A smirk tugs at his lips as he stares at me, a countenance of devilish delight that reveals a fiendish persona. His attempt at mocking me makes rage run through me, a fire scorching through my veins that I cannot seize.
“What’s so funny?”
His teeth bite down on his lower lip as if trying to suppress the smirk on his nude lips, and despite feeling something fluttering deep within, it only aggravates my irritation.
“Nothing, darling.”
Using a thick British accent, he skips the letter “R” as he speaks with a darkness filled with sins and promises of wickedness. His voice is one I could listen to for hours upon hours, never growing tired of it.
I cannot help but feel mesmerized by his lethal beauty. Something charges the air around us, changing it into something words cannot describe as I stare at him. It is as if the atmosphere is growing thicker with tension, as vibrations are sent throughout the air between us. Neither of us utters a word, and everyone around us disappears. I am smitten with his raven-colored hair, short and curly, with red strands at the front, reminiscent of wine, all too tempting, making me want to run my hand through it.
Our silent connection lasts just a few seconds before the girl next to him puts her arm around his shoulders in a claiming act before looking at me with jealousy and hatred in her eyes.
He is taken, got it.
Not that I even wanted him in the first place, though.
His shoulder stiffens like a frozen shadow in response to her touch, and we break our gaze. He looks away from me as he cranes his neck and rolls back his shoulders in an apparent attempt to shrug off her hold on him. As I take in her disappointment, I feel my amusement swell, and I’m itching to chuckle when she realizes he’s purposefully avoiding her. As her eyes bore into me, I can almost hear her fury roaring like a fire, as if I’m responsible for his actions. It only fuels gasoline on the already burning flames inside me, making me want to laugh straight in her face.
“What is this place?” I ask them once again, determined to get a response, or else this will simply be a waste of time on my part.
“Dankworth Institute,” the ash-blonde hair with bitchy eyes replies, her body trembling from his dismissal.
“So I was told,” I click my tongue in annoyance. “What kind of shit? Some kind of hospital or what?”
Finally, the man glances back at me and meets my gaze, causing me to feel as though I am spiraling yet again. His scoff in response to my question is like nails on a chalkboard, further infuriating me. Apparently, he thinks this is some kind of joke.
“How can you not know?”
The same British accent penetrates my thoughts, blocking out the sounds of wet and sloppy kisses coming from Calvin and Aubrey, and I know the man’s grin is wide and taunting.
As I fight to contain my annoyance, I take deep breaths and remind myself to remain polite toward these strangers who refuse to even give their names. Self-control is the most important thing I have and the only thing no one can take away from me.
“You should know since you ended up here,” the ash-blonde girl tells me knowingly, as if she has all the answers.
“It’s a psych ward, darling.”
And at his words, my entire world stops. The terror I’m feeling is so intense it’s vibrating through my heart, like a tremor that could cause it to stop, and maybe that’s the best thing that could happen.
Maybe that is what I deserve.
Suddenly, the walls are closing in and threatening to crush me alive, and the shadows take over the entire room until all I see is darkness, much like the one in the basement. I feel sweat beads on my forehead, traveling down my spine, and I start scratching my wrist furiously, but it does nothing to calm me down. A searing pain spreads, and the blood from my own skin begins to push through the darkness. Red and black. An infinity of the two colors.
Has the court caught up with me?
Because of the stiffness of the atmosphere, I have difficulty breathing, feeling as if my lungs cannot hold enough air. I frantically search for an exit where I can flee, but all I see are the faces of people staring at me with darkness in their eyes. As if they can see my blackened soul. I want to scream. Scream until my throat turns hoarse and my vocal cords stop functioning. Scream until the very foundations of the room are shaking.
The panic increases to the point that I scratch more, and I can feel the touch of a reassuring hand on my arm, but I cannot handle it right now. The people around my table stare at me as if I’m a crazy bitch, and perhaps I am, but all I see are the shadows devouring them, too.
Are they here? Did they catch up with me and take me here to serve my sentence?
If that’s the case, I’m never leaving here. Not in this lifetime.
My hand is snaking with blood, and a cool liquid is dribbling down my palm, smelling like metal, yet it is nothing like metal at all. Someone shakes my body, and panic grows every second I sit still.
“Hey!”
A voice calls out to me, male and gruff, with a hint of worry, and the darkness disappears. All that remains is the usual surroundings with the lights on and no one paying me attention except for those at my table. My lips part as I stare at them with widened eyes. They all look equally worried, but I swear a grin tugs at the ash-blonde’s lips. The one who spoke is the guy who sits beside me, and his arm places upon my shoulder. As he attempts to console me, I sense the awkwardness of the moment, complemented by the serenity of his voice, as his biceps flex. In the blink of an eye, I stand up, and the sound of the chair legs scraping against the ground fills the room.
