Page 68 of His Eternal Claim

My head splits apart. I cry out and collapse against the window; the pain is unbearable. Like someone forcing needles through my skull.

My knees hit the marble. And I hear voices outside the door.

“Her response?” It’s my Mother’s exhale.

“Unstable.”

My breathing catches.

“Fragments?” someone asks. A man.

“Yes.”

“She cannot remember him.”

My heart pounds so hard it hurts. Him.

“The dosage won’t hold forever.”

My blood turns cold.

My Mother answers immediately. “Then increase it.”

“She may become paranoid.”

“She already is.”

“She could hurt herself.”

“She won’t.”

“She only needs to stay manageable until tonight.”

My hand flies to my mouth. My whole body trembles.

Tonight.

Tonight.

Tonight.

The word echoes until it becomes unbearable. My head throbs harder. Something dark moves at the edge of my vision. And I squeeze my eyes shut.

The voices fade, footsteps retreat, but I stay curled on the floor until my legs go numb. After some time, somehow, I force myself up. There’s a bathroom through the adjoining door. I stumble toward it. The mirror above the marble sink catches me. And I freeze.

There are bruises, faint, yellowing, around my wrist. Finger-shaped and some like chains. I stare and touch them. Pain blooms as I wince.

There’s a small cut near my collarbone too. Another near my shoulder. My skin goes ice cold.

Migraine.

My Mother said migraine. Migraines don’t bruise wrists.

My knees nearly buckle. A memory hits: leather restraints.

Hands pulling. A scream. Grey eyes. Then static.

Gone.