The Psychic Next Door

Chapter 15: Trapped

Waking up was a shock. I was so sure that I had died, that the fact I was now conscious was almost incomprehensible. It made me doubt my own senses. I wondered if—somehow—these past few weeks had just been a dream. If I sat up, would I find myself in my own bedroom, without any cuts and bruises?

But soon enough the pain returned and, with it, the reality of my situation. All of it, every impossible bit of it, had actually happened. I tried to remember the details while trying hard not to think about how much my body ached. The amount of abuse I had taken that night—was it last night?—had been extreme.

Groaning with every movement, I pulled myself up to sitting and held out my arms in front of me to examine the damage; my mouth hung open at the sight of it. New gashes overlapped my old ones, criss-crossing my body. My skin was almost entirely black and blue.

Maybe it looked worse than it was from the contrast between my mottled skin and the fresh, white, unfamiliar sheets, perfectly tucked around me like I was in a hospital bed.

But wherever I was, it was no hospital.

I tore my eyes away from the battered shell that was once my body, and I took a closer look at my surroundings. It seemed to be just an ordinary bedroom, though I had no idea to whose. Everything seemed impossibly bright, especially to my straining eyes. Sun streamed in from the short window at the top of the wall, and everything in the room—walls, furniture, bedding—was a stark white, so crisp and clean that it almost seemed to glow in the daylight. I didn't recognize anything about it, and I was certain I had never been here before.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed while I had been unconscious. I scanned the room for a calendar or alarm clock, but the room's minimalistic owner didn't have either. Would my battered body be able to hold my weight if I were to get up and look around?

Suddenly, a low, unearthly growl resonated around the room, tearing through its crisp order and instantly sending me into a panic. The Beast! How could I have forgotten it when it was the thing that had done this to me? I somehow found the energy to fling myself out of bed, as my eyes scanned the strange room for exits.

But as I tried to walk—or once my weakened 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. My body felt like it was beginning to shut down, and suddenly I was sleepy... I tried to resist it, and pushed myself to my knees, attempting to crawl, but I only made it a few inches further before I slumped against the wall, defeated.

What was the point of fighting? There was no way I was going to win, not in this state. Acceptance washed over me as I slumped on the floor; I'd be happy to give in if I could just rest.

As I drifted away, I was only slightly disappointed that I had escaped death, only to have it catch up with me again so soon...

The door to the bedroom flung open, banging loudly against the wall behind it. It was enough to pull me out of my haze, and I suddenly realized how stupid it was to give in so easily. I really did want to survive, to live, to fight.

But I couldn't just will strength to my feeble body; I could only slide along the wall to find some corner in which to cower. My eyes tried to find some item with which to protect myself, but the only thing within reach was a plastic lamp and a stack of magazines. Not exactly melee weapons of choice.

But when I finally turned my gaze to the door, there was no shimmering Beast lurking there, ready to pounce and finish me off.

It was Luc.

He just stood there, his eyes wide and worried, his gaze first drawing over the empty bed before finding me shaking in the far corner. As he looked me over, his stance relaxed. Unlike what I had been expecting, his eyes didn't blaze with a murderous rage, nor did a sadistic smile split his handsome face. His expression was soured, and he looked... disappointed.