Submitting To The Devil - The Devil's Snare - Book 2

Chapter Seventy Nine

Bianca

"Bambi," Benji's voice breaks the stillness, echoing softly from the bedroom a while later. I remain seated on the cold, tiled floor of the bathroom, my mind swirling with thoughts of the unsettling encounter I had with Derek.

The damp air carries a faint scent of soap, but I barely notice it as I grapple with the chaos in my head. Everything's hazy, and there only seems to be a mirage of memories that hint at something I can't quite reach.

Looking down at my hand, I repeatedly look at the ring on my third finger on my left hand.

Is it an engagement ring or a marriage ring?

Is Derek my husband, or was it that boy from before? Something tells me it wasn't the boy I woke up to.

Why can't I grasp the details of what happened? Each time a fragment of memory resurfaces, my heart races faster, pounding like a wild drum against my chest. Then they just disappear, and I have to grapple to find some sense of belonging. It's as if my mind is trying to protect me, yet the urgency of these lapses unsettles me even more every time I see the two men around me.

And how does Benji always seem to swoop in whenever I'm around Derek? His presence is a haunting tease for what shouldn't be.

"Would you care to walk with me?" he asks, leaning casually in the doorframe, his fingers gripping the weathered wood above him. He's dressed now in a pair of well-fitting jeans and a soft green round-neck top that gently clings to his frame, hinting at a hint of his athletic build beneath. A build that seems familiar.

"Here," he says, extending his arm to offer me a bundle of clothes. I move towards him, my fingers brushing against the fabric as I accept the leggings, top, and spare underwear, their softness inviting against my skin. Turning, I retreat to the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind me, giving me a moment of privacy to slip into the comfort of the clothes he's given me. The quiet of the space envelops me as I change, feeling a mix of anticipation and comfort wash over me.

A few moments later, I shove the crumpled pile of used clothes into the waiting basket, cleverly tucked away next to the crispness of the marble counter. Then, I step back into the bedroom, where I find Benji meticulously picking up the shattered remnants of the broken picture frames, shards glinting like tiny fragments of lost memories.

"He's not happy," Benji remarks, glancing up at me, his brow furrowed with concern. Does he mean Derek, the man from before?

"Things are fuzzy. Why did I...?" I mumble, a frown creasing my forehead as a dull throb reverberates through my head. Images of myself wreaking havoc in this room, fueled by a tempest of anger, swirl chaotically in my mind. I struggle to piece together yesterday's events, and it feels disorienting. I can't comprehend why I reacted the way I did.

"You were angry," Benji reveals, his voice steady yet tinged with empathy.

Then it hit me. We were eating, and my grandfather entered the dining room with us. But, but, why does it feel like he's someone that should be dead?

"Because of my grandpa," I assert, the reality crashing into me like a tidal wave. Yes, he's gone.

"Yes, you were—"

"What's happening?" I interject, desperation creeping into my voice.

"Bambi." He gently shakes his head nervously, his gaze penetrating, his eyes holding pure shock.

"I'm sorry," I stammer, blinking rapidly as anxiety rolls through my stomach like a dark cloud, bringing with it sharp, gnarly cramps that twist and squeeze at my insides.