Page 89 of Shattered In Darkness

It never does. It never will.

28

LOLA

I dream I am burning alive in that house of horrors. Marcus is there, in the dark flames, laughing. My mother is screaming. Red walls crumble, lights flicker. His porcelain smile is crackling, Mother’s flesh is vanishing. The ceiling is falling, chandeliers breaking.

Blackened lilacs float through the flames, and my solemn tears spread like spilled blood. The sun is vicious and black, and my soul is a fallen bird. Falling into the black.

I wake, startled and jumpy. Sweating. Shaking. I sit up and I can’t catch my breath.

The mattress is damp, my skin is cold, but somehow burning. My head thrashes with a weird kind of pain, all pressure, like someone put my brain under a boot and decided not to let up. I blink. My lips are stuck together, my tongue is so dry I could peel it from the roof of my mouth.

My hands shake as I reach for the bottle of water Brody left. The plastic fumbles out of my grip. I bend to grab it and my forehead almost hits the goddamn concrete.

Fuck.

I drink, but it doesn’t help. Water runs down my chin because my hands won’t stop trembling. I taste nothing. Not even the ghost of the apple from last night. Just sickness.

My chest aches. Everything inside of me aches.

I’m so cold one second, then the sweat hits a high and it’s too much, like my blood’s turned to acid. My jaw chatters, then it locks. Then it chatters again. My whole body is shaking. I try to curl up tighter, but it’s pointless. The shivers claw through anyway. My head... god, I wish it would just crack open and end.

Fever.

It’s so obvious and I still ignore it. I tell myself maybe I’m being dramatic. Maybe it’s nothing. Delusional. I’m delusional. I can see the little hallucinations at the edge of my vision, shapes moving that aren’t there, breaking off at the corners of the room, settling in the ducts and shadows. Watching me.

Brody’s still in the house. That’s a bigger fever than anything burning out my insides. I feel like I’m on fire, then I’m freezing. Then I’m just empty, cooked dry, nothing left but a sick, spastic need. I want him gone. I want him here. Either way I want it over.

Hours pass. My breathing gets worse. Wet, useless, little gasps. My chest is heavy. My body crackles all up and down the spine, fever light switch, on-off-on.

Everything aches. My memories, my mistakes, my skin. The bruises Marcus left are old news now. It’s what’s inside that’s rotting me from rib to rib.

I try to get to the bathroom bucket, but my legs don’t want to go. My knees buckle. I lay on the concrete, barely able to see for a moment, vision black at the edges, stars falling, white static, a hundred snowflakes eating the world. I want to sleep. I want to lie down and let the cold finish me off.

But it won’t. Nothing ever does.

The lock clicks.

Him.

He stands in the doorway, arms folded. Skull gone. Just flesh, stubble, eyes resembling a midnight storm. He comes closer, just watching. I try to sit up. Fuck, no. My head slams sideways. Static bursts. Spots. World spins⁠—

I gasp, clamping my knees up, pretending for half a second I’m fine. I’m always pretending. It’s all I have. He stands there, watching me clutch the blanket, shaking so hard the shivers snap up my arms and lock my whole body in place.

“Sit up,” he growls.

I do. My body doesn’t listen, though. My spine goes limp. Wet, cold sweat drenches the new shirt, sticks it to my chest. My skin is fire and ice, my lips so dry they could crack.

Don’t look weak. He loves you weak.

But there’s nothing else left.

“What’s this?” His voice is less controlled. “You sick, or just playing for sympathy?”

He’s close now, his shadow falling over my knees. His hand is at my face before I can hide. He grabs my chin, hard, twisting my jaw so I have to look up.

The world breaks up into slices of color. His eyes. The concrete. The white echo in my vision. I try to spit out a word, but the only thing that comes up is bile. I turn my head and retch onto the floor. Thin, burning. I cough and gag and cough again and he watches it all, stone-faced.