Patient A-3

Chapter 51: Til Death Do Us Part

The first thought that passes through my drug-induced thoughts is: this must be Wrath's doing. My limbs ache almost like I've been holding them up for hours on end. Wrath must have taken it upon himself to enact his plan. Not the one that involves me dying, but the one that involves drugging me and fucking me until he pleases, and then some. However, I don't feel the dull ache of an impending orgasm; I just feel... pain.

"Fuck you," I groan, rolling to my side.

He doesn't reply, but I'm sure he's here. Amid the roughest rough patch to ever exist, he chose this moment to set his plan in motion- an idea that, in hindsight, seems utterly absurd. Yet, knowing him, it's entirely in the realm of possibility. When I consented to his scheme, it was during a time when trust flowed effortlessly between us, a time when I trusted him not to plan and attempt to kill me.

Reality feels like a distant dream as my mind grapples to keep pace. The bed beneath me offers the illusion of a soft, billowing cloud, yet the relentless ache coursing through my body overshadows any comfort it may provide. With a weary hand, I attempt to soothe the throbbing in my neck, only to be met with sharp jolts of pain. A frustrated scoff escapes my lips as I reluctantly allow my heavy eyelids to flutter open, confronting the unforgiving glare of consciousness.

This isn't home. I'm at Sophie's.

A chuckle escapes me as the realization dawns that I must have blacked out last night. Sophie, bless her soul, likely had to maneuver me into an Uber and then haul my unconscious self up the stairs to her apartment. I stretch out my arm behind me, expecting to encounter her reassuring presence, but instead, all I find is a damp void.

Why is the bed wet?

With a sense of urgency, I propel myself upward, squinting against the harsh light as I frantically search for Sophie's familiar form. But she's not there. In her place lies only a disconcerting puddle on the bed where she usually rests, stained with ominous streaks of blood that mar the pristine white sheets. My hand instinctively flies to my mouth, suppressing a scream threatening to escape. Panic grips me as I scan the room, desperately seeking any trace of Sophie, but all I find is the chilling emptiness, punctuated by the stark evidence of her absence.

Struggling to find my balance, I manage to rise to my feet, though my movements are unsteady as I navigate towards the door, driven by a desperate need for answers. However, my progress halts abruptly as I catch sight of my reflection in the large vanity mirror positioned in the far corner of Sophie's room. The mirror, aglow with bright lights, causes me to squint, but even through the haze, I can discern the unsettling sight of red.

Blood streaks down my body, tainting the fabric of my dress as I shuffle closer to the mirror, my hand clutching the wall for support. With a pounding heart and a rising sense of dread, I force myself to focus on the reflection before me. And then, in a surreal moment of clarity, the pieces of the puzzle align, and horror washes over me as I comprehend the gruesome truth staring back at me.

Bite marks.

A gasp escapes me as I register the sight of them-bruised and scattered around my neck, rendering my skin swollen and inflamed, a morbid adornment of crimson against the pallor. With trembling hands, I gather the courage to lift my dress, revealing a solitary mark etched into my stomach.

And then it all comes rushing back with nauseating clarity: the crowded bar, the flurry of drinks, the stranger. I had promised Sophie I'd meet her at the front, but I never made it. I had been drugged, and the chilling realization settles over me like a shroud- I wasn't the only victim. If my drink had been spiked, then undoubtedly Sophie's had been too.