Fear

27 • Act 6

Tyler stood before me, his expression dark and unreadable. The table was laid out with an array of sharp knives, each one gleaming menacingly under the single overhead light. My heart pounded in my chest, a familiar sense of dread creeping up my spine.

"Emily," Tyler began, his voice cold and calculated. "It's time for Act 6. I hope you're ready."

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come. I had faced this before, and I would face it again. Tyler was using my fear of knives and blood to his advantage, a twisted form of therapy that was supposed to help me overcome my phobias. But today, there was something different in his eyes. A flicker of anger that hadn't been there before.

He picked up a knife, the blade glinting as he turned it over in his hand. "You've been getting close to Tom," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Too close. I need to know what you're planning, sweetheart. Are you thinking of escaping?"

I forced myself to meet his gaze, my jaw set in defiance. "I don't know what you're talking about," I lied. My heart raced, but I refused to let my fear show.

Tyler stepped closer, the knife still in his hand. "Don't lie to me, sweetheart. I can see it in your eyes. You think you can help him escape, don't you? You think you can escape with him, don't you?"

I said nothing, my silence speaking volumes. His eyes narrowed, and he grabbed my arm, pulling me closer. The cold steel of the knife pressed against my skin, a sharp reminder.

"You're progressing," he murmured, almost to himself. "You're not crying anymore. You're stronger." He sliced the blade across my arm, a shallow cut that sent a wave of pain shooting through me. I flinched but didn't cry out. My reaction was calmer, more controlled.

"Good," he said, a twisted smile forming on his lips. "But we're not done yet."

He moved closer, his breath hot against my face. "Open your mouth," he ordered, his voice cold and teasing.

A new wave of fear washed over me. The thought of the knife inside my mouth, the taste of blood on my tongue-it was too much. I shook my head violently, tears springing to my eyes despite my efforts to stay calm.

"Emily," Tyler's voice was a dangerous whisper. "Open your mouth. Now."

I had no choice. With trembling hands, I parted my lips, my entire body shaking with terror. He forced my mouth open wider, the blade hovering just above my tongue.

"Lick the blood off the blade," he commanded, his eyes locked onto mine.
I couldn't do it. I shook my head again, a sob escaping my lips.

His grip tightened, and the knife pressed down harder. "Do it. Now."

In my panic, I jerked my head, the blade slicing into my tongue. Pain exploded in my mouth, and blood filled the space, the metallic taste overwhelming my senses. Tyler's eyes widened in horror as he realised what had happened.

"Fuck!" he shouted, dropping the knife. "Get Sam in here now!"

My vision blurred, the pain and fear overwhelming me. Tyler's hands were on my face, his voice desperate and apologetic. "I'm sorry, Emily."

But his words meant nothing to me. In a final act of defiance, I gathered the blood in my mouth and spat it at him, the crimson droplets splattering across his face.

Then, everything went black as I passed out.

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When I woke up, I was in the hospital wing, the sterile smell of antiseptic filling my nostrils. My tongue throbbed with pain, and I could feel the dry bandage wrapped around it. Sam was there, his expression a mixture of concern and anger.

"Emily, can you hear me?" he asked softly, his hand resting on my forehead. I nodded weakly, too exhausted to do anything else.

"You've been through a lot," he said, his voice gentle but seemingly angry. "Tyler's gone too far this time."

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