The Psychic Next Door

[First Draft] Chapter 13: Trapped

I was surprised to wake up. I was so sure that I had died, that the fact that I was now conscious was almost incomprehensible. It made me doubt my own senses. I wondered if these past few weeks had just been a dream, suddenly gripped with the idea that if I sat up, I would find myself in my own bedroom, without the wounds, bruises and other evidence of violence that had marked my body. But soon enough the pain returned, like a wave washing over me. With it, it brought me back to reality and sank my hopes. My dreadful situation was, in fact, very real.  

Groaning, I trying to remember what exactly had happened, while my head and most of my body throbbed and ached. Despite my pain, I attempted to pull myself into a sitting position to get a better look at my surroundings and my wounds.  

I wasn't sure of how much time had passed while I was unconscious. The amount of abuse I had taken that night—was it last night?—was extreme, the worst yet, and I wouldn't be surprised if I had been out of it for weeks, if not months. I knew my injuries must be horrendous. I held out my arms in front of me, to examine the damage; my mouth hung open at the sight of it. My arms and body were criss-crossed with deep gashes and a blotched with deep purples and sickly yellows. Maybe it looked worse than it was because of the contrast between my mottled skin and the fresh white of these unfamilar sheets, but for the second time today I was surprised to be conscious, let alone alive. I wondered how I managed to avoid a hospital.  

Yes, wherever I was, it was no hospital. After I tore my eyes away from the battered shell that was once my body, I took a closer look at the room. Obviously, I was no longer on the floor of my living room, but this room was completely new to me. I already realized that I was nestled in a bed, but the bed was in a room where everything seemed really bright to my straining eyes. There was a hint of sun streaming in from the short window at the top of the wall, and everything in the room—walls, furniture, bedding—was a stark white, crisp and clean.  

Suddenly, low growl resonated around the room, tearing through its crisp order and sending me into a frenzy. I somehow found the energy to fling myself out of bed, as my eyes scanned the strange room for an exit. But as I tried to walk—or once my ailing body realized I was trying to use it—my legs gave out beneath me. I cried out in pain as I crumpled to the floor. I tried to stand again, but it was useless. I was suddenly so, so tired.

The exhaustion was sudden and overwhelmed me completely. I slumped against the wall, defeated. I was so tired, so tired in fact, that I was willing to give into my fate if it meant I could just rest. I was only slightly disappointed that I had escaped death, only to have it catch me again so soon...

The door to the bedroom flung open, banging loudly against the wall behind it. The sound pulled me out of the haze of sleep once more. I suddenly realized how stupid I was to want to give in, that I wanted to survive, live, fight; but unfortunately I was so weak, that I could only slide along the wall to find some corner in which to cower. My eyes tried to find some item to protect myself with, but the only thing within reach was a plastic lamp and an alarm clock. Not exactly melee weapons of choice.  

But there was no shimmering beast in the frame of the door, ready to pounce on me and finish me off. It was Luc.

He was just standing there, his eyes wide and worried, his gaze first drawing over the empty bed before finding me in the far corner. Once he realized that I was not about to put up a real fight, his stance immediately relaxed and his eyes settled into a strange look. They didn't blaze with a murderous rage, nor did a sadistic smile split his handsome face, like I would've expected of him. It was just a quiet, sour look, a look of... disappointment?  

We stared at each other for a moment, my head swimming from the overwhelming desire to sleep. I fought it off, refusing to look away, wanting to be ready if he attacked. This was his all doing, after all.