Fear

20

"Still with me?"

His voice slid through my head in a haze, too close yet distant all at once. My ears were ringing, my heart thudding in my chest like fists rapping on a concrete wall.

There was no door opening this time. No footsteps. He was already there.

The room was swimming. My limbs trembled with a cold that had sunk into my bones. My hands — I couldn't even feel them anymore. The straps had cut off blood circulation, and now my arms were nothing but dead weight on the table. I couldn't see Jack, I just presumed he was hidden in the shadows.

Tyler was leaning against the edge of the table like he'd never left. He barely smiled. Just the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth when I lifted my head to look at him.

I tried to say something but my mouth didn't move. I hadn't even noticed the tape until now. Had he put it on before I woke up — if I'd even been asleep at all?

He uncrossed his arms, stood, and turned to me. He braced both hands on the table, lowered his head, and leaned in. Not rushed. Not threatening. Reverent, almost. "You're shaking," he murmured. I didn't know whether he was referencing what I'd said the other day or if it was just an observation. It felt like both.

Then his fingers found my jaw, lifting gently — soft, so soft, it made my skin crawl. I hated how warm his hand was. I hated that my pulse quickened when he touched me like that. The air between us buzzed.

Close enough now that I could smell him: faintly minty breath, musky cologne, something earthy and rich. My breath caught in my throat, trapped in my lungs.

"You want me to kiss you," he whispered, his voice lower now. "Don't lie."

That stopped me. I let out the breath I'd held and turned my head away with a scowl, knowing full-well I couldn't escape this situation. But part of me didn't even want to. Not when he teased me like that. The flutter in my lower half had said it all.

But I didn't pull away.

His mouth hovered too close. My heart pounded so hard it hurt. I was trembling, and not just from the cold anymore.

"I could..." he whispered, voice like poison-soaked silk. "But I won't. Where's the fun in that?"

And as if it didn't mean a thing, he pulled back. Stood. Inhaled sharply. Straightened his suit jacket.

Maybe that's what he wanted to believe.

I let out a shuddering breath, humiliated by the sound of it — desperate.

And like it was nothing at all, he turned and casually picked up the scalpel. Like grabbing a pen off a desk.

My stomach plummeted.

"Act Three begins now."

He took my left arm first, examining it with a kind of twisted care as he slid into the chair opposite me. His fingers glided across my skin like he was learning it, memorising it.

"Soft skin..." he murmured. "Pretty veins."
His fingers brushed, featherlight, along the blue branches under my skin, giving me goosebumps.

It felt... strangely intimate.

But the moment didn't last long.

He looked up at me, something dangerous gleaming behind his pupils.

"Shame I have to ruin them."

The scalpel glinted in the light as it moved to my arm.

The first cut was shallow. A thin, clean line that burned more than it bled. I gasped, clenching my teeth hard to stifle a scream.