Adrenaline floods my system, and my hands fly above me, slamming against cold metal. I realize now that I’m lying on it, too, the surface beneath me uncomfortably hard and unforgiving.
My first thought is that Dread put me back in a grave, but after flailing out my arms, there’s open space on either side of me. I’m not inside a coffin, but I’m insidesomething.
“What the fuck?” I whisper, the words breathless andcracking with panic.
Chest pumping, I feel around my body, only to let out a breath of relief when I feel my phone protruding from my sweatpants pocket. I don’t know if I fell asleep with it in there or what. I don’t even remembergoingto sleep.
With trembling fingers, I grapple with the device, fumbling around until the screen lights up and I manage to click on the flashlight.
I instantly regret it.
“No, no, what the fuck,” I whimper, my rounded eyes staring at the body on a metal pan next to me, a white cloth covering them.
My head snaps to the other side, confirming another body on that side.
I’m inside the fucking mortuary rack.
With another whimper, I set my phone on my stomach with the flashlight pointed up and then reach above my head and slam my hands against the door. It’s locked—obviouslyit’s fucking locked. There are no handles on the inside, because why would there be? The dead don’t get fucking claustrophobic.
“Stupid,” I mutter, grabbing my phone again and searching for Sable’s number. Tremors rack my body, making it difficult to navigate the phone, but I finally click on her contact. Except the phone doesn’t ring, and, with horror, it instantly dawns on me. I look at the corner of the screen to find no signal.
My bottom lip trembles as tears rush to the surface of my eyes.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
With Rogue up my ass all day and staying outside the dorm at night, thishasto be Dread’s doing.
After he stormed out of the room, I just sat there and cried, contemplating if I should go back to my own dorm or not. Until, that is, I received a text from Rogue twenty minutes later, letting me know Dread’s staying in his room, and he'll be staying the night outside the door to watch over me. I didn't even have the energy to argue or respond. I just went to bed.
Or, at least, I tried to.
I woke up in Dread’s bed earlier this morning, surrounded by his amber and sandalwood scent but feeling so empty and cold with him gone. I was groggy from tossing and turning all goddamn night and barely got a few hours of sleep.
There was another text from Rogue waiting for me, letting me know he’d be skipping his classes to shadow me all day, at Dread’s request.
Which turned out to be entirely annoying, but it was a fight to even keep my eyes open, so I stayed silent while Rogue followed me around. The entire day passed in a blur, ignoring Rogue's attempts at chitchat, moving like a zombie through each class, then later at work.
Sable let me help with some of her embalming duties to get my mind off things, though it didn’t help very much as she hovered around like a mother hen the entire time.
After work, I remember Rogue waiting in the parking lot to tail me the entire way back to Dread's dorm, muttering, “Good night,” before leaving him at his post outside the door, ordering takeout, brushing my teeth, and then… nothing.
My hands dive into my hair and squeeze tight, and I pinch my eyes shut as I rack my brain, attempting to recall if I ate or drank anything aside from my takeout before bed. Unfortunately, my mind is frustratingly erratic, unable to settle long enough to concentrate.
Wait…
Fuck!
I drank a fucking Gatorade, and I thought little of it at the time, but the motherfucker must’ve kept a bottle I tapped with melatonin and ensured it was the last one left in the fridge.
Thank God I only drank half of it, so I’m not too groggy.
It's after two a.m., so it’s Saturday now. Thankfully, the funeral home is open every day, but Lord fucking knows how long it'll take before someone comes into the morgue so I can alert them I'm trapped in here. At the very least, I'll be stuck in here for hours, and that has a cold sweat blooming across my entire body.
“Let me out!” I scream, banging on the door again. “Dread! Let me the fuck out!”
No answer.
My hysteria worsens with each passing second as I struggle to draw in a full breath, involuntary moans and whimpers leaking from my throat. Sweat coats my back and along my hairline, and my muscles tighten to the point of pain.
