Rocky. He hit me over the head. Put his hands around my neck. Why did he do that?
My eyes flutter and bright white light blurs through my eyelashes, sending sharp pain through my eyes so I snap them closed.
Fuck. My head. My back. Everything feels… weird.
Where am I?
The second time I open my eyes, I hold them open long enough to glimpse something shining above me, but the bright lights quickly force me back into darkness. I screw up my eyes and attempt to turn my head, but there’s tight pressure across my mouth and chin that stops me.
Am I tangled in the bedsheets? I try to lift one arm but I can’t. Something old and rough presses against my wrist—no, both my wrists. What the fuck?
Rocky hit me.
He hit me so hard.
What did I do?
Warmth stings behind my eyes and I force them open, determined to keep them open this time. While the bright white light glares from above daring me to close them again, I refuse.
I’m staring back at myself. A reflection hovers above me so I’m just looking back into my own eyes with my mascara smeared around my eyes and down my cheeks to what looks like a dirty, tan strip of flat leather covering my mouth and chin.
Oh, no.
Panic grips me like talons tearing through my chest cavity and my heart begins pounding so hard that the ache in the back of my skull is immediately amplified. The leather strap stretches out and attaches to the metal table I’m lying on, holding my head in place and barely giving me an inch to turn my head on either side. From the reflection, the warmth against my bare throat is a damp cloth that’s washing away blood from my neck.
Blood that’s dripped down from my ear.
The reflection moves back and I blink, finally getting a full view.
It’s Rocky. He’s still wearing his helmet and as he leans back, I get a better glimpse of myself in the reflection as he moves.
I’m strapped down to a metal table with metal cuffs around my wrists and ankles. A strip of leather similar to the one across my mouth stretches across my hips, keeping me firmly pinned and bound to the table. Beyond the helmet, there’s nothing much of note. Smooth grey walls, bright lights blinding me from yellow plastic stands.
My heart pounds harder and harder, and despite how I tell myself not to, fat tears well up in my eyes and blur the world around me.
What the hell is going on? What did I do?
I’m scared. So scared that despite the tightness of my bindings, I begin trembling like I’m about to shake apart. My mouth is dry like my tongue has turned to cotton and the longer I’m awake, the more aware of aches I am around my body. My head, mostly, and my elbow.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Is what I want to yell, but all that escapes is muffled noises as my words catch against the leather muzzling me.
Rocky tilts his head to the left, then the right, and finally, a deep chuckle rises from beneath the mask. “I wondered when you would wake up,” comes his muffled voice.
My heart races faster and faster until it’s nothing more than an aching blur in my chest. Keeping myself calm is a lost cause because each subtle test of my restraints sends my panic sky high. They’re all firm and locked down.
I’m really trapped.
I blink, and tears escape the corners of my eyes and roll down my cheeks to soak into my ears and hair. I try to ask Rocky what he wants, what did I do? Is this some kind of test? But again, it’s just muffled nonsense that makes Rocky laugh more.
“Don’t try and talk. There’ll be plenty of time for that. But first, I think it’s about time we re-familiarize ourselves with each other, don’t you think?” Rocky tilts his head back and audibly breathes deeply. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”
His hands move to the helmet and after some awkward fiddling, Rocky dips his head and removes his helmet. When he straightens up, I’m ready to give him a piece of my mind for whatever the fuck this is but when Rocky stands up and drags a hand through his long hair, my heart stops dead in my chest.
