Page 35 of Fragmented Illusions
“Hello, pretty girl.”
My eyes dart all around my dark room in a daze. I’m disoriented but it doesn’t take more than a split second for me to find the object of my desire.
No, not my desire. The objects—plural—of my greatest fear.
Keep telling yourself that.
My entire body trembles as I stare into the black of my room; darkness shattered only by two white porcelain masks which are now clear of any blood from Halloween night.
This is it.
This is where I die.
I suck in a shaky deep breath and hold it, magnifying the feeling of my heart battering in my chest.
If this is my time, I want to feel it all. Every bit of it. The creepy one’s knife carving into my skin, the cuts deeper and more prominent than the ones on my stomach.
And the silent one; he’ll watch it all without saying a word, but he will be the one to finish me off, to steal my last breath from my lungs.
That’s the power—the control—he craves.
I relate.
“Well, don’t look so terrified. We’re only here to play, pretty girl. You’re not dying…” the creepy one has his head cocked to the side as he turns his head to study the other man for a second before turning back to me. “Tonight.”
He keeps his head at an angle as he lowers his head a bit more and I see dark wavy hair flop over the top of the mask. They both continue to stare at me in mutual silence, causing my nerves to go haywire.
I bring my arms across my chest to hold onto my triceps in an effort to give myself comfort and after I dig my nails deep into the muscle, I realize I can feel my nipples against my forearms. They’re hard, grazing the bare skin of my freckled arms.
A ball sinks to the pit of my stomach as my eyes slowly, unwillingly, drop from the men to my own body. Unclothed skin covers every inch of my vision.
I yank my hands down to grab the blanket bunched up at my feet, but a gloved hand grips my wrist in a punishing hold before I can move more than a few inches. The touch burns into my skin and his grip is so tight I can feel the fragile bones grinding together. My eyes automatically dart up to see who grabbed me and I’m shocked when I realize it’s the silent man.
In this moment, I wish—not for the first time—I knew who they were. Or at least what they looked like.
You like not knowing.
I swallow the lump which has formed in my throat and tremble beneath the silent man’s daunting stare. All I see are black holes where his eyes are, but I feel them, nonetheless.
Empty.
“Lie back, pretty girl.”
My eyes drag to the other voice, and it takes me a moment to process what he said, my brain not working as fast with Silent’s touch burning into my flesh.
“W-what?” My voice trembles.
“You heard him.” Silent speaks, and my eyes shift back to him. I feel dizzy with all of this back and forth, so I shift my eyes to the blanket in front of me. I get lost in the solid white of the thick material and my vision goes blurry along the edges as my eyes unfocus as I zone out.
In and out.
I don’t want to be here.
In and out.
Please let this be a dream.
A hand presses to my chest and shoves me back onto my bed. I fall, then groan as my head smacks against the headboard. Dots dance across my vision, and I whimper as my head throbs.
