The light seeped through the gaps in the curtains casting shadows on Wren's closed eyes. The sound of the traffic amplified outside to a deafening decibel, her mouth was dry, and she could smell and taste something acidic, almost metallic. Her head was heavy and throbbing; it radiated from the bridge of her nose outwards across the back of her eyes. Groaning, she opened her eyes to discover she was in her bed. Not remembering how she got there, she reached over to her bedside table for her mobile phone. Something wasn't right. Her phone wasn't where it usually was; the bedside light was on its side, the bulb smashed, and a glass that contained water was on its side, with water dripping down the sides of the table. She felt cold and wet all over her stomach; she couldn't shake the feeling of anxiety and deep seeded fear. Easing her legs slowly from the duvet onto the floor, she stood tentatively. The soles of her feet came into contact with a slippery, wet substance. It wasn't the water from the upturned glass; it didn't have the consistency. Trying not to slip on whatever she had spilt on the floor, wondering why she couldn't remember anything from the night before. She hadn't been drinking. Had she? She hadn't blacked out from drinking since University. Through the gap in the curtains, she could see something on her hands, pulling back the fabric delicately to not shock her system with bright daylight.
Wren's body began shaking. An unexpected fear overcame her; goosebumps travelled all over her body. The sunlight revealed a veil of deep crimson red on her hands and forearms that left a trail down over her breasts and pooled on her nightdress at the stomach. Her eyes adjusted to the light, sending fragments of shadow onto the floor and walls; looking at the hardwood of her bedroom, more crimson pooled on the floor; inspecting her hands more closely, the crimson had dried and had become crusted. The realisation hit. She had dried blood all over her hands and forearms, pools of blood on her floor and all over her body. She wasn't hurt, so it wasn't her blood! From her peripheral sight, she raised her head. There, on the wall, written in blood, " YOU THINK YOU ARE PERFECT!"
YOU ARE READING
YOU THINK YOU ARE PERFECT!
Mystery / ThrillerWren Beaumont is successful, beautiful and intelligent. She has one problem, she wakes up one July morning, with no memory of the last few days, and covered in blood thats not hers. Its a race against time to figure out who's blood it is and regain...
