Page 101 of Phobia
But he brings the belt down again and again. On my back, on my buttocks, hitting every inch of exposed skin until I can barely breathe between lashings. Agony has consumed my world. It’s all I know. All I’ll ever know.
Pain and blood.
My throat is closing up with the horror of it. I’m past the point of panic, nearing delirium. And he just keeps hitting me, grunting and groaning and calling me horrible names.
“Whore. Fucking bitch. Pathetic slut.”
Over and over again. The old pain dulls into the new so all I can feel is a dull ache. My eyes fall closed.
Just before I black out, I feel a strange whoosh of air, hear what sounds like screaming, someone …somethinggrowling low, a sound that rattles and reverberates deep down into my core. I’m too far gone to care.
I fade to black.
I’m in and out, eyelids fluttering. All I see is blood and blackness. I hurt all over. Ihurt.
I hear shuffling and groaning, the sound of fabric rustling and a low, deep … slurping sound. Like someone taking a long drink, swallowing many times in quick succession.
I look around and see a figure hulking in the darkness of the alleyway. It’s crouched over something … a body? A human body? A jolt of fear shoots through me like lightning. I let out a small whimper.
The thing’s head darts up, locks me in its sights. A shock of long, jet-black hair sways as it settles, as he stares straight at me.
“Hold on, Adrien.” I recognize that voice. It’s not Mickey’s voice but another. One I’ve heard before. One that’s brought me comfort.
My presence, my monster. My stalker. My shadow.
I allow my head to fall back to the hard ground, giving in to the rush of agony as it crashes over me and pulls me back under.
I’m drifting on a sea of unconsciousness, barely there, barely alive as lapping waves of molten pleasure wash over me, consuming me in a slow and languorous bath. I feel … alight, on fire, so good. Like the orgasm I experienced the other night while the presence guided my hand but … bigger, better. Stronger, more potent somehow.
It takes a moment to truly make sense of what’s happening to me.
There’s a body over the top of mine, hunched over my hips, a face pressed into the crook of my neck. And that’s … where the pleasure seems to emanate from. From the tugging sensation at my neck where I can feel … lips pressed against my flesh. A tongue darting in and out, sucking, lapping, swallowing.
Something is …drinkingfrom me. Drinking my …
Panic overwhelms me as I realize what’s happening.
My eyelids flutter, and my hands shoot to the broad chest plastered over my own. Is it Mickey? Mickey over top of me, drinking my blood? Would he do something so monstrous, so horrible? I wouldn’t doubt it. Not after everything he’s done and said.
No. No. No.This isn’t happening. I’m so weak, but I try. I try to fight him off, try to stop him. He’s killing me, draining me. I can feel myself dying, fading.
I don’t want to die.
Slowly, his lips pop from my neck, and he raises his head. His face is shadowed, and I have a hard time making out the features, but I know immediately.
It’s not Mickey.
The man that hovers over me, looking down at me, is absolutely stunning, a true vision of masculine beauty. Long dark hair, like something from a romance novel, waves down over his shoulders. His soft features gaze down at me, a button nose, full cheeks, and high cheekbones. Large, unnatural scarlet eyes …red eyes, the color of blood. And plump, red-stained lips, colored with what I know is my blood. He’s not human.
“It’s alright, Adrien. I’m almost done.”
“Done?” I choke out. My throat is scratchy. I almost can’t get the word out.
He nods. “I have to do this. I’m sorry. I can’t lose you.”
I want to ask him what he means, who he is, what’s happening to me, but I can’t. I can’t speak anymore. My lips blubber, and I falter, feeling myself slipping back into darkness again.
I’m dying. But somehow, seeing him, being held by him, I realize I’m not afraid.
