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I begin to shake, my teeth chattering. “He-llo?” I call out, heavy eyes opening once more and my voice cracks. “Hello?” I ask again, trying to get up, but I can’t move. That dull ache in the back of my head intensifies into a pounding sensation. My breathing comes quicker, making my chest tight.
I start to pull on my limbs, trying to figure out why I can’t move. How much did I take? I should have slept off the pills by now. How long have I been asleep?
Turning my head to the left, I blink rapidly until my sight clears, and I see a concrete wall with black cabinets running along the bottom of a metal-looking countertop. A few boxes on top of the counter are taped closed.
My heavy eyes blink once more as I turn back to look up at the ceiling, and I feel something on my neck? It’s rough and rubs tightly against my skin. I try to lift my hands to feel what it is, but I still have no control over my body.
Lifting my heavy head, I suck in a deep breath, as the thing around my neck chokes me. Looking down over my naked body as my chest heaves, I see straps pinning me down to a black table. One is high across my chest. I feel another one across my waist as I twist side to side and another over my hips. More on my legs. My wrists are also secured by my sides. They look like thick belts, buckled tightly in place with small locks that require a key to remove.
Blood rushes in my ears. “HELLO?” I scream, my body thrashing on the table in the cold and silent room. My breathing is so heavy that it feels like the restraints tighten, making it harder to get in a breath. “He-llo?” My voice cracks. “Anyone…?” Tears sting my eyes. “What the fuck?” I grind out, yanking on the leather. But it’s useless. Even if they weren’t buckled, I’m still too weak to get out of them.
A lock sounds over to my left, and I try to see, but I don’t have a clear view from where I’m at. The door creaking open makes my pulse race, and I’m hyperventilating. “Who…are you?” I demand, trying to yank free. “What do you want?” I scream so loud my throat burns when no one answers. “Where’s James?” Was he dead? Had they killed him? My memory is foggy, but I remember him lying on my living room floor covered in glass and blood. Had he fucked someone over for drugs? It wouldn’t be the first time he owed someone money for the shit he put in his body, and I had to bail him out.
Why can’t I remember anything after that? Is it the pills I took? Or something they gave me? How long have I been like this? There’s no window in here, so it could have been days since I found James on the living room floor.
Cold air blows on my shaking and naked body. My hands fist, and I arch my neck, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.
Sagging in the restraints, the tears start to fall from the corner of my eyes while I try to calm my racing heart. It’s about to leap out of my chest. My breathing comes in short, rapid pants, and the room seems to spin. I think I’m going to be sick.
A bright light is turned on above me as if I’m strapped to an operating table and they’re about to perform surgery on me. It makes me flinch. It’s so blinding, and my body trembles at that thought.
My eyes are tightly closed, trying to block out the light when it’s moved to no longer shine down on my face. A hand grips my cheeks, and I start thrashing around to try to knock it off, but my arms are tied down by my sides, and the one around my neck makes it hard to move my head. The fingers dig into my cheeks, prying a whimper out of me, and my eyes spring open.
I look up into a set of red eyes, framed with a devil mask and two red horns. Fresh tears run down the sides of my face, and I sniff. “Pl-ease.”
Trying to catch my breath, I arch my neck, but his grip just tightens, smashing my cheeks into my teeth. He lets go, and I sag into the sticky leather. He reaches out and a clear mask is placed into his hand that has a long tube attached to it. He places the rubber mask over my mouth and nose. His tatted hand holds it in place, pressed into my face. I try to lift my hips off the table, but all it does is dig the straps into my skin.
My eyes go to the guy who had handed it to him, but all I see is the back of him. Jeans, black hoodie, and mask…the same as him.
“Please—” I sob. “Let me go.” My voice is muffled by the mask. Cold air covers my face, and I hold my breath, afraid to breathe it in. His free hand comes up, and I flinch when he touches my forehead, running it down over my hair. His touch is soft, almost lovingly compared to the way he gripped my cheeks.
My lungs start to burn, and my chest heaves as I continue to hold my breath. Tears fall from my eyes as I open my mouth and gasp in a deep breath, unable to hold it in any longer. Crying, I take another deep breath, and a calmness comes over me. A tingling sensation runs through my body to the tips of my fingers and toes. My body relaxes on the table. It’s as close to a high as I’ve ever experienced.
His hand continues to brush through my hair while I breathe in whatever is coming from the mask. My eyes grow heavy, my mind foggy. My vision goes in and out, and I blink several times before the devil mask becomes nothing more than a blur of white and black with red eyes and horns.
Is this what hell looks like?
I swear I hear a voice say“That’s my good girl”as everything fades away, and my tightly fisted hands unclench. But that’s just my mind playing tricks on me. I haven’t heard that in years. And the man who used to call me that is dead.
THIRTY-SEVEN
ASHTYN
Iwake up, a moan escaping my lips. Rolling over onto my side, my hands come up to my face, and I cover my sensitive eyes to block out the bright light. When it doesn’t work, I grab the soft fluffy blanket, pull it up and over my face, and relax into the comfortable mattress.
My eyes instantly spring open, and I sit up gasping, shoving the covers off when everything comes rushing back to me.
I was awake, tied to a table, and the mask…he placed something over my face. My hands come up to my face once more, and my fingers quickly run over my skin, feeling for cuts or pain of any kind that will tell me if anything is broken.
My hands drop to my sides, and I let out a deep breath, but my ease quickly turns to panic when I feel something on my stomach.
I shove off the covers to see I’m naked. My 666 brand covering my pelvic bone is on full display. I always keep it covered with makeup when at work and washed it off when I take a shower back at home.
But that’s not the part that makes my heart skip a beat. No, it’s a small white bandage over my right hip. It’s got tape over it. The way I’m sitting, it’s pinching my skin.
I almost trip out of bed—my legs are shaky, my head a little foggy, and the room spins, making me feel light-headed.
What the fuck?They drugged me, and it’s still in my system.
