The fire licking at my skin tells me that infection must be setting in on the shitty patch job they did on my shoulder—if one could even call it that. I vaguely remember the pain of them attempting to cauterize the bullet wound before giving up and stabbing me with a needle to try and sew it shut.
That felt like an eternity ago. It’s been days since then, but this is the first time I’m waking up in an unfamiliar room. I force my bleary eyes to crack open, but the heaviness I feel has them slipping shut before I can even register my surroundings. I feel so fucking weak, nauseous, and tired all at once.
The soft jangling of a chain startles me, and it has my renewed heartbeat thundering behind my ribcage. I force my eyes to open once more, and it takes me a moment to realize the nightmare laid bare before me.
Oh my god.
No.
No, no no?—
I must be delirious from the undiluted agony and havoc currently spreading throughout my body because there’s no way that the sight before me is real. Thishasto be a fucking nightmare. Tremors wrack through me as I stare in disbelief at Collins’ petite form chained to a bloodstained bed. Her arms are stretched up and out farther than what seems natural, and some type of contraption has been attached to her ankles, forcing her legs apart. A chain connects the bar to the bottom of the bed.
She’s covered in cuts and bruises, and blood clings to her porcelain skin in varying stages of coagulation. My eyes travel over her too-still frame, pausing on her chest long enough to watch the rise and fall with each breath she takes. There’s a blindfold covering her eyes, but it does nothing to hide the swelling, and bruises, and dried tear tracks that mar her freckled cheeks.
Even though she lay unmoving, I notice how her jaw is clenched, and her hands are balled into white-knuckled fists. There’s a slight tremor to her body, and it clues me in to the fact that she’s deep in dissociation. I recall her body locking up and doing much of the same thing that day in the coffee shop when I’d taken her to breakfast.
Part of me wants to shout, to try and rouse her so I can ask if she’s okay, but I know the answer to that just by looking at her. She’s anything but okay. She’s been in here enduring the worst kind of abuse and torture, and I’ve been too fucking weak to even stay awake, let alone try and protect her.
Unrelenting anguish injects itself into my veins as my utter failure to save her beats down on me. It feels so much worse than any injury I’ve received ever could.
“Snow.”The nickname I use for her comes out as nothing more than a gritty whisper. She doesn’t react to my voice, and a part of me is glad. I hope that wherever her mind has taken her, it’s better than being stuck in this room.
“I—“ I try to speak, but my throat is so dry that I can’t even spit a single word out. I try to clear my throat, but it’s a fruitless effort. “I’m so sorry, baby,” I sob, my words undiscernable through my hiccuping and tears.
I pull at my restraints, but the rope binding my wrists to the chair scrapes so hard against my skin that it feels like white-hot sandpaper. I’m overheating and my body is broken out into a cold sweat despite the chilly temperature of the room; it makes my skin itch. I fight against the ropes despite the pain consuming my body from the inside out until I start to feel faint, my vision darkens, and my head rolls from a near-loss of consciousness. Sweat is rolling in rivulets down my temples, and the droplets get caught in the corners of my eyes. The burn from the salt forces my eyes to slam shut. It fucking burns and I have no way to clear them because my shirt is so soiled that the fabric at my shoulders is just as useless.
All the while, Collins lay so uncharacteristically and unnervingly still on the bed. Never moving, save for her fists and jaw clenching and unclenching every few minutes. Finally able to open my stinging eyes again, my stomach twists as the reality of my situation sinks in.
I did this to her.
Ihaveto try and save her.
Even if it’s the last thing I do.
So I gather whatever strength I possess, and I fight against the faint feeling in my body. I pull and jerk and twist my handsin every direction to loosen the ties of my restraints. I don’t stop until blood is soaking the rope and my skin is rubbed away at my wrists and I feel yet another wave of dizzying nausea from the pain.
I hate that I still feel like I’ve got one foot in the grave, that I barely have strength to even open my eyes, let alone defend my sweet girl. Hopelessness takes hold, and dread clutches my throat in a vice grip. My body breaks out in a cold sweat again when I hear the heavy thud of echoing footsteps approaching the room, accompanied by an eerily jovial whistling tune that sends a chill racing up my spine.
The door bangs open, and I flinch at the sound. I’m so fucking sick that everything hurts. Touch, smell, and even sound. All of it. My eyes remain locked on Collins, and I watch as she remains completely unmoving, though I notice her fists are now clenched so tight that her palms are bright red from her nails digging into her flesh, and her knuckles are white. Even if her mind is not here, her body knows thatheis.
“Fucking hallelujah!” Guy sing-songs animatedly at the same time I hear the door slam shut. “I was beginning to think you were never going to wake up.”
I don’t answer him; I keep my eyes trained on my girl across the room, and from the corner of my eye, I see him turn his head to follow my gaze. He shakes his head, putting his hands on his hips, having the nerve to let out an exasperated sigh.
“My….little girlhas been very,verybad,” Guy tuts before running a hand over his sharp jaw. The sadistic gleam in his eyes fixates on each cut and bruise that marks her body. “She was mine, and she was perfect for my needs,” he explains, like what he’s saying should make perfect sense. “You see, her innocence mixed with her pale, flawless skin made for the perfect canvas to play with.”
Hearing him speak about her like this, hearing that sick pet name he used for her in those messages he’d threatened her with has me turning to look him dead on. He grins and it’s the most unhinged, sadistic thing I’ve ever seen stretch across a man’s face.
When I just stare at him with a fucking blazing inferno burning through my eyes, he takes a step closer to the bed, and my body jolts, wanting to rip myself from this fucking chair and stop him from going anywhere near her.
It’s when his hand drops down to the bed and trails up the sheets until he meets her ankle and squeezes her so hard that I fear he may snap her bones that I yell, “STOP!”
He doesn’t release her, but his grip loosens as he chuckles and shifts his hand back to see the red and purple bruising already forming in a ring around her delicate ankle.
My eyes snap to Guy’s. My stomach roils when I see the morbid fascination in his eyes as he looks over Collins’ bruised and battered skin. He finally releases his hold on her and steps closer to me. That’s when I notice the small bulge tenting his neatly pressed khaki slacks.
This motherfucker actually does get off on her pain. The realization sends a fresh wave of nausea, accompanied by a heavy sense of impending doom roiling through me.
