Page 21 of Cruel Deception
My father’s fury, his threats to lock me away.
The bike I can’t find.
The brother who hasn’t returned.
Nico—
God. Nico’s head twisted at an impossible angle like it weighed nothing. Like life itself meant nothing.
And the worst part?
Cassian is the only one who could help me find my mother. And he won’t.
Sleep comes, but it’s not mercy.
It’s a trap.
The basement walls are damp. A single bulb flickers above me. It’s cold. Silent. The kind of silence that crushes you.
Then I see it—a black spider hanging from the ceiling, swaying.
I blink, and more come—crawling from cracks, scurrying across the floor.
I try to run. The door’s gone. My legs won’t move.
One lands on my shoulder. Another on my hand. I slap it, but I can’t scream.
I was seven.
Locked in the basement. My father’s voice in the dark: “Let’s see if you talk back now, brat.”
Now they’re everywhere—on my arms, my legs, my face. One crawls across my mouth. I gag. I can’t breathe.
“Stop,” I whisper. “Please.”
But they don’t.
They never do.
I jolt upright in bed, a scream trapped in my throat, my body drenched in sweat.
The darkness of my room presses in, not a basement but just as claustrophobic.
My chest heaves, each breath a jagged knife, my heart slamming so hard I’m sure it’ll break my ribs.
I throw off the sheets, my hands shaking as I scan the room—corners, walls, ceiling—searching for movement, for those glistening black bodies.
Nothing. Just shadows. But my skin crawls, every nerve screaming as if those legs are still skittering across me.
I pull my knees to my chest, burying my face in them, my breath hitching, gasping, praying.
Please, not again. Not again.
“It’s not real,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “It’s not real.”
But the words feel hollow, the terror clinging to me like damp rot.
My fingers dig into my arms, grounding myself, but the phantom sensation of spiders lingers—on my neck, my hands, my lips. I shudder, a sob catching in my throat, and press my forehead harder against my knees, willing my heart to slow.
