For a split second, the warehouse fades, and I’m back in that dark night, the smell of gas, the pain...
Not again. I will not be that girl again.
The thought cuts through the fog like fire through ice.
And then, like a film snapping into focus—
God. I remember.
The beach. Waves rolling in. Footsteps, way too fast, closing in behind me. A hand over my mouth. That awful, sickly-sweet smell—chloroform, I guess—clogging my lungs, drowning out the scream. Terror. Fighting.
And then… darkness. Nothing.
My stomach flips. Bile rises, and I gag, swallowing it back.
Panic claws up my throat, primal and raw.
I want to scream, to thrash, to fight my way free—but the ropes don’t give.
Come on, Della. Breathe. Think. Fight.
I drag air into my lungs, shaky and thin.
My eyes dart around, adjusting to the gloom. Shapes slowly emerge. A vast, open space with concrete floor and high, grimy windows. Moonlight slants through, catching on what looks like the skeletons of old machinery.
Everything smells like saltwater, rust, and rot.
I shift, just a fraction. The chair beneath me creaks. My wrists test the ropes again. No give. They're tight. Too tight.
That’s the moment it becomes clear. This wasn’t rushed or random. This was planned.
But why? Who would…
Then I hear it. Footsteps. Careful and deliberate.
A female figure moves through the darkness. Not rushing. Not hesitant. Just... gliding. She steps into the thin halo of a single, hanging lightbulb wearing tailored dark clothes and an impeccable posture.
Leah.
My breath catches and my heart hammers in my chest, so loud I’m sure she can hear it. My brain refuses to believe what’s right in front of me wearing a smug, nightmare style smile.
Doesn’t matter. I won’t let her in.
Not into my dreams, not into my head, not anymore.
I’m done being afraid. I can feel how rage is starting to bubble just beneath my skin.
She’s got my phone in her hand, swinging it casually from her fingers. Her thumb makes lazy little circles on the screen, like she’s petting something she owns. That smile hasn't budged. It's tight, controlled, and in love with its own power.
She steps in so close I can feel her energy prickling over my skin. Her eyes catch the light—hard and sharp as broken glass. Her voice is soft and sweet, but it's rotten to the core.
“Welcome back, darling,” she says, like we’re old friends meeting for brunch. “I was starting to worry you’d miss the grand finale.”
* * *
Leah
Seeing her strapped to that chair is so… tremendously satisfying. I wanted this for so long. I’m finally going to erase her from our lives.
