Playing Dead: Book One of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 13

I dug what was left of my fingernails into the dirt, desperate to cling onto something as the pain stormed through my body, my muscles twitching in violent spasms and my stomach cramping even though I knew there was nothing left in it. No matter how many times I had tried to prepare myself for the pain that I knew was going to overwhelm me, each wave of agony left me more broken than the last. And every time I thought I had expelled every last ounce of putrid fluid that was inside me, each contraction saw something else spill forth onto the floor, until I was lying in my own filth, urine and vomit and sobbing helplessly as I waited for the next spasms to start.

I wasn't sure how long I had been like this. Since I had awoken in the darkness, I had not lost consciousness once but the pain had felt eternal, as if it had always been this way. Only I knew it hadn't always been this way, because I remembered.

I remembered everything.

When Harper returned, I felt him crawl up my body, touching me with hands I had once ached to be touched by, but which now repulsed me; terrified me. He sat astride me with his thighs either side of my hips and although I could not really see him, his shadow seemed to stand out amongst all the others; darker and more defined, stronger and more malevolent. I screamed, finally finding my voice and he quickly quashed it, covering my mouth with his hand and pressing down hard until I couldn't breathe and began to flail in panic beneath him. No sooner had he removed his hand than I felt him press something else up against my lips, a cup or a bottle, I wasn't sure. Warm liquid dripped into my mouth, something sweet and vaguely familiar, and I tried to turn my head away, petrified that he was attempting to drug me again. Maybe I should have just let him. Being unconscious had to be better than feeling this agony and anything had to be better than feeling this fear, but I struggled anyway and the liquid dripped down the side of my face. He gripped my chin hard and pushed my head back, forcing me to drink. I tried to clamp my mouth shut, but he just forced his fingers inside and I snapped my teeth and bit down as hard as I could. Howling in pain, he yanked his fingers from my mouth and lost his balance, falling to the floor.

In futile desperation, I tried to crawl away but soon he was upon me again and holding my wrists down above my head as I writhed underneath him. He was shirtless, just wearing his jeans and the harsh denim fabric felt like coarse sandpaper against my aching skin; almost like rubbing salt into an open wound. There wasn't a part of me that didn't burn and his touch aggravated the agony beyond all possible thresholds.

"Please," I sobbed. "Please."

He sat up suddenly and I could hear him taking short, shallow gasps, before sniffing and exhaling out a cruel laugh.

"Let's get one thing straight, you want to bite, I'm more than happy to bite back. Only believe me when I say I will cause you way more pain than you could ever cause me. So the next time I come in here and tell you to drink, you drink. Got it?"

I didn't answer. I daren't open my mouth.

"This is the point where you say yes, Megan."

"Yes," I whispered immediately.

He reached down and smoothed the hair off my face, brushing it back and stroking it, almost affectionately.

"Good girl," he crooned. "See, everything is so much better when you don't fight this. Soon, it will all be over. You'll see. All you have to do is hold on a little longer."

His words swept over me and I knew them for what they were: lies dripping from the demon's beautiful mouth. Nothing but treachery and trickery to make me comply.

As soon as he left, I curled up into a trembling ball; freezing cold and waiting for the pain or for him to return. And of the two, I had no idea which terrified me more.

******

"Drink," he ordered.

All time was lost to me. It had felt like days since he had last visited, although it could have been hours, maybe less. All I knew was the cold, unforgiving dirt floor and the sticky pools of whatever fluid I had expelled, smeared across my naked body, caking my skin in filth and engulfing me in a putrid stench that made me constantly gag. If Harper was repelled by it, he certainly didn't show it and he handled me just as he had before, tugging me onto my back and straddling me.

I thought there was no fight left in me, but when he attempted to force the drink down my throat again I shook my head frantically, spitting out what little liquid he was able to get in my mouth. He growled in rage and hauled my body off the floor, wrapping one arm around the small of my back to embrace me tight against him and curling the other hand into my hair so he could wrench my head to one side. When he sank his teeth into my shoulder, I screamed like I'd never screamed before. The pain was so intense and so concentrated in that one spot that it seemed to go on forever. Then, when he was finally done, he threw me back down onto the floor and the impact reverberated through my skull.

Suddenly he stood up and walked away, but I knew he hadn't left me again. I could hear him breathing hard somewhere, hidden by the shadows. I clutched at my shoulder, feeling the sticky wetness that seemed to saturate one side of my body and I pressed my face into the dirt, whimpering and sobbing.

I heard his footsteps fast and soon he was upon me again, pulling my face up from the floor and forcing me to drink, only this time I complied. I had no choice. I was exhausted and all I could hope was that he was drugging me and that soon I would slip into welcome unconsciousness and then maybe, hopefully, I would never again rise to the surface.

I let the liquid flow down my throat and was immediately reminded of the taste in my mouth when I had bitten his fingers but soon that recollection was gone and white noise rushed in to replace all thoughts and memories. I focused only on swallowing, on drinking more and more until I was full of longing and want; overwhelmed by this terrible thirst that raged through every part of me to the point when I thought I might never get enough.

And the thought of that, of never being satisfied and sated, frightened me more than anything and so I kept drinking until Harper decided it was enough and when he finally walked away, I cried for his return and trembled at the thought I might never see him again.