Fear

8 • The slash on my cheek

I found myself back in the dimly-lit clinical room, once again tied to the table and my mouth taped shut.

The familiar sterile scent invaded my nostrils, and I blinked, trying to shake off the lingering drowsiness.

The first thing I noticed was my clothes. The jumper and jeans I had been wearing had been replaced by a simple grey sweatshirt and sweatpants.

I took in my surroundings, the strange equipment and stark walls were becoming a familiar sight. As I struggled against the restraints again, the door creaked open, and Dylan sauntered in, closing it behind him. A grin spread across his face, and he laughed - a sound that immediately made me tense up.

"Well then? Did he ruin you?" His voice dropped to a mocking tone, and every fibre of my being wanted to spit at him, but the tape over my mouth made that impossible. I glared at him, my eyes burning.

There was a long pause before he spoke again. "I used to be afraid of blood too." His gaze shifted downward to his shoes, and his voice softened, almost as if he was sad.
"Until Tyler helped me..."

I looked up at him, my eyes widening slightly as I realised the implication of his words. Dylan had been a patient too. The revelation made me uncomfortable.

He noticeably tensed up, taking a deep breath before walking over to the cabinets. He rummaged through a drawer and when he turned back around there was a knife in his hand. I clenched my fists and stared at it.

He chuckled slightly as he ran the blade against his fingertips, admiring it. My heart pounded in my chest as I watched in shock. Without hesitation, Dylan cut the palm of his hand. He winced for a second, but then a disturbing, almost aroused groan escaped his lips. I felt a wave of nausea at the sight and sound.

He chuckled lowly, staring at the blood pooling in his hand. "I think I enjoy it a bit too much now," he sighed. Then, he looked at me, taking in my horrified expression. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

The blood on his hand dripped onto the floor, and I watched in abject horror as Dylan licked it off his palm, savouring each drop before swallowing with a loud, ecstatic moan. He wiped the remnants off his chin, his eyes fluttering shut in a disturbing display of pleasure.

"Fuck," he whispered, "so... delicious."

I gagged at the sight, my stomach churning with revulsion. Dylan noticed and his grin widened, eyes gleaming with perverse delight.

"I can't fucking control myself. You know, he trained me to enjoy it. He'll do the same to you, baby. Then we can enjoy the taste together." He giggled maniacally, the sound sending icy chills down my spine.

He grabbed a chair and sat down by my bedside, the knife still in his hand. I stared at him, feeling deeply uncomfortable and disturbed. He twirled the blade between his fingers, then shifted his gaze back to me.

"Say, why don't you have a little taste?"
I shook my head firmly, fear blazing in my eyes.

"Ugh! You're no fun." He sulked, standing up and spinning the knife dangerously in his hand. He moved closer, a sinister, crooked smile spreading across his face. I recognised the signs of an idea forming in his twisted mind.

"I'm sure the Boss won't mind if I just..."

He moved the knife towards my cheek, grazing it lightly over my skin. I flinched and clenched my eyes tightly in fear, my heart racing, breathing quickening, and my palms becoming sweaty as I tried to move away from him to no avail.

Without warning, a sharp pain cut through my cheek as he slashed it. I screamed in pain behind the tape, the sound muffled but filled with agony.

"Mmm... perfect," he hummed, satisfied with the damage. Tears welled up in my eyes as I lay there, waiting for the pain to subside. Fear paralysed me, holding me captive in a nightmare.