Page 22 of Beautiful Scars

Chapter 6

MEISIE

Agunshot wakes me up. I don’t realize what I heard straight away, but when another quickly follows it, I’m wrenched from la-la land to real life in an instant with my heart in my throat.

I’m in a red room, which is all the sensory input I get before another gunshot sounds out.

I let out a soft laugh. Not a gunshot. At least, not in real life. Somewhere within earshot, someone’s watching a movie on full blast.

Well, now that that’s sorted out…where the fuck am I?

Silky sheets caress my skin as I move into a sit. The lighting is so dim in here that it’s difficult to make out more than a few indistinct shapes.

I’m on a bed. From the feel of the sheets, this isn’t some polyester blend.

But something’s wrong. Over and above me not recognizing my surroundings. I run a hand through my hair as I try to piece together the last thing I remember.

And that’s the strange thing.

I can’t.

Red room. Red room—Purple room?

Asylum. The club.ThatI remember. Dancing. Awful crowd. A tall man at the bar, dark hair. Exactly the kind of guy I was looking for.

I pull in my legs, hugging them hard to my chest. Shit. Shit, shit, shit!

There’s a muted explosion from the hidden TV set. I scan the room again, and now that my eyes have adjusted, more of it is visible.

No windows—but they could be hidden behind the thick drapes lining almost every inch of the walls. A bit of bare brick peeks through here and there. A wooden door. There’s a hum coming from somewhere. Air-conditioning?

Besides the bed, there’s a couch against one wall and a closet off to one side. A light behind it could be shining on stairs.

This room’s too big to be a bedroom.

That’s because it’s a dungeon.

I try to laugh off the thought, but my throat’s too tight.

Well, either way, I’ve decided I don’t like it here. It’s time to leave.

I start to swing my legs over the side of the bed, and stop.

There’s a dark smudge on my inner thigh. When I bring my leg closer, it resolves into a streak of blood.

An invisible sledgehammer slams into my chest. My fingers dig into the sheets.

But by then, the panic attack has me in its claws.

You are not dying, Meisie. This is just your PTSD kicking in. Think nothing of the fact that you’ve just woken up in a strange room covered in blood. You, not the room.

Fuck, what if thewhole roomis covered in blood?

A shriek tries to claw its way out of my throat, but I bite it back with ruthless determination.

Calm. The. Fuck. Down.

It’s simple. You’re going to get up, and you’re going to find the door—