i-Spy | A Stalker Romance

Chapter 42: Artist at Work

(Trigger Warning:-
Nope. This is not for everyone. This chapter is ugly. UGLY. And I recommend you skip Kairo's part to the end if graphical description of violence, mention of sexual abuse, harassment, pedophilia, rape, etc makes you wanna hurl)

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Stella's P.O.V

My eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, everything was a blur—dark spots danced across my vision as I tried to make sense of where I was. The suffocating darkness pressed down on me, heavy and all too familiar. I could feel it—this was the cell in my family home. The realization sent a chill down my spine, like icy fingers wrapping around my heart.

Every part of my body ached. I shifted slightly on the cold, damp floor, and pain shot through my side, forcing a groan from my parched lips. My head pounded in time with my heartbeat, each throb like a hammer driving into my skull. I tried to swallow, but my throat was so dry it felt like sandpaper—every breath scraped against it, making me crave water with a desperate intensity.

The air was thick, almost choking me with its foulness. The smell—God, the smell—it was putrid, like decay, old blood, and rust all mingled together in a nauseating stench. It clung to the back of my throat, making my stomach twist violently.

I pushed myself up, fighting through the pain, but as soon as I moved, a wave of nausea slammed into me. The room spun, bile rising fast, but there was nothing in my stomach to expel. I doubled over, clutching my middle, my fingers digging into the cold stone floor as I tried to ground myself. But the darkness, the smell, the oppressive air—it was all too much.

Fragments of memory flashed in my mind—Kairo's voice, frantic, shouting my name, Sarah and the promise I made to her, then nothing. Just cold, numbing blackness until now. And now...now I was here, back in the one place I swore I'd never return to.

The harsh light flooded the cell as the gate creaked open, slicing through the darkness and hitting my eyes with a blinding intensity. I winced, instinctively raising a hand to shield my face, but the light was relentless, searing through my eyelids. As my vision slowly adjusted, two shadowy figures emerged in the doorway, their forms silhouetted against the glaring brightness.

I rubbed my eyes, trying to focus through the painful glare, and that's when I heard it—a familiar voice, tinged with playful dread.

"On a scale of one to 'Mom is going to kill us,' how much trouble are we in right now?" The voice was unmistakable, dripping with the kind of humor that could only come from one of them.

Before I could respond, a snicker followed, the kind that always seemed to signal more mischief to come.

"Duncan? Castor?" I rasped out, my throat raw and dry, each word scraping out like gravel. My voice was barely audible, cracking from the strain.

The figures stepped forward, and as the light shifted, their faces came into view—Duncan and Castor, the twin terrors of the family. Duncan's smirk was the first thing I noticed, the way it tugged at the corner of his mouth, always hinting at some joke I wasn't in on. Castor, just behind him, had that familiar glint in his hazel eyes, the kind that meant trouble was brewing.

Duncan's dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he'd run a hand through it in a moment of impatience. His hazel eyes, the exact same shade as Castor's, sparkled with a mix of mischief and concern. They both had that same tan skin, the result of years spent outdoors, probably roughhousing more than was wise. At seventeen, they were still lanky, their limbs long and awkward in a way that hinted at the strength they'd eventually grow into. But right now, they looked like boys caught between childhood and adulthood, too goofy for their own good.