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DAYS AND NIGHTS WOVEinto one another as I hung like a lamb to slaughter. My telepathy was useless. Vision ability a detriment to myself with the steel covering my eyes. And my Ink lay still and quiet, which wasn’t a good sign.
A couple men had replaced the steel bucket with a steel band that slipped over my head and covered my eyes. I’d fought them and got a knife across the face from ear to brow. It wasn’t deep enough to kill me, just make the rats happy.
I lived in complete darkness for weeks, or what I thought was weeks. I heard rats scurry across the dirt floor beneath my feet and, occasionally, when I dozed off, they’d nibble on my feet or try to crawl up my legs to get to the blood.
My throat was raw from shouting curses at my brother and from lack of water and food. He knew I’d survive longer than a human without food and water, and he was testing my limits.
It was hard to think in this damp hellhole. My calm, logical mind played games with me as days crept by. I kept going over and over in my head why my brother would turn on me. What had I done to push Ulrich this far?
I knew I’d die in this place. Ulrich wanted me to die, but not yet. For some reason, he liked watching me suffer.
And yeah, I wanted to die. Never thought I’d ever think that, but hearing Gemma’s screams echo outside the door was worse than any torture I could imagine. And my brother knew it.
Day after day, I struggled against my bonds, ripping my flesh open until blood pooled on the dirt floor where rats relished in a feeding frenzy. Cursing my brother. Then begging him to let Gemma go.
But it was when her screams stopped that the ultimate torture began. I didn’t know what happened to her, whether he’d killed her or let her go or maybe she was so broken that she no longer screamed.
Agony. Day after day in silence.
I hung limp against the manacles, no longer able to hold my head up or shout. And I didn’t want to. I had nothing left. Was nothing.
Gemma. I failed her. I failed my clan. The Scars.
That was when I died inside and something ugly rose from within.
“How much do you weigh, Rayne?”
“I don’t know.” I shifted uneasily in my seat. I didn’t want to talk about my weight.
Why had I agreed to see this woman? Because you need help. I’d reminded myself of that all the way here. Delara had insisted on accompanying me, and it was a relief to know, if I collapsed in the middle of the sidewalk, at least Delara could pick up my broken pieces.
“Rayne, I know you want to walk out of here.” Understatement. “You don’t know me and this is a very personal subject to talk about. That’s normal. But I want you to know that I care what happens to you.” She leaned forward, her forearms resting on her knees, her gaze intent. “If you continue to lose weight, you will die.” She softened her voice. “Do you want to die, Rayne?”
Good question. Yeah, sometimes I did. Why continue living when it hurt so much? I had nothing. No reason to live, because all I did was hide anyway. But there was a small part of me that was still fighting to survive and come out of the black void and live, breathe.
“In order for me to help you, I need you to be honest with me. I don’t judge, Rayne. I’m here to be that voice that is hidden inside you. It won’t be easy. This will be the hardest thing you’ve ever done. Suffering from an eating disorder is a long, hard battle. But you can defeat it.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. Why did this woman care anyway? I didn’t know her. She didn’t know what I’d been through. She didn’t know anything about my problems.
But I was tired. Tired and scared. Tired of worrying whether or not I’d pass out. Feeling like a failure every single day just like Anton told me over and over again.
“It will be a battle between your anorexic self and your healthy self,” Rebecca continued. “Both parts will war against one another continuously. You’ll fight for your anorexic self, that part of you that you have grown to know and understand.”
How could I trust someone who was spilling lies to me? It was lies, wasn’t it? I wasn’t anorexic. Couldn’t Rebecca see what I saw looking in the mirror every day? But an inner voice struggled to emerge, telling me that living in this entrapment of my own self-destruction was detrimental. That maybe Rebecca was right and I would die.
“Your heart will give out if you keep losing weight. I’ve seen it happen. If you suffer from panic attacks—which I believe you do—they’ll worsen. Your hair will begin to fall out, and then your body will stop functioning.”
I met Rebecca’s hazel eyes, which were warm and inviting. She had full lips and lazy, plain brown curls that cupped her oval face. It softened her narrow nose and severe eyebrows. She looked in her late thirties and wore a pair of dark blue jeans and a beige, long-sleeved blouse. She was not what I’d expected as a therapist, casual with a genuine smile, but direct as a missile.
Like Kilter. Although, Kilter was more abrupt and forceful. But I liked that Rebecca had a no-bullshit attitude. She hit me hard with the truth—the truth. Was it the truth?
“Think about it. Because if there is an ounce of survival left inside of you, I want you to grab hold of it before it slips away.”
It was slipping away and yet, at times, I wanted to live. I’d finally escaped Anton and had my freedom. That was why I was here—to try.
Despite believing if I gained weight I’d lose control, a logical part of me knew Rebecca was right. I felt it in my body, the dizziness, the memory loss, and the constant panic. My body was screaming for food, and yet every time I put food in my mouth, I felt as if I’d blow up like a balloon—failing.
