Page 57 of Writhe
Not his. Not his.
I would have known. I would have felt it. If it had been Theo’s, I would have known. My Theo. My love. He would never have let this happen to me. My hands claw at my belly, nails digging in, desperate to carve out whatever sickness is festering inside me. This thing is wrong. A parasite. A corruption. A mark of ownership.
And he did this to me. The Doctor. The monster.
Rage surges up, blinding, consuming, burning through the fog of my mind with searing clarity. My vision pulses, my breath comes in sharp, erratic bursts. My skin feels too tight, my bones are too fragile to contain the fury surging through me. He took everything. He branded me with his seed, chained me to him with something that should never have existed.
A low, guttural sound bubbles from my throat, something between a sob and a snarl. My hands tighten into fists, nails biting into my palms, the sharp sting grounding me for a fleeting second before the fury overtakes me again.
I will not let him win. I will not be his.
My gaze flickers to his desk. The letter opener gleams under the dim light, sharp, waiting, begging.
A laugh. A sharp, brittle sound escapes my throat.
“Shh, little one,” he soothes, stepping closer. “I know this is overwhelming, but I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”
I jerk away from him, rolling out of his lap, clattering on the floor. “You did this,” I hiss, my voice shaking with fury. “You put it inside me.”
His smile softens, as if he thinks I’ll break apart if he’s not gentle with me. “We did this,” he corrects. “Together.”
I lunge at him, fists swinging, nails clawing for his face, but he’s ready for me. His hands snatch my wrists with that practiced ease, as if he’s done it a thousand times before. Maybe he has.
“Ah, there she is.” His grip tightens, bruising, but I don’t care. I twist, struggle, spit at him. Anything to get him off me. “Such fire, even now. That’s what I love about you.”
I scream. I want to claw his eyes out, rip his throat open with my teeth. But then–
“Dollface?”
The voice slithers through my mind, velvet, and smoke. I freeze.
Theo.
The Doctor notices the change instantly. He always does. His lips curl at the corners, patient, expectant. “You still hear him, don’t you?”
The world tilts, my vision tunneling, and suddenly I see him, standing just behind the doctor, lips curled in that familiar smirk, dark eyes gleaming.
“Go on. Kill him for me.”
I let out a shuddering breath. My fingers twitch at my sides.
Yes.
Yes, I can do that.
The Doctor moves to touch me, some soft,condescending caress meant to soothe, to control, to remind me that I am his.
But I am not.
I lunge before I even realize it, instinct taking over. My fingers close around the letter opener on his desk. a gleaming, silver dagger in my grasp. It feels perfect in my hand, like it was always meant to be there.
His expression barely has time to shift from arrogance to surprise before I drive it into his neck.
A wet, visceralshhfills the air as the blade bites deep, slicing through muscle and flesh, severing the carotid artery.
For a heartbeat, neither of us move.
Then.
